THURSDAY NIGHT SMILES

Saturday’s images
of laborious lamentations
swirls in my head.
It will come
far too soon
with a stress cocktail
that will be spiked
by the rancid
taste
of melancholy’s
liqueur.
I’ll consume it all
every last bitter
swallow
because
still numbs
my soul
to the nauseous
flavor,
which future sameness stirs.

Running

Dancing so hard to touch the tips of rainbows
and discover the stars it hides
explode in the eyes,
find the night sky full of their light,
running so fast to catch a dream,
dare to hold it until it drips its magic
over the toes, the heart and brain.

It’s the little steps
that are taken with laughter,
sealing the day in an envelope of joy,
sent as mail by the eyes,
which others receive and feel as magic
making their own lives
look for fireworks to explode in the air
where they otherwise only find
nothing special to dazzling the mind.

Racing through places some never walk,
sensing the music from every color of life
leave its stain upon the heart,
so you can go from walking on concrete
to chasing clouds
ever so alive and full of hope
from the feel of a wind blowing across the face
having the power to refresh
until you can believe there are pots of gold
in every step taking.

The Lord's Face

The Lord's face
does shine upon all our ways,
revealing his love
through the many names
he has been given
by those touched by his blessings.

He is the one who heals,
provides to every need,
even wraps in a mother's mercy
when blessing by the name
of, "the breasted one."

His banner of peace
through his spirit
does he drape
over our soul.

And through each valley
that he carries us,
one name shares his deep caring nature,
"YAHWEH," the great,
I AM.

Noon

Sprite of broadsides, booty and plunder
touches pirate's evil heart with thunder.

Moving silently through all the seas
whispering temptations to bring them to their knees,
till the rage in such incredible brutal desire
to find a ship they can destroy and set a fire.

Each current is part of her special power
over which she invisible watches from a cloud's tower.
Coming to the dreams of ordinary sea fairing men
corrupting them with her greed's mystical blend
until they think those wicked urges are a friend.

Tides at last carry their hearts in quest for gold
sailing the oceans so ravenous and bold,
inspiring the tales of savagery so often told
never thinking how her voice will prevent them from growing old.

For the siren's spell she weaves with such delight
carries a price for which there is no flight,
pirates doomed by her invisible hands in a wave
pulling them by down death to a watery grave.

Rapture

Faith's lightning blessing
with fireworks from heaven,
searing the conscience
taking the spirit beyond breath,
to visions of serene,
feeling heart walking the sky,
skipping to harps,
recreated
till ethereal assurance
stuns with mesmerizing awe.

Angels now felt
caress with God's love,
one finally knows
is more than
the wind.

A Light Forever

Though shadows come
with such terrible darkness,
the heart can still feel love's fire,
it never dies no matter how we change,
for God is the one who brings its flame.

Tomorrow is never more than a hope,
a gift we receive with the dawn,
today is the present we can rejoice
enjoying its treasure every second.

Sadness comes in its own schedule,
but we never have to feel alone,
for the soul is felt by so many,
touched and eternal,
shining though we are weary,
a garment that will last forever.

Rest in the quiet peace of knowing,
how many voices are lifting up
the praise for one more life
which Heaven created
and will shine constantly
as a star cherished
never to be forgotten,
always special and a blessing.

The Bench

Vantage point of dreams
screaming out in foliage visions,
nature's inviting throne of fancy,
imbibes the mind in wind chime magic.

Legions linger about this scenic point
of ghosts who stalk its splendor
specters from pioneer spirits
that left behind their thoughts
in the blustering breath of summer's gusts.

While the heart feels the sun against the face
and the soul drinks the calm thus enchanting,
something tugs upon the brain
a sense of being watch
while staring out at the inviting emerald majesty.

Unfamiliar words whisper their thoughts inside,
stirring images of faces never before seen,
serenity imbued with an uneasy flush
that in the solitude one is not truly alone.

An hawk appears in the skies,
circling as if searching for prey.
But the heart feels awkward for sense
it somehow is calling to claim your soul.
Then it leaves and you feel somehow drained,
before walking off towards ones car,
hoping the stories of visitors come into one's dreams
will not bring the rumored cringes to one's sleep.

Like a rock

Solid is the unbending view of arrogance affliction
seeing walls of reliance made of iron will,
never noticing the cracks created by mars in mind,
insides turning cold from the shelter created
that only serves as a prison.

Sitting upon a tarnished throne,
wearing a crown made with silver ear muffs
to drown out the sobs beyond the walls,
never gazing towards the light or horizon
inventing life according to only what
penetrates the brain's illusion.

Day after day spend dawn to dust
in the simplicity of stalwart routine
proudly claiming it is victory and blessing
proof of reward for diligence,
ignoring the murmurs from one's closet
where one hides the skeletons of failings.

Little quakes come from circumstance's tremors
Paper Mache throne droops
shuddering the spine,
falling into a crevice created by fate's shaking,
ego bruised, pain streaks in sorrow's strokes,
climbing back upon the throne,
never truly feeling secure again.

Soul of Mercy

It was a home built two decades after the Revolutionary War,
graying veteran finally made
to call his own.

Constructed by his own hands and his four sons,
so proud he was to finally have a place to claim.

His two oldest sons, bid his aging father good bye in the kitchen
before heading of to the war of Eighteen Twelve.
Grandfather doing the best he could for his grandkids
left without their fathers.

Years unfolded as the house saw each new generation
bring life and hope to its walls.
Always while their sons marched off to duty's call
for each clash of freedom and democracy.

Widows and mothers stayed behind
never letting their tearful nights
keep them from helping others,
letting the living room serve as haven
for strays and other grieving women,
as well as children never able to fathom
why their father wasn't coming home again.

A home where love abounded
and so many found warmth for their hearts,
holidays were times of celebration
regardless of the year
while the woman of the house
served so many hugs
with the cheer.

Then came the time when one owner's heart
grew restless for change
selling it to a stranger.

But all who have ever entered
feel the soul of mercy
which forever will occupy its essence.

Succulent

Vernal droplets oozing pink and alabaster,
hang as beads of nature's silky necklace
wrapping the soul in life's silent effigies,
paradise plumes perfume in precious floral incense,
heart feels rhythmic floral symphony throb its elation
petals pour forth sweet streams of serenity's tangential hues,
bathing the soul in the calming immersion of pulsating melody,
until what drips from one's mind and into other's esteem palates
flows from a bottomless cistern of love
finding beauty in any withered blossom.

Hammers

Nails furiously pounded
into the defense barrier
as a frenzy in protective passions,
so convinced all that zeal will be enough,
that devotion and dedication
are the iron to make any covering
like a steel in their texture.

When completed they stand as testimonies
of the confidence for the one with the hammer,
left to be a shield against any threat,
a perfect armor to clothe any weakness.

Then the rain comes and the crepe paper bunkers
all dissolve amid the drops,
for they were made more of assumptions
than the truth about their essence.

To the person who was inside
those facts will be ignore
because he is already off building a new shelter
then taking a nap inside
and dreaming about places that are impenetrable,
which exists if you move fast enough
before the last construction falls apart.

Perennial Wicks

Season's flame roars in the soul's hearth
light burning from spiritual kindling
shining its measure of love's incandescence
until the shadows turn pallor by illumined expectations.

It flickers eternal in the night of one's doubts
drawing as flies to a light through cycles of inner communion
cerebral candle ignites its iridescent flicker
warming insides with shimmer of holiday nostalgia's tinsel.

Succumbing in surmounting sanguine streams
bathing one's quintessence in the enduring auras of silvery serenity.

The Park

Afternoon shadows falling across their shoulders,
mother watching her two young kids
blowing bubbles and sending them off into the wind,
just like they used to do on Saturdays
when their father would bring them to play,
telling them to make a prayer with each one they blew
for it would rise to heaven and be heard by God.

Feeling distraught from husband lying in a coma from car accident
taking kids to park her first distraction since he was taken to the hospital.
Hearing the prayer of the children
as they sent another airy sphere upwards,
that God should heal their daddy
The bubble flying so high and fair as if lifting miraculously,
seconds later cell phone rings,
hospital letting her know, husband is awake.
Tears flow from joy of his recovering starting
and how his lessons of faith to trust young souls
brought a very special blessing.

Leaking Camouflage

They dangle from threads of our tales
over the places we dwell.
The ones that we paint ashen and cold
to hide the storms inside,
which finally drip tears over the day.

Then there are the images
carefully carved to cloak with a smile
what is remembered
from each graveyard trip at midnight
only despite the sounds of laughter,
each echo in chortle’s refrain
sooner or later the paint makeup off
and exposes the black textures within
where sobs shudder the farce
of a being satirists
who never gets hurt and always sees the sun.

Every contrived collection
in the crafted illusions
of our massaged truths
always decay in time
when the heart finally flows
with honesty of its essence
through any facades we make
for the benefit of others.

Washed Away

The devoted members of the First Baptist Church dunker redemption squad
are joyously doing their bucket brigade baptism form of outreach,
while in the bushes hide the gospel tract cavalry
ready to rush in and launch their sermonized salvation attack.

Today was a very big day for their washed away sin campaign
already drenched shoppers at a mall and in a theater,
now they’re out to save everyone at every school,
even have a healing service afterwards for the ones that get pneumonia.

Assassins

Footsteps heard in the darkness,
closets that hold moans only you can hear,
the sense serve assassins born of inner terror.

It’s never the threat you see
that gives the cold sweats at night,
instead it is the slayer in the dreams,
phantoms that are felt though never really there
who hold a butcher knife to your peace,
and keep the insides burning
from a dread that has no face.

There’s no logic to use a shield
against the murderer who exists in your mind,
no escape from the blades that strike
their blows with dread’s razor edge.

Only when you turn on the light
amid the darkness you have created
can you see the predator’s face is truly your own,
so you can close the door on his intrusion
by seeing that he only has a weapon you gave him.

Problems with ghost criminals in the mind
is killing one never ends them all,
tomorrow they can rise again
come without invite to stalk and molest
until the war remains every day
with battles coming again,
the only peace is found
from never assuming the enemy is dead.

Eloquence

Reaching deep within the tides that bind the soul
to the sensory seas of sight and sound,
his horn probes and embellishes
touching all the fissures of darkness,
summoning the visionary sage,
speaking in oracles,
uttering mysteries unveiled,
before the third eye stage.

Each ember of jeweled thought
burning brighter than the stars,
silvery collections of sagacious sonnets
radiate in flashes
upon the essence
dawning creations of eternal wombs,
yielding days of new languages,
so lucid and illuminating,
until the seer is unmasked
of his ignorance blindfolded.

Scribes of purer poignant purpose
are clothed in a precious robe of harmony,
quietly serving his wound's ethereal intentions,
adding balance to the chaos of life.

Incubated Dreams

Heaven's hatched in pillow wave,
docks of desire crafted
for vessels sailing invention's seas.

Creating sailors from the mind
for vicarious passages unto isles
where courage is a fruit one hungers to taste.

Fear's pirates felt on the horizon
seen in nightmare visions of anxiety's armada
riding the tides of longing,

Sitting alone in the cold, stormy
harbor of inhibitions
shaped as one's living room,

Ever hoping a single ship
sent by ambition's launching
will return with its cargo.

Holding onto the cracked eggs
possessing creativity's embryos
one yearns to turn into tomorrow's omelet of success,
dreading they will suffer Humpty Dumpty's fate.

LOOSE CHANGE

It is fate’s
fickle dagger
stabbing
at our peace.
An uncontrollable
wreath
sometimes undesired,
others the source
of dread.
Yet in some
one that fuels
a sigh
from when
that precious, unplanned blessing
fills out hearts
with a joy
as vast as the sky.
In either case
good or filled with disgrace
we can’t help asking why.