poetomachia

there is wisdom there
where rain and honey fall
behind the water fall
where wisdom is fair

head is spinning, thoughts are alive
drapery flapping in the wind
no breeze at all
make a crease, no fold
a simple cut by which to pass
are these thoughts beneficial?
does it cool and ease or twisting curtain?

arms flailing, no dance in this space
while shadows shifting, stretching grotesque
furled brows in consternated strain to
comprehend. we don’t get to understand
a word to the heart. a shadow on the sun.

I look at the clock
And it reminds me that the universe will end
But it forgets that it goes around
And starts again

I look at my wife
And I am amazed
How much more she is
Than the little girl I married

I look at my life
And regret my shortfall
And then I sit
And recall
And I realize
I have done my part

I look at the clock
As my friend
And I forgive him
His shortcomings
And I hug my wife
And am grateful
For all the todays
And whatever comes I know
Will come again
And be new.

break all the rules
shadow all the fakes
tell all the lies
find out what is real

it is so easy to imagine hell
the world is hungry, and nothing goes well
angels trumpet, the devil rings a bell
i didn’t have far to fall when i fell

Forgive
Be kind
Be nice
Rewind

are we in a scrape or just ashamed?
the scent of you, your perfume and something unspoken
the quiet electricity of your presence
is it a tension, a threat or a promise
we’ve laid the groundwork for you and me
it is something, so quiet you can taste
to be held, treasured and certainly faced.

hateful beneath the darkened sky
i’m shattered as the uncovered i
my aftertaste, the sour shout at the back
of the throat, dispeptic heartburn

the burning has only begun
will the body wracked reveal
too late to leave my verse unsung
anything like a soul undead and real

our massive struggle to understand
our endless wait to be understood
our tongue tied attempts to share
our hollow self-serving effort to be good

you are not like these other gods
you are not dead
you are alive
you are not like these modern gods
abstract and cold
you are deep and warm
you are not wound and ticking,
ticking me off,
ticking the seconds off.

you are restoring
not counting our sins