A Place and Time

In this place where the land escapes

The ambitions of the social masters

And the engineers with civil maps –

 

Quietness reigns over the pastor’s psalms

that warm like a velvet cape.

 

Time waits patiently for her hours

To restore the detritus to that eternal place

Alongside failed terms and dreams lost-

 

Both haunted by stillness

and in their glorious blessedness - embrace.

 

For their progeny has and will then be -

Held in vilipend view - just the same.

The Madness in Mirrors

I am – who – am I

You are Me

We are you

Reflection is us

Here within the mirror

Madness is shadowed

Id is faceless

Ego is fearless

Each more - is less

Existence lies between

The notion that sees

And the eye that knows

Neither swan belongs

To either one

Nor survives alone

The white feathers

Upon the black wing

Spiral unto the abyss

I am – who – am I

Moon’s Mate

There came a time when rhyme was gone

And the only flight leapt a window

That was open for path unto next dawn.

Angels shall keep a stone for a widow

To stir the old days alive again

Ecstasy demurred for one more pain

And for all intents and purposes a pawn

That will mate alone with king’s drone

For each evening has a moon wish – alone.

Rural Folk

Rural folk are not easy to know-

But not so difficult to understand.

If the interest is about common land-

Then they see a common foe.

 

Country roads are long and lonely-

When they cross, they lead away

And they hold direction only

For those who have not lost the way.

 

The land is flat patterned grids

Where work is a religion

And no one doubts their legion

As they tend to the harvest bids.

Gaga

The peacock feathered out its splendid colors

And danced and swooned for candid eyes.

 

The sparkly lights spoke in glittery high praise

And asked for more truth - even if fended lies.

 

The naked bird sang with a clear throated voice

Fear me not - I am no pock nor baneful prize

 

I am the songbird - Lady Gaga by night

And in the sun, a mind no one denies.

The Zen of Madmen

Listen, the silence and sound of the ages -

Their thoughts exist outside constructs and forms

And too, must coexist within logic and reason

No matter the armor; the walls; the firestorms.

 

For words can create angels of high treason

Or can destroy bedeviled notions of conform.

Being can gain to a lesser harmony

Or could be lost to higher rages.