I'm not here to stop
The fall of the _____ empire.
I'm not here to stop
The martyrdom of the free,
Chosen freely to be here --
To be the blood-tax
Of the coming Revolution

In here to keep
These ideas alive --
A key to the treasury;
A lighthouse in the storm;
A comfort to those in need;
I'm here to educate
The next battalion and crew...

                         Χϱλ
                       (2019)

Sarcophagus

If you were made of flowers;
And if I were made of gold;
I'd place you deep inside my heart,
And let you there grow cold...

To Go Back Home

You want to go back home, you say to me,
To find that everything could be as it was?
Yeah. So do I. Oh, how I wish I could...

I want to walk down to my grandpa's house
Where my mother is home with her bright smile
And a cheerful "Hello, my cutie bear."

But there is no end to the sad and suck--
No normal to which I can return to--
Just a deep quiet and abiding grief...

But, yet, there is the smallest of hopes--
That some rainbows will cross the sky again;
That the sun will rise to dawn one morning...

-- Not to sweep aside the pain and heartache --
But to glimmer on the roads ahead...

Emeralds

In this emerald darkness of our time together, I stand inside your twilight, and languish in your shadows...
I collect sweet, warm zephyrs that gently play the fragrant notes of lemon, and of summer, and of hops...
I dream quietly of tiny yellow blooms and green tomatoes turning red...

Step Cousin

You are my friend,
In the way that I don't hardly know you:
You are my step-cousin,
If such a thing exists...
It seems to me, though,
That you have his style,
His knack for gifts, unusual
And thoughtful;
I mean, it makes me think,
Am I that uncle?
Am I that friend?

Not The Length Of Time

It is not the length of time we have for love,
But that we've loved at all --
In a single moment of true love we create An instant of infinity that this ever-
Recycling universe can never reclaim...

In Black Hours

in black hours I watch thin clouds flee before the moon as ancient oaks creak quietly in the breeze

what portends this midnight
what change looms near

KAM

There is a careless familiarity
Of two lovers--
Separated by space, and time.
I love you in a hopeless way,
Wishing for a future not our own.
To touch you seems so natural,
To be with you humbles me.
I love you in a helpless way,
In awe, in a god's presence.
I write these words, and lie.
Control.

My Bones Are Made Of Amethyst

My bones are made of amethyst and citrine, my sinews spun of gold, my beaten copper heart still pounds --

But I will never see my silver lungs, nor diamond plated brain, never taste the mercury in my veins --

These jewels of my flesh will shine more brightly when I'm gone, when all that's left of me is light...

Who Doesn't See?

When I close my eyes I see everything...
How do I focus on one star, one light?
How do I choose who needs, who wants?

You suffer? You ache? You age?
Are you still lovable?
Are you still worthy of such love?

Do you live true to yourself?
Are your friends trustworthy?
Do you watch the beauty of this world as inspiration?

With open eyes, who doesn't see?

The Jewels In Our Hearts

It is the imperfections
  we have on the inside
That create our outer Beauty

Every pearl contains
  a grain of sand
Every raindrop traps
  a mote of dust

Time does not heal all wounds
  rather we layer them in nacré
To soothe the pain, as we share
 these jewels that we keep inside our hearts

What Would I Tell You

What would I tell you
If we were together
And talked about my day?

Would I talk of the drudgeries,
Of waking early, and work, &
The usual driving to and fro?

Do you want to hear more
About my meals, or grooming,
Washing dishes or clothes?

How did you sleep? I might ask
To speak of my dreams, and
Rolling from side to side, alone?

No, I want to speak about the joy
That is your presence in my life
& every thought you influenced today!

As I watch the future ply out before me, I often wonder, do we create our destinies, or just predict them?

Make Your Word Be Heard

we once used such great words,
words that rolled off the tongue in ways most melodious,
words that, by constitutive sounds, induced a giggle,
that sparkled, that awed and confounded,
words that evoked emotions, imaginations, nightmares,

with just the proper pronunciation --
I propose that we all be Shakespeare:
not just the forgery of combination,
but creation!

I am always thinking: What does the future hold?

Do I face it with fear, that I will fail, that I will be caught unable?
Frail witness, witless, to my own demise -- Do you? Are you afraid?

Is there a way to pull back from this grief, this knowledge of death?

Our Nacred Hearts

Time does not heal all wounds of heart and mind
We learn, each moment, to stop touching the hurt
A distance that we lacquer a layer at a time until
-- a cure! -- a stone-walled defense against the pangs

 As every raindrop traps a mote of dust
And every pearl contains a grain of sand
It is the pain we have on the inside
That creates our outer beauty

I Have A Tiny Room

I have a tiny room inside my heart
I decorate with memories of you.
So whenever my feet become weary,
When the tides of life rip through me --
I can take my ease in my tiny room
And know that what I'm going through
Is for you, and me, and we.
Then I can smile, again, and carry on.

Upon Witnessing A Great Old Tree

It is sad to see this great Old Tree
So tangled and overgrown,
And to wonder if it will survive
A stern pruning, or worse, wildfire!
What a strangled mess - with crossing limbs
And sucker-shoots, and leaves
Starved for oxygen, failing to floresce,
Without seed or stone or fruit ...
If fortune favors, no fungus rots the heartwood,
Nor virus plague the branch ...
But where to cut? And, too, how deeply?
Do I wait another season? Another year?
     Another day?

As we look upon the coming Month, the Long Darkness of December, I would like to remind everyone of the Hope that the Longest Night implies: that our Sun returns from Unending nights, to Promise the next season. Humans have Rejoiced at this time for as long as History remembers. So when I say Season's Greetings, I am trying to connect to your Winter Celebration -- whether that is the Birth of Jesus Christ, the Enlightenment of Buddha, the Birth of Mithra, the Remembrance of Sacred Fires, on Menorah or Yule or Sadeh -- or remembrances of other beliefs: Kwaanza, Pancha Ganapati, Inti Raymi ... This is the Season of Love and the Hope for Rebirth! Merry Christmas, and so much more!

my life i live in circles
round and square and pentagon
the lonely beats and crowded streets
the twists and turns, both left and right
sometimes whirling, twirling, boring
how many times, how many names,
the faces blur, the years and lives defer
my life is love, and you, and them
everything, nothing, somewhere in between ...

My heart, my heart
is torn apart and
riddled with guilt and doubt

. Ennui .

     I had a dream, where I was lost in the woods -- not that panicky 'I don't know where I'm at' kind of lost, but rather the calm grey 'I don't need to know where I am' lost. The snow didn't sparkle, so much as the hazy mist of the skies allowed. The leafless trees were not familiar, but neither did any of it seem frightful. I hungered for naught, nor thirsted. I felt helpless -- Is there someplace I should be?
     Did I walk through this forest, follow paths that shift and turn and blend out? The foliage was mute, but I heard the high-pitched ringing in my ears -- not deafening nor maddening, just a quiet white noise. Here I saw a pond, tiny, covered in the thinnest layer of ice. The trees here I noticed, but only as 'the trees by the pond'. What could I see, though, in this mirror before my breath?
     Nothing -- some small part of the vast emptiness just outside the world, and the woods. My heart skipped a beat, as if I would dread this glimpse. But that was not for me, that fear, not in this place, this state. With no more association to the pond than the trees, I don't remember where it was. I was pulled by something, by the need to find someplace -- where am I supposed to be? Was this it?

again

This day winds down, again.
A little older, a little colder, a little more full of sleep.
The many times this day goes on,
I seem more wise, more humble, more fearful that I'm wrong.
Days come and go, to close out weeks, and months, and years.
The many ups and downs that seek to balance, lead me on, and tempt ...
Do I wake again tomorrow?

As the air turns to autumnal chills

As the air turns to autumnal chills, I look back across the summer fading,
and, lo! what life! What mad and wonderful adventures!
I open doors and windows to watch the distant stars regain their hibernal clarity.
Ah! winter and night! What great events are yet to come!
Longing for warm drink and a strong breeze, I find my front porch calling.

Sandy's Stupa

Sandy's Stupa.

My Peace Pagoda -inspired memorial, 

surrounded by standing rocks

Dedicated to Our Friend, Sandy (1996-2010)

and to the Message of Peace for All.