We are a vine
seeking water by root
and light by leaf.
to become what shall be.
the spin authentic
for stable fruiting.
and learn to internalize
To verify love
and learn to share it
We are systems
in holons of holiness
at the speed of life.
The precious, churning black edge
where the light comes from,
where rubber and road negotiate the future,
where you’re all out of cheeks and extra miles,
yet floating forward along your thread,
your thread that is your story of becoming,
your story of letting go, your revelations,
your story of seeing beyond the edge,
your journey past the monsters.
Speak to me
like the full moon’s clear whispers
to the quiet snow on the forest floor.
We were tight.
And neither will forget
the rambling on and off of paths in the night,
and the confidence born of gentle changes.
We enjoyed the silhouettes of finer things those times,
And learned real warmth
from the inside out.
Your soaring silver circle grew into me
And now shines back out
with the glance and smile of the evergreen,
the willing strength of the oak,
and the patience of the grass
beneath the moonlit snow.
Dancing with the shifting shadows as you pass,
we celebrate substance that will last,
As larger seasons loom,
and recede again.
I am moved.
have studied my rise to power.
They love me, but are not moved,
except by the rocks they grow upon, that
have studied their rise to power.
Our self-congratulatory institutions
are indeed the very bushels
beneath which we hide our light,
As we define the infidel
with the jargon of
What we called the House of God
was, in truth, the Very Beast.
Sometimes I see the sun in your eyes
When you’re responsible for every shadow
But cannot see one!
Toward your good gift of light
I rotate my dark side for warmth.
Since you don’t, can’t see a dark side
When you are the light.
And your glowing gift
Grants me also the same glory
The same self-radiance.
I do want that sun in my eyes, too,
that sees no shadow.
(Let There Be Light)
Struck again by lightening
like there was no beginning,
no sending of a message,
no sublime presser of <Enter>.
Green is true and ever was
to imbue the shadows
where the hungry wait
to seal the fate of the choiceless.
The voiceless won’t be ever so:
things do grow — we’ve seen it now —
how time bestows ‘I am’ and sows
the seeds for was and will be.
It moves me, watching from the cusp,
this stammer-lisp of sea change,
to derange the old assumption,
gather gumption, and press on.
Only movement can be steered
by multi-tiered emotion
and children of the mindful wave
to save creative chaos.
We see loss when we venture near.
Things dear to us are tested,
vanities arrested in the tide
as pride subsides — is bested
by new visions for our verities,
new measures, marks, and similes,
new hopes, and dreams, and canopies
to shelter luminosities.