dear jesus, help me create
a life that’s noble,
not absorbed in the
hurry of moderns –
not clamoring for my
next fix – let my fix
be you, the real you
desert-tan & calloused feet
from walking miles &
healing wretches like me
(Photo by Robert Thiemann on Unsplash)
i’ve always admired monasteries
monks cloistered from total noise
alone with demons
swimming in silence & striving
for divine union that no one
can name, but only point
to, the center of things,
the seat of the soul
(Photo by Josh Couch on Unsplash)
what have i become?
this place feels familiar –
sights, sounds, sensations
like softness of blankets,
wrapped in cocoons in
woodland winters
lying on snow-ground
ice crusted on my nose –
Continue readingcome join this feast!
bring broken souls,
rejoice before a table of treats
we’ll set a fire above stones
dance around it
with wild guilt
watch us twist & turn –
shaman beat their chests
children laugh with glee
night falls, the fire rises
the feast at its last course
time for the children to hide
as we carry on
(Photo by Joshua Newton on Unsplash)
Note: This is a collaborative poem I did with Rachel. I wrote a couple lines and then she wrote a couple lines. We plan to do more and share them – it was fun!
the silence of winter is not
such a terrible thing –
graying snowbanks by roadsides
reduced to slush & a thick sky
cold & like the finest cotton,
naked trees, dying leaves
hanging for dear life
reminding me of sledding down
icy hills, red plastic breaking
leaving shards to be buried below
like black bears snuggled in
warm caves
(Photo by Fabrice Villard on Unsplash)
I’ve spent centuries obsessed with evil
fingers bleeding from scrawling in notebooks,
searching for ways to banish it
to deep corners of space
away from us
where it takes souls,
twists them in black sorcery –
I wake up in Salem, trembling
witches burn, the smell of scalding flesh
the executioner removes his mask,
smiles – I fall into deep sleep
(Photo by Vladimir Agafonkin on Unsplash)
watching from the fire escape
I breathe in daylight, fresh air
a blue jay lands in a dead garden
her colors brilliant & offensive
dried leaves rustling like
fading nightmares
an urge to suck in colors before me
& vomit them back out
like the Destroyer God who
crushes galaxies in his hands
(Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash)
the only freedom I want
is to break my ego’s chains
which confine me in cold cemeteries
to the dead,
who rise each night & breathe fire
only I can see,
who speak in a language
only I can understand,
telling me with certitude
I’ll join them soon
& also haunt the living
(Photo by Scott Rodgerson on Unsplash)
lapping waves on the shores of hell
over expanse of red clay & dust
on another planet
black buzzards circle above
pick at bloated corpses –
Continue reading
