Vernal Strings

My heart is chilled by the wintry breath
of fret’s frigid kiss,
trapped in an ambivalent wilderness,
enigmatic winds blowing
a fog over my mind,
craving in the depths of my soul
for a halcyon renewal
apart the swirling storms of apprehension,
burying my life in dejection’s snowy drifts.

Within the deadlock of vexation and hope,
arises the vernal stirrings,
a spring in promise unto my chagrin,
blossoming as faith’s golden rose,
planted by heavenly hands,
that flowers in my thoughts as peace
turning my darkness and despair
into a diurnal image that never has a night.

Before my sorrow stained orbs
the path of my feet ignites
by a flame of God’s grace,
warming the icicles on my thoughts
until I can walk towards tomorrow
through every tempest tundra test,
because He set that season of awakening
within my aching chest.

Heaven's Tablets

Who hears the sobbing psalm
of fragile cherub souls
being sadly silenced with crippled wings?

What tearful tales were never told,
of delicate, tender hearts
bedecked in bruises and scars
kept veiled from the world.

But the shroud that truly
was laced over other’s eyes
held the fabric of indifference
where minds lacked vision or ears to sense
the pain worn by suffering youthful spirits.

They may be neglected
by a world too busy for hearing their cries.
Upon those etched markers
God sees Heaven’s tablets,
names He never forgets.

In His arms they are welcomed
ever able to fly with love and care,
their stories remembered forever,
and shown to those
who on earth turned and looked the other way.

That will be asked to their eternal shame
why they allow
the Lord’s most precious angels
to sleep so young
in those concrete cocoons?

Oh Fallow Fields

On fallow fields of infertile furrows
slumber the seeds of pure invention.
They hibernate in stagnant state
not disclosing their capacities
unto a simple gaze,
but blooming as fiery roses
as intense as any noon.

Awaken to spring’s vernal beauty,
when transparent and shallow hearts
are flush by their touch in claret inspirations,
they become alive and radiant in their light
shining upon what was dull
and lacking of any hint
about the power possessed by those petals.

Rising from the soil
most thought was dormant
are the most amazing flowers
when exposed to the day,
nurtured and watered
by hands who have learned
how arid facades hide their jewels
with facets unappreciated.

Wanderers who pause to cultivate
the earth of fruitless face
find the bounty gleamed
bears a rainbow of insight’s produce,
fragrant in a fury’s transformation
of what blesses as a whirlwind
forever changing the landscaping.

Nothing

Murmurs in the mirror,
tomorrow has feathers fluttering in your head,
revealing exit signs to heaven
as the world spins in the brain,
because was you know or trust never remains the same
and sanity ends up borrowed at the drug store
where they sell packaged dreams.

Ghosts own every door in your life,
they rattle them with moans bring cold sweats
though only you can hear their sounds,
while assassins with faces you know
dance on the bed sheets,
they never need to sleep.

Sliding under the covers
in the middle of the day,
borrowing a brain from cartoons,
wishing all the monsters that hid in the shower
would just vanish or slip away.

Strapping your hopes to an oxygen tank
filled with fantasies,
the brain explodes from inhaling the air
only you can breathe.

Justice is the Long Ranger
who works as a security guard in your closet
he and Tonto play hearts to see
who will control your thoughts.

Ramblings of emptiness muttered as prayers,
spoken to the Lord who holds your peace,
the one you pray to every day to slay the terror
sensed lurking in every corner.

Faith is the one tangible
that in the midst of fret’s phantoms
offers refuge from the holes of nothing
in which the soul falls.

BROKEN RAINBOWS

I thought the sun was her eyes,
a gaze that exploded in my heart,
was perfect,
so inexorably ideal,
an angel clothing my mind,
love’s precious flight,
was one I expected us to take together,
oneness soaring so euphoric
through and night.

Within my soul I wrote the sky
over my world
according to images of our union,
inspiring arches of multi hued passions
the kaleidoscope in desires,
painted my waking with visions,
this moment, this rarest gem in blessing,
eternal, so everlasting,
the heaven I craved,
burned beyond thought to be my reality.

But slowly darkness
clothed the conversations,
fingers slipping away,
insides decaying from the pain,
agonizing that my sacred dove
would disappear from my grasp.

What misery held my day,
each second consumed in anxiety,
then in the cold and distant morn
when no words seemed to fill the void,
I said good-bye to my broken rainbows,
though my head
replays every moment
like a reoccurring dream.

THERE'S A FLY IN MY SOUP

My mind was lost in a fog,
gray covered my every thought,
couldn’t see day or truth.

Heard a buzzing in my head,
it annoyed, but wouldn’t go away,
assumed it was another fly,
those bugs that light with whims.

When its wings became a wind
blowing open a portal to my quill’s scenery,
sometimes inspiration isn’t just by a butterfly.

Pripyat Sleeps

PripPripyat sleeps as an urban tomb of concrete shells,
the Ukraine city that was hearth of workers dreams,
now abandoned and dead,
condemned as radioactive wasteland
with Chernobyl’s remains its silent lethal neighbor.

What desires and joy were sacrificed
for the lust of rubles over the nuclear safety’s reason,
haste and money the passionate sirens
seducing minds to ignore their logic and health.

Secretly the sin went unnoticed,
days elapsed into years
vows spoken in such ardor
that someday the absent safeguards would be fixed.

Alas, time was the assassin
of those fatal flaws,
fires and explosions expressing the truth.

Radiation spewing its deadly smoke
over so many lives,
suffering spread in infectious devastation,
the atomic plague claiming so many victims

Entombed now is the folly of impatience,
wind the only citizen left to dwell
where life can’t thrive or survive.

It is the testimony to the mar of greed,
that rationale valuing gold over humanity,
whose wake will always scar the world,
in remembrances of shame.

Reflections

Stumbling across a pool
on a detour from masquerade ball,
tripping on a log
you couldn’t see
while wearing a mask.

It falls off and in the water
you see the face
that had always been covered,
spend the rest of your life
constantly telling others
what you saw,
hoping they will have a different opinion.

CRYPTS

In a plain mourner’s gown of ebony lace,
she was despised by fearful eyes,
burdened with discrimination from the dread of difference
because she dared to doubt
the whitewashed pillars of tradition.

Love flowing so freely from her spirit
gushed forth to care and hold,
but envy treated them as black magic’s spell
when she served herbs and remedies
and they brought healing
unto those that the villager’s priest couldn’t help.

How the heart shrouded in uniqueness
bears the pain of gossip’s vile enchantment,
cursed as outcast among those she helped,
banished without proof,
abandoned to a social lepers crypt of discarded lives,
where they buried all they hated
beyond their presence,
left to be forgotten,
slain in image just to preserve their superstitions.

During the sorrow ridden night of her despair
wandering that cemetery of depression,
rescue came from an angel with scarred face,
another victim of wicked piety.

Where the darkness ended
at the boundaries of that town,
two souls found light and redemption
despite being cast as demon possessed
by those who were really hell’s minions.

Innocence

Draped in a gossamer, sheer shroud,
blinding to light and any feature
upon the walls groped with fingers,
consumed by the lust to feel,
doesn’t matter they belong to somebody else.

Mind is the translator of the hands,
fire spreads its hunger throughout the body,
need burns in the head as a demon tongue,
insatiable palate can never be appeased.

But it all has a logic that seems sublime,
wantonly taking whatever is craved,
happily inventing explanations
while avowed in the desire
this is survival and never wrong,
content to dwell in the haze of foggy innocence
where guilt hides and easily forgotten.

The hollow in the heart digs a hole
one can never fill,
always stalking that next meal,
even when the stomach isn’t starving,
becomes a game you can’t win,
while blissfully hunting for another snack.

Skeletons of those picked cleaned
left to bleached in the sun
because too busy chasing next possession
to dwell upon the carnage strewn
along the path.

It is a spell that never ends
only spread like a cancer
until you become the last victim
of your passions.

A Walk In The Park

I took my grandson to the park
so he could shared in the beauty of nature,
a slow stroll amid the fauna and the lake’s scenic splendor,
and let him learn to enjoy the feathered creatures there.

So we stopped at the water’s edge,
his two year old finger pointing at the birds,
shouting in his cute thrilled voice, “see ducks, ooh see ducks.”

How do you explain a goose from a duck to his mind?
Gave up trying as we walked along the shore,
trying to get him to understand
that wino passed out under a tree was not a park ranger.

Still did love his excitement over all those fowl,
although hearing “see ducks” fifty times did lose its luster,
happy to get him to be entertained
with something natural and not a cartoon,
our little journey gave his mind plenty of distraction.

When he got home with that souvenir feather off the ground
it was a trophy of which he sure proud.
Later we had chicken for dinner,
glad he wasn’t old enough to ask if it was the duck’s cousins.

FILLERS

The heart’s stuffing
comes from boxes
built inside the head,
whether it’s filled
with happiness or hate
depends on the ingredients
purchased from the stores
we shop with the conscience.

Storms

I moved to a desert in the middle of a city,
arid climate of my apartment
being a shelter against tear drops.

For when I dream of clouds
they always ended up storms
anytime I gazed into eyes
where I thought love would shine,
inside I remembered drowning from the deluge of excuses and lies.

Living under the ceiling parasol’s shade
keeps me from cringing during the grays skies of encounters,
yet my heart still goes outside even at the risk of eye water stains.

Canopies

Cerebral canopies
aglow as the soul’s prism of essence,
lifted as the heart’s throbbing parasol
used for survival shields against storms,
but they can’t always shelter
from the showers in sobs.

Weathering life’s tempest trials
raining as malevolence’s maelstrom,
depends on the hues
radiating from within,
love’s tint the most durable
in any crisis cloudburst.

EARTHQUAKES

A thousand villains hide in my clock,
they lurk with stilettos
plotting their perfect moment to attack
when I wait to hear
the rumbles of disasters.

I can feel them rattle and shudder,
tremors that I can see
in the consequences of some hasty decision.
My heart boils with anxiety
patient being a vapor I can never possess,
because my insides cook with fear,
a stew of dread and anxiety’s broth.

Unable to endure the taste,
seconds are so intense with agony
until I act upon my impulse
just to end the misery.

It always is an act without wisdom,
lacking calm and reflection,
expecting the worse and making wrong choices,
all my plans become a house of cards,
left in ruins because I can’t handle
using glue to secure their stability
for it takes to much time.

Ever grateful for each catastrophe survived,
aware next time, despite my ardent vows,
my nerves will still be a Richter scale of panic,
feeling the earthquake
whether it ever occurs
in the fault that runs through my spirit.

Trinity

Man teaches his idea
of a triune nature,
interpreted as the mind, body and soul,
persuaded it is essential to clarity,
even including the word
as the name of college in Hartford, Connecticut.

He tried to make the world obey
a triune element in power,
by land, see and air
when tested his first nuclear explosion
at a city by that name located in New Mexico.

All the subtle diversions
to try and cope
with the revelation by faith
of seeing three deities as one,
attempting to mimic that concept
in his own mortal versions,
which never create heaven.

PASSED ON

The inheritance of the spirit is one without any tax. It is a combination of elements from the one all mankind receives to the ones we get from our family.

What is passed on is all the parts of desires that compose our nature. Some we have from what we are born with.

Now some choose to ignore this fact. They presume that born again means God will change ever flaw in our lives.

In extreme cases this becomes an attitude where one actually decides they never sin any longer. Not that we should boast when we do, but neither is it wise to pretend.

It really is hard to always be able to understand how some think. They make it sound as if it is possible to be perfect in this life.

Thus is the regrettable decline that life takes when we stop accepting the need for forgiveness. To think we are so mature we never do anything wrong.

But the sadness is when nothing can change that view. There are no words you can say to somehow free the person from that deception.

So they just end up continuing to live in that delusion they have no real problems. And this always get worse.

There is no end to where it will spread in one’s thinking. Eventually you can’t even admit to any mistakes.

I am grateful that the Lord has helped me to embrace the concept of grace. You don’t have to be perfect, just forgiven.

And you never know when some attribute that was passed on will cause a problem. It will always be a possibility.

So what happens will depend on the person. There are those that will come to a point of truth and others who don’t.

How sad it is when this happens to the bad. When a person just never is willing to accept being saved and a sinner.

So instead they will just keep living in that world where not facing the truth is their form of bliss. And happy with that choice.

Meanwhile for those willing to listen. There is the joy of walking free. Not by some excuse, but with truth.

Including the fact that it is okay to be yourself with all the flaws that exist.

SKYLINES

I see the city’s sunset skyline
on the road’s horizon,
a spreading silhouette of towering buildings
littered with many colored lights.

Visions of utopia
summon waves in euphoria,
traveling so long and alone,
how weary I am to find that refuge
where I can thrive and enjoy
all the festive sounds and carnival sights,
marketplaces teeming with variety,
businesses where I can excel
and lavish residences furnished
to my every taste and desire.

My insides crave the hunger
of metropolitan existence,
sample every pleasure and know each delight,
get swallowed in a throng,
until this loneliness dies within my heart.

Then I recall the rumors of crimes,
dangers of pollution,
all the intrigue from office politics,
stress from the congestion
as well as the plague of corruption

Stepping on the gas,
ahead I see the exit sign,
but keep on driving
somewhere I’m sure to discover
along this highway
that place my head can’t sense
flaws that spoil the paradise.

PARTY FAVORS

Colorful balloons and decorated cakes,
laughter dances upon the heart,
joy bounces through the mind,
what creeps under the bed so quickly disappears,
the mirror’s voice silenced by the party’s music.

It all turns macabre in a heartbeat,
one flash of agonizing dread
causes the balloons to change into charcoals,
cakes mutate into hideous lumps,
howls replace laughter
and party deteriorates into a wake attended by cadavers.

Suddenly drawn back to reality,
alone and trapped in melancholy’s tomb,
one exit of fantasy indulged to preserve sanity
before the screams of solitude
make the nights echo with needs
to find some mercy from all the darkness and pain.

Sitting on those steps so cold and hard,
leading to the halls of happiness with locked doors
where celebrations are held
without receiving a single invitation.

Tears fall upon trembling hands shaking from the fear
this moment killing in loneliness will be a curse forever.

Waiting and hoping some miracle occurs
where favor brings the opportunity
for joining the celebration others call life.

Holding that RSVP in the heart,
should once someone offer
a chance to be more than forgotten
when the list is made.

Wind blows across the face
remembering when it refreshed
rather than chilled with sorrow’s wintry blow.

THE SPRING OF HOPE

We are the Lord’s lilies
seen as pure and blameless,
when we by faith
trust to His gift of salvation
as the spring of hope.

COMMUNION

There is the traditional concept of the Lord’s Supper when the word communion is mentioned. A time when we partake of the bread and wine and remember all the Lord did to provide us salvation.

But if that becomes all we remember then we are deprived of the great blessing. For there is the intended communion of the soul.

It is different for each of us. At least in terms of how the Lord’s Spirit can and does inspire.

Because we all have those special and unique concepts that are blended in our thinking. They are where we form our image of the Lord.

It is shaped and tailor to our thoughts. A repository of light and shadows we try to cultivate with some level of truth.

If we have any balance in our spirit then the Lord will truly speak to us in terms of our own relationship with Him. What is important for us to know.

Sometimes it is easy to miss out on that part. To get so caught up in the tradition we miss the personal application.

Then we are deprived of the greater blessing. To be denied the joy of reflection in a way that ministers in our lives.

For the Lord is a Living God. Not just name or entity in a book. He hears and sees all we are.

There are those who make this all about sin. In terms of you having to somehow be blameless and worthy when you approach the Lord.

At its core this is more about control. Those who teach such things are mainly concerned with your adhering to their idea of Christianity.

There is of course the warning in terms of not participating if you don’t truly comprehend the purpose. To do so is to show disrespect to the Lord.

But then that is part off the area where so many end up with confusion. For this is suppose to be a time of celebration.

To be a time to truly feel the joy of being saved. And to honor the Lord’s sacrifice with such gratitude.

Along the way it is so wonderful if we learn to listen and discover the things the Lord would have us know. Not just sign a hymn at they end, but truly embrace the song of Heaven.

TREES

I lived in a forest
always so peaceful and serene,
the shade did get cold,
but the quiet felt so calming.

Beyond the pillars
there could be seen
a variety of landscapes
plants and flowers so exquisite,
even a waterfall cascading into a lake.

More than once
how I thought of trying to visit
all my eyes could view,
yet never was able to stroll that far
ever tripping on some roots.

So I simply accepted my spot
was good enough and tranquil
though inside there were those moments
couldn’t stop being curious.

One day the wind blow a postcard my way,
picking it up I saw strange objects upon the picture
at the bottom the word called them, trees,
they were nothing like my woods.

Suddenly I realized what I thought were limbs
had been in fact bars,
which had kept me prisoner
from the sun and all the splendor
dwelling outside my confinement.

Slowly walking out to the light
the warmth felt so good
and in the air
there was a scent
of freedom.

UNIFORMS

Surreal steps strutted in sameness,
so standardized,
sanity defined in strolls towards signs,
never questioning their truths.

Bizarre is a label
given anyone
demented enough to pause,
seeing cliffs
others fall off in blissful blindness.

THE GOLDEN RULE

There are different ideas I imagine on the whole issue of the golden rule. Oh there is the standard approach.

Where it is do unto as you would wish them to do unto you. It is a good rule. Just not necessarily what happens.

Oh there are lots of reasons. I think trust has a lot to do with it. I mean it is hard to do this when others can’t be trusted to do the same.

More like if we could see someone else do it first then we would also try. But who starts first is always a problem.

I really am not sure there is a perfect solution to such things. I wish there was. But it does seem that often generosity and kindness get abused.

It is refreshing when it isn’t that way. Just not the way it takes place at times. Which is truly sad.

Perhaps it is just the sadness of how many scars we so often bear. So many times of trying without even a single thank you.

Why praise is not supposed to be our motive, it is nice when someone truly does express appreciation. Just isn’t common.

Maybe if we all were willing to just set aside our own pride. To do things as the Holy Spirit willed.

This doesn’t always come easy. For there are so many times when something interferes. And it never gets any better.

This is when we have to pause in our struggle and truly try to put the Lord first. It can be a challenge.

So if we can manage in so small way to set aside our egos then we can actually listen. To do as He wills.

Which may mean doing things just for the sake of doing them. No strings or expectations, just a willingness to do.

I have seen the rare person with this capacity. How often they never even tell anyone what they did.

Just keep doing because the Lord leads them. And it isn’t even about their needs or how they will be treated.

Just expressing the Lord’s love in a special and obedient way.

ALWAYS

One moment of pure and perfect illumination,
suddenly the conscious is inexplicably immersed with all knowledge,
every question answered in an exquisitely stunning touch.

Senses exploded with an intensely euphoric clarity,
able to perceive colors never imagined,
hear sounds not known on earth,
detect scents beyond experience
and taste flavors so familiar
even though they weren’t swallowed in life.

Peace covers the spirit as a robe,
waves of calm and serenity flow constantly,
inner essence flows with a rapturous touch of love.

Mind dialogues by thought alone
while drifting like a cloud
along streets of translucent golden shades,
buildings having walls to match the streets
with interiors adorned by the energy of creativity,
generated by shear will.

There is no awareness of aging,
as one explores the avenues with instinct’s flared
providing a guide within
to know intuitively every feature and facet evident.

Immortal creatures of light
commune with every arrival,
immediately able to see what they have viewed,
all the universe’s secrets and wisdom
become a mental tapestry so vivid and powerful.

Feelings to the core are stripped of any chaos,
before floating to that silver pillar of fire,
igniting forever as a constant feast of expression
when the depths of one’s potential
at last are given true freedom to thrive.

ARISEN

Cancer surgery still stings the mind,
life hanging between life and death,
strolling with grandson in mall during recovery
to teach him resurrection’s truth
by sharing Christ’s love
amid the eggs and chocolate.

The arisen joy of my life
being his knowing
with the Lord’s help,
that precious gift of salvation’s hope
as the best Easter memory of his youth.

PEACE

Silence soothes the spell of sleep,
allows the mind to slumber,
which deafens the ears
to the sobs and screams,
sounds of bullets
and cries for victims.

Hearing the voice within
rise as trumpet to blow a warning
where no one wants to know
the world around them is falling apart
because they own all the hammers,
only makes enemies out of abusers
who treat critics as criminals.

But they aren’t the ones
that are the most likely to rage
against the song you blow,
it is the ones who are your neighbors,
so busy pretending peace is muted realty,
ignorance the perfect music.

They will arise as an assassin
to what reminds they are surrounded by wrong
because it is easier
than trying to end the melodies of tyranny

BEHAVIOR

I think so often behavior is not a part of life we really want to change. It would be nice with bad habits to alter them, but most of the time they don’t.

Still we do take time to give reasons why they are there. A way of making ourselves feel better about the problems.

I recently knew this one person who had a life long struggle with a certain type of behavior. And never did accept the cause of this behavior.

So when health problems resulted there was not admitting that the cause was self induced. Just a self pity need for attention.

Sadly this is a person who is not a believer. And therefore doesn’t understand the meaning or freedom of grace.

So while the true believer doesn’t mind admitting sin drives so much of what we do, others invent excuses.

They will never find peace from such an approach. Never be able to come to the truth. Just continue to lie to themselves.

So in the process they will always end up lost to the reality of their lives. Just plodding along in denial.

It will always be sad to me who such make choices to live in stagnation. To never truly growth in the truth.

This doesn’t mean change, just able to accept the truth. And with that comes understanding.

To the one who knows the joy of such freedom their comes the Holy Spirit’s light. You learn what can and can not be changed.

You learn you don’t have get upset at what you must see as part of being human. And it also can bring its own joy.

Some will end never knowing this form of happiness. They will just let the resentments build.

Regrets will be suppressed. They will be viewed as not existing. It will never bring the simple pleasure of enjoying what you have.

How quickly the heart can learn to be other than satisfied when one suppressed such resentments. Only with the Lord does this change.

But that is one behavior we must choose.

PURE INTENTIONS

Sweet and sour,
is the power premeditated,
alone, they lay idle,
simple ingredients of no effect,
until toil alters the meaning,
creating something sugary or tart.

Nature workers mine the syrup stickiness
without conversation
while humanity must think and plan
to produce either by his choice,
which is normally based on his mood.

And in his saner moments
he actually blends the two together
as a curative means to many ills.

But the bee merely only cares about the comb,
doesn’t need to complicate life
with plotting something fermented
from his daily labors.

Meanwhile man can at least
learn to be so creative with his possibilities.

Sometimes you need a little vinegar it seems
in order to enjoy the honey,
although the insect never has to fret
how to use what he makes.

Perhaps heaven’s subtle smile
comes from knowing
mortals will never find happiness
unless learning to use with both extremes,
even if it takes a lifetime
just to manage deciding how.

DISAPPEARING ACT

Secret scrolls of serration’s
slicing stigmatic vanishing acts in death sentences,
sending cerebral social stilettos
into oblivion’s living chasms,
surmised stratagems silently seeking
euthanasia’s morbid and magical solutions
as lethal panacea hat tricks for withered
and paralytic who are no longer viable.

Selective erasers of lives conceived
for the aged nomads of neglect,
herding them as condemned rabbits
into stalls of rest home beds,
indifference the razor left on the will’s wrist
until heart hemorrhages into invisibility.

GENERALIZED

You have to admire the ones who love to speak only in general terms, but act like it is a specific fact. And when you wade through it you appreciate there is some truth missing.

There are times when universal rules do have value. And philosophies have merit too. But the are not always beneficial.

On other occasions such approaches only add to problems. They do not improve a thing and few benefit from the process.

Perhaps it is all part of the fact that all of us harbor certain facts about ourselves that we feel a need to keep secret. Maybe to preserve some image.

That is easy to do in life. We can always find ways to avoid telling the truth. It doesn’t mean that the Lord doesn’t know just the same.

Last night I was reflecting on heaven. No special reason other than knowing my cancer had me thinking in terms of eternity more in a good way.

Well in my reflection one thing came to me. The idea that the walls are transparent. Which suddenly I came to appreciate meant there would be no secrets in heaven.

Not sure why that stuck in my mind, but it did. And it was truly a source of joy. Imagine how great it will be when what people say is really what they mean?

I can’t imagine that on this planet. There is so much confusion and distrust in life. And we know that Satan contributes to this fact.

For me though I welcome the uplifting idea of how the time will come when all that exists will be truth. It will be constant.

It can only be a blessing. And I will look forward to that reality. Some might not. But it also means that truth will exist within too.

That means having to see what is on the inside. And see how the Lord forgives and heals.

What a blessing that will be. I truly cherish this reality. And with it comes a peace we can never know in this life.

Perhaps some can. But not all. And for those who can well I imagine the transition will be extra hard.

And the nice part is how often they don’t know this will not be a choice. Except for those who rejected the idea in the first place.

At least in the way the Lord shared that they wouldn’t accept.