Harnessed

Reigned only by the wind,
stallion hearts race across life,
alone, yet always on stampede
driven by pounding sound
of their hoof beats.

It’s not the land or the sky
that entices to chase one’s shadow
what calls is the power
so intense and burning
to seek that path of prints,
which leads to one’s own truth.

Compelled in mindless urge
overwhelmed by the intuitive gate
no thinking only reaction
for it is obedience to a natural instinct.

Harnessed by the pure reality
over who truly dwells inside,
never content or able to find peace
unless unleash the force within.

Though the dust swirls from the trail
where others can see the point
none of it matters
when you are in sync
with the steed who is yourself.

Taking The Plunge

There’s never any joy
while merely standing and watching ,
heart pounding for more,
but so afraid of getting wet.

No way to learn to swim
if you never have to paddle,
and if you think
all will happen
is you’ll drown in the process.

Love is a lifeguard
on the pool of life
only you’ll never know for sure
until you finally leap
where you legs don’t think
your feet don’t speak
instead of just to move.

Every time you pause
a little of your heart dies
making it harder to try
the next time around.

Now if it helps
I will go first
as long as you join me
so I’m not just left treading water.

Let yourself go,
give this chance a hope
for more than worrying
how it feels to truly get wet.

Could tell you the experience
would if it made any difference,
but time had come
when you must either
leap or walk away.

Tunnel Vision

The long dark walk
through the tunnel
where life was detoured
where the sun died
and the heart was tortured
by snakes and spiders
is pushed into a corner of the brain,
while seeing the light at the end,
a final reprieve from the terror
as a smile replaces a cringe
with a hope there is better
beyond this crippling corridor.

Still looking back
because, no matter how horrible,
has its own strange addictive essence.

So a stare back into that journey’s marks
before finally walking into the light,
perhaps the claws of abuse,
which dwell on that black stroll
won’t reach into this day,
it’s worth the escape
if only to feel the reprieve
from the screams and shudders.

Air

Standing to sense
every of life’s scents
to inhale their fragrances
and know their secrets
as they flow so deep inside
utterly infusing the mind
by their tales and aromas.

It is to pause and truly let the air
speak its invisible essences
with a magic and meaning
taking the moment to a higher reality
where the veils of light are removed
so you feel and know
every vibration and whiff
not as something to ignore,
but at power and reality
felt by fingers that ignite the mind.

This is a journey and not a halt,
a second spent totally alive
in the spells of sensory charms,
closing the eyes and opening the mind
unto what lies beneath every mask.

Somewhere it will curl the spine,
somewhere it will entice and seduce
because we truly tried to breathe
life as a wind and not a heartbeat.

Dreams

suns burn in the night
chased as golden tomorrows
end up fading flames

Each Dawn

The light comes with new rays touched by the Holy Spirit
and through the thickets and thistles I must wander,
bruised and scarred, yet by His grace still having hope.

For this day avails with increased heights in understanding
giving more reasons to see Him among every landscape,
every embracing the terraces of faith reached
where some increased view through spiritual eyes
can gaze back at the path taken with better understanding.

How it brings the balm of peace to see His hand
as I touched the trail I had to follow,
granting me a pause of renewal and strength
while knowing I have not reached my destination.

Joy comes in that moment of His empowerment
when anxiousness ceases and desire calms
because His touch reminds of the fulfillment to come
once we stand before His throne.

Accepting that repository of promise within He gives
with a happiness over how it blesses
so we can take another move along our path
ever grateful to hold onto the day of reunion
that will wipe away every tear.

Requiems Of Resplendent Radiances

Grandiose elegance in golden tinctures
draped as exquisite effigies in essence
across a lore laden,
ageless assemblage cavernous chamber
where courage is anointed
with everlasting embrace
and heroes are cherished
by the wreaths
of incredibly ornate radiance.

It is the repast of rites
in the glorious gathering
adorned with timeless majesty,
celebrating divine blessing
upon the warriors of life.

Inequity at last vanquished,
honor given a golden aura
as the clashes fade in the scars
while the dreamed medallions
finally are bestowed.

Every facets of valor praised
every shield held in defiance
draped in its worthy tale
for this is the banquet of courage
feasted upon in immortality
amid a beauty
held in visions
during the harsh brutal combats.

Eyes of clash
who struggle in their futility
against the wrongs of malevolence
now have their moment of zenith
where balance is given
unto all injustice

Resilience

Ivory thistles and bristles
thrive among the January alabaster,
it is a throb of bleached purity
against the spreading
hibernation marshmallows,
soft and lingering is promise
under a cotton hewed raiment.

And breath still has
the subtle residue of dreams
as a cream poured over the soul,
we blend the vanilla dawns
with the confections of January
in their icing caresses to the world.

Pallid foretastes of frigidity
are the ashen lace of chill,
still the heart pours its milk
across that tundra textures
while we smile in the paleness
for white hot blooms inside
have a fertile vernal blood
that no December kiss
can permanently still.

The Unseen

By mortal eyes we only see the depths of now,
those limits of time and space
placed upon our sense.

We know of atoms,
but can’t see their infinitesimally small essence,
nor can we appreciate how divine power
is able to violate the law of physics
so that perhaps heaven is really
some place that dwells
as a spec on a electron
where immortal creatures
are able to change size at will.

While we scan the stars
for any sign of eternal life,
it might thrive as some incredible tiny
part of a paper clip.

It is all to say we define by boundaries
though they may have no reality
with ethereal sources of energy.

And what is unsaid is also unseen
when it comes to the scriptures,
where the Lord is a mix of awe and questions
what we don’t know
leaves the door open to so much,
for who says God can only take a single form
or Jesus even had to be only as a man?

Our limitations restrict those chances,
yet also there are clues,
little hints in the scriptures
how more lies beyond our thinking
than we can really accept.

Because one prophet spoke of seeing the earth
with cities and yet there were no men,
basically a place occupied by another life form
before man was created.

Where did they go?
Just another detail that fades into the unknown,
maybe they are still around and dwelling on some spec
visited by the Lord along with countless creations
that we have no clue exists.

Caressed

Words and rituals
are winds through the mind,
but faith flows
when feeling God’s spirit
hold you so close
with caresses in light
that inspire love, joy and peace.

Oxygen

I lived on a mountain in my head,
a chalet shaped by the timbers of thoughts,
dwelling there before
actually ascending the slopes of challenge.

Thinking someday I need pure oxygen
from a tank and sucked through a mask
when residing where a summit kisses the sky,
air so thin you couldn’t survive without help
far above the valleys thick in thickets and stones.

Visions of gasping to inhale I kept in my mind
practicing using a breathing aid
as inspiration to find the trail
providing escape from the smog
and those stale scents of stagnant subsistence.

Never did find that path
just kept on exhaling out of practice
not taking time to rise or attempt to see
beyond the bushes growing over my life.

Watching others who were doing the same
we all pretended our breathing exercises
were affirmations of being vital.

Yet, when the wind would blow
and we detected the scents
of those would had sweated their passions,
it stirred the truth that we didn’t want to remember
about how using our lungs
did not fill the emptiness in our hearts.

Tunnels

When night envelopes like an endless space
with no place to determine the path to day,
in the mind the candle ignites
and inner eyes gaze upon that flame,
which burns with fire of one’s real life,
to shine the actual quintessence within.

It is the stunning brilliance of self-radiance
meant to expose what genuinely lives inside,
as it flares the end of that tunnel wandered
enables one to see the exit
from that darkness and confusion.

What glows is the light of guiding,
one that will be a beacon
out of the blackness where life was trapped.

Across that floor so littered
by the discarded toys and maps that were incorrect
are the steps taken to liberty
from all the detours into closets.

But once that sun burns at last
on the sunrise of discovery,
the very illumination that ends
those gropes where one felt blind,
becomes like a torch
ever extinguishing misunderstanding's stars
for the incandescence of truth.

The World Is Made Of Clay

The world is made of clay
to be shaped and molded
anyway our minds care to see,
in either splendor or waste
a planet blessed or doomed.

We can watch fertile fields
and see only death and decay
or gaze at a rubbish littered land
with eyes that discover treasures.

In the heart remains the gems
found by our wandering ways
happy when we discover hope
among the soil sought and searched.

Upon this mantle of earthen features
there is the rhythmic resonance
totally ringing its tones
deep into our senses.

Is it a song we celebrate,
a memorable tune with magic
instead of some funeral dirge,
it is up to our choice
our thoughts to gleam
what we define as beauty.

How we easily elect
what is the taste we find
among the flavors
spilled by this spinning orb’s
many sources of wells.

True Illumination

We can shine from the flames
of many sources,
the sparks in the heart
that shine out of our own thoughts
with all the desires we give heat.

But those never burn as bright
like when we are touched
by the power of the Holy Spirit
where faith is the candle lit
through accepting Jesus
as Lord and Savior.

When that is the source
for the true illumination of your life
it is never your radiance that matters
since what consumes your soul,
what honestly drives and inspires
come from His touch and will.

You reach out from love
to cast a ray of His truth against the darkness,
let it be seen for how it reveals the Lord
nor for any attention it brings to yourself.

It is a feel of joy that you can’t constrain
as what beams must pierce the night
with the only joy, the deepest satisfaction
comes from wanting to let others
discover and know the same feel of His light
that has so intensely touched your life.

Dropped

I live with the mantle of weights
clinging like a lead coat to my shoulders,
so heavy and cumbersome,
a mass of memories, feelings and darkness
attached like they were made of glue
unto every morning and night.

But in a precious pause of prayer
some quiet search on a meditative path
suddenly all those drags on my soul
are dropped and I stop
trying so hard to stand erect.

Slowly like a leaf I float
on a windswept current of divine breath
taking that gentle glide of effortless descent
into the softness of serenity
as it lies in the shadows
where I thought I could never feel liberty to touch.

Yet in the darkness inside a light burns
touched by a divine match,
and all around me in that valley
I see so clearly where I didn’t see before.

Wave of peace flow in the air
whatever hurt or caused pain feels
for mercifully I am ascending in understanding
by this decline out of the obvious.

No words are needed to veil the experience
it just lives through my soul’s eyes
as a vivid and clear truth
gently becoming a compass of true luminosity.

Portraits

Images of life
set in stagnant solidity
as the fixed state of being,
but the spirit
paints hope
upon that permanence,
ever expecting
an earthquake of dreams
to improve reality.

Sanctuary

And we inhale the blooms,
the pure fragrances of flowers,
felt the foliage caress
in its soft emerald hues
as we fell into each other’s arms.

Oh the ivory pillars and marble bench
were our cathedral of love,
while we whisper between kisses
of the beauty moving inside
from this moment of magic shared.

For this retreat we stroll
became our sanctuary
adorned by ferns and thickets
with the lake a pool
filled with our passions,
cool, cleansing and submersing
our hearts in the waters
that flowed from our embrace
because it was the fount of romance
totally immersing our souls.

And in this moment my love,
in all the splendor we share
it is your eyes that bloom the most.

How we willing walk
this path towards our private pleasures,
soon my princess shall we feel
what can flower in the night.
So come my darling in this song
sung for only our eyes
while I take you my precious rose
to where we let the light inside
have a chance to flame
like a star in the darkness.

Banquets

In the shadows the pastries hum
not by melodies of hands,
but the natural notes of nature.

For within the ink well of quills
swirls the stains so ready to season
everything we see, feel and touch
until it becomes a banquet
amid the stale servings others tolerate
of life where the flour of the sensuousness
hasn’t become some dough to be shaped or baked
and is unable to rise or transform into true sustenance.

Because only for the one
whose heart is dipped in that creativity
does the pallet find flavors and appetizers
where others never shop.

It is the stroll by the spirit
a gate of pure intuitive
always satisfying,
even if others can’t appreciate its textures.

Nobody genuinely learns of rare gourmet quality
by merely looking where everyone dines.
That takes the appetite driven
beyond a predictable passion for the ordinary.

How fudge and frosting iced by manipulative fingers
might massage a entrée to make it more appealing,
never will it fill the stomach
of those who know the real value of ingredients.

The Sound Of Bugles

I can hear the clarion call of a bugle’s resound upon the wind
feel that trump blare its notes to summon my heart to reply,
but when I know not the lips that blow its tune
nor see that source that lies past my view
my mind will paint the musician's face as friend or villain.

And when the light does unveil the origin of those notes
my spirit conjures the melody as menace or rescue.
Without the incarnation of that phantom noise to embody as truth
all I have is the sight of my imagination to give it life.

In the stress of the uncertainty over the invisible player's purpose
speculation’s torch burns upon my tongue,
it licks the air with my own creations
embellished by the anxiety to manufacture
a tale to fit the unseen melody’s supposed meaning.

Fear and curiosity streak their flames through the soul,
quickly making a buffer of reasons
that can prepared for an imminent invasion
even though there is no visible threat evident.

Panic drafts its mental warriors and prepares for war,
ready to slay that harmony’s potential marauder
before the breeze carries the solo artist into view
and you realize in that sight
how a bird’s song and bugle can be contrived
as the same composition beyond the horizon,
if all you do is see with your prejudices.

On 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.

Equality

Hat or crown or even bald
though I cast a shadow ten feet long
and am able to spread my influence
over countless souls and thoughts,
still I am a heartbeat,
a breath, which evaporates immediately,
one period on the lines of history.

To strut or march as if a god
even stroll with humble hunched position
the end of the parade
comes at the same location,
no matter if our steps took years
or lasted only a few seconds.

We are the mirage of tomorrow’s reflections
the sum of hands that fade into oblivion.
How we gaze at the sun and wish to be a star,
think our image can shine so brilliant,
never dull in the ebb of twilight.

Yet, when that final flicker flashers
when our gale of life turns to wisp,
shall we know the true equality
if we didn’t learn it while alive,
that at the cemetery finish line
none gets other than the same laurel
marked RIP.

Forbidden Forty Days And Nights, Candy Apples And Something Wet

Oh things are great over at Elmer’s house
because he’s son, whose all of two,
done got filled with the spirit,
well at least by Elmer’s standard
seeing how he’s a member
of the First Church Of Divine Dunker Ark Taboos.

Well they sort of read the bible,
got it all real clear,
only being reformed moonshiners
who still sip their brew,
by the time their reverend,
Ole Buddy White Lightning James
was through with his interpretation
it came out that Noah
was in the garden of Eden
for forty days and nights
while he invented Candy Apples
forbidden by some lumberjacks
that grew trees for life in the garden.

Course this was all revelation you understand,
which just included a snake,
who was there in Eden and called, “Serpentstein,”
naturally the insight after too much brew,
but according to Buddy
this snake was a gardener in charge of naming trees.

By the time Elmer sorted it all out
as he recovered from a bible study of reading and drinking
somewhere in his inebriated haze
he bought a python named, Cherubim.
Brought it home for his son to have as spiritual interpretation
weaving in water based on something to do with possible floods,
his son enjoying the baths and his new pet,
Elmer feeling saved and no longer
fearing being drowned by winged lumberjacks.

With Apologies

It is so difficult at times
to understand the ways of the Lord,
but we celebrate each life He created
with apologies accepted
over the times Guardian Angels
get more than a little overworked
so they don’t have opportunity
for providing adequate explanations
about every occasion He works in mysterious ways.

It is sort of cherubim complication
they really do the best they can,
promising it will all be faithfully recorded,
including appropriate footnotes
in that scroll you get to read
when reaching the afterlife.

After all, somebody has to make the clouds,
rain doesn’t get added by accident,
then there is all that lightning to create,
thunder really takes a lot of work too.

Praying you will accept this explanation
knowing what a big welcome party
they are having in Heaven.

Just hope they don’t get sidetracked again
by those sunset problems,
smog can cause such challenges,
there is only so much a poor angel can do.

May the Lord truly bring you smiles of joy
over knowing your loved one is in His home,
and how they will to not let the festivities
last past a decent curfew hour,
though with eternity that is a tad later than here.

Chasing Smiles

Playing solitaire
treating winning as your smile
is a game you never truly win

because rules
are critics
who don’t have
any sense of humor.

Steering Wheel Companions

Night is my wine of adventure
when I cruise along the asphalt ribbon,
miles to go
only seeing the lights of houses
suspended in the blackness
as I head for my dreams.

Lights shine into my eyes,
other drivers doing the same,
lives clinging to their steering wheels
for substitutes
of loves either lost or never known.

It all gets swallowed by the dark spell
which turns midnight into a universe,
radio keeping me tethered to reality
though only by the barest thread.

Amnesia grants me mercy to memories
so longing to forget
and giving me a calming sensation
much more satisfying
than being alone
surrounded only by four walls.

Though it isn't heaven nor forever
at least the moment gives me peace
a quiet time of thought and spinning tires
each touching me in their own special ways.

The Gown

It had been in the store window,
she saw it every day on her way to work,
her mind ablaze in imagining
a chance to wear its elegance
at the country club ball,
instead of being a servant there,
one more poverty victim
who lived dances in her head.

But tonight the magic
glowed like tinsel,
her heart felt as a feather
just drifting on breeze,
because for once the doors had opened
and she walked without any fear,
like she had seen in her times
when the party was on her pillow.
All around her the music and lights
bathed her senses
as they filled that enchanted chamber
with all the eyes watching
while she waltzed in her partner’s arms,
lost to the charms that had eluded
from days spent alone.

For the hour finally came
beyond her hopes,
once a hand found a princess
among the places never looked.

This eve, this twilight of sadness
summoned a wind unto her soul,
lifted by this fortune
only thought living in fairy tales,
for once her life had a kiss of euphoria
to sweep through the darkness.

Floor of that ballroom
suddenly covered in a blue mist,
perhaps tomorrow she would be among the ordinary,
however for this special spellbound schism
she would know a mystical second
so she could wrap herself in it as a bedspread.

Where Light Abides

On a sojourn through solitude and silence,
can my soul hear the choral chimes of my heart.
Through its soft lilting rhapsody of inner truth
glowing from divine light and let’s my mind’s eye
my mind’s eye behold redemption
where other’s see waste.

Then I embrace how in the arid places,
so dry and desolate,
lies the gold from that precious gift
revealing what honestly sustains and nurtures.
It is what has metal to shield in any heat
by the strength that can endure
against the pangs of hostile whims.

For in the nakedness of need
all that is stripped away
makes what remains to clothe
the silk of spiritual empowering
as that sense of liberty swells.

Oh the tender harmony of peace
awakened when hands release
any obsession of a grasp on possessions.
Feeling rich by faith and the simplicity of a walk
uncluttered by the ornaments of arrogance.

What freeing comes on the passage
beyond the litter of selfishness.
Abandoning the tinsel of vanities
for a serene stroll in deepest joy
grants me calm since it isn’t burdened
with the tarnished array
of pride’s plastic collectables.

Parks

Youth is a landscape
cultivated in the head,
sown with speculation,
tilled by imagination.

The heart waters the soil
with the streams,
they gush out with pure gold,
so perfect and intense,
flowing from the mind’s fount,
it creates all the flowers and the trees
not by what can grow,
but by what one believes.

Then age blows a tempest wind
across the scenery,
uprooting what was never planted,
so you have to use seeds
for producing what can actually thrive.

Allowing those moments of spring
to revisit with the memories
of when it all was spellbound and enchanted,
a paradise ever changing by your whim.

Sometimes in the maturity
you still gaze upon that land,
wishing there was a unicorn
standing again among the woods,
before time changed
what you could see.

The Old Bench

I had used it dozens of time,
that dilapidated park bench,
wood faded and cracked,
gray concrete legs chipped,
facing that grassy meadow
bordered by pine trees,
a circular fountain in the middle
with an angel in the center
spitting water into the pool.

All those days I sat there,
watched the birds fly by,
children running on the emerald carpet,
sunlight warm and soothe the spirit,
but it all was a predictable panorama,
being a listless scenic canvas,
which didn’t riveting my mind in any special spells.

Then in a moment of idleness,
my brain suddenly erupted,
imaging that fount cherub dancing,
raining forth rainbows and butterflies,
as the sky filled with silver saucers,
before envisioning parachuting red cactus
landing on the clearing,
who turned into golden sirens.

Just as I was about to join them
with my head spinning from the creativity,
it all evaporated from the sound of a car backfiring.

Never forget that vision,
how it swirled inside with such intense excitement
so I couldn’t sit in that seat again
and not relive the experience.

A Simple Psalm

In the lairs of liturgy
and all the chasms of rituals
it was so easy to get lost
within the maze of sermons and rules
be left confused and have
any joy of what first came
like a thunderbolt in the veins.

But the Lord is so merciful
He reaches down into that dark
of doubts and fears
to calm them
not with flashes of voices
or the flare from miracles.

It was through a simple psalm
the touch of His Holy Spirit
bringing into my soul
a word of knowledge of my own,
inflamed by the torch of faith,
inspired by His light of grace.

And my eyes were opened
so I saw clearly for the first time
beyond the walls in my head,
unto the sky’s veil
where His hand held the universe.

Before me came the images of blessing,
pools that glowed in my mind’s eye,
winged blurs of flames ,
which hovered in the clouds.

Yet through it all,
a wind blew from His Spirit
leaving me refreshed and filled.

Still it was that still small voice
the echo from eternity
coming like a private phrase of praise
that lingered with me always.