Monthly Archives: August 2017

Same Bag of Tricks

Same bag a tricks to try and lure an angel down.
Same broken incantations to silence the demon.
A lover may chase those bad dreams, but only
if you don’t draw a mask over a darker smile.
The dreams that have made it here to the war
can’t make sense of it, or inspire you to fight.
The heroes of old have blood on their hands,
though maybe a Savior can give you a star.
Percival went looking for The Grail, sacred life,
and if you put away the mech suit you can find armor.
Judas’ silver could make a fine blade for the war,
and let her see, guiltlessly, that true and darker smile.

A Saturday Afternoon In July

We play video games, head to head racing, side by side in the cockpits.

It’s a Saturday Afternoon in July, we’re gone from high school, what now?

The arcade is bright and candy colored, and we’ve spent some time here,

but there’s a world out there, a dream out there, we need to chase it now.

She wins, kisses my cheek, and then it’s on to the next game, a screen adventure.

It’s a day like so many we’ve spent, but we are grown now, almost, almost.

We walk home hand in hand, as evening comes down, a lush and tender pink.

The breeze is gentle, and we might go somewhere else tomorrow, somewhere new.

Through and Through

I am just like you, through and through,

your son.

Always make them smile, and laugh,

so much fun.

But alone, the anger, resentment,

come out.

The desire to sleep away this

losing bout.

Distant as the sun, warm, out of reach,

still it lights.

Distant, when they want us near,

not holy at great heights.


1969

June, it passes without a breath.
In this room, the day met it’s death.
I see sweet seduction in bare skin,
sucking on an ice cube from a glass of gin.
The sunlight gold becomes the moon’s white.
That smile, that warmth, this appetite.
If angels know passion, let this spell be.
If only demons work flesh, cast me into the sea.
I want to go to you, and know you, open those doors.
I want to go to you, but not spill blood from my wars.
In the moon’s white we illuminate the divine eyes.
A dream of solace in touch and in passionate sighs.
Lay close to me, your flaxen hair soft as heaven’s silk.
Let it bring us close to life, let us not choke on the devil‘s milk.
Let the name I chose for you become a sacred rhyme.
Let us be humble and whole, this time.

The Wind Became Words

The room is dark, but I see starlight out the window
as I lay in bed, sleepless, shivering, angry at everything.
Once, the minister took me to the mountain, to teach me
scripture and theology. I only heard God in the wind.
The wind became words.
I read of Spanish Captains and The New World,
the ocean forever, Man’s eye looking up At Gods Eye, the sky.
I read of the clear blue waters of The Pacific, the distant isles,
and the wild raging storms that make the measure of a man.
God’s words would be in the wind.
I decide. I am 17. I can join The Navy. Mom will sign me over.
Her trouble making boy someone else’s worry now.
My duffel bag packed, I walk on the sidewalk to the recruiter,
dawn a soft satin blue that has not yet become garish and gaudy.
And God, He whispers secrets in the wind.

Embraced By The Sun

Over the Rockies from Denver, as winter came,
and the snow began to fall, wispy and delicate,
down to San Diego, to the sea she never saw.
She was a high school girl I loved so tenderly.
We’d talk between classes, at lunch, study hall.
Sometimes she’d hug me. Like being embraced by the sun.
All those years ago she was killed. I watch the light go out.
No reason at all, other than someone else was cruel.
They said God made her a martyr. It was a lie after the fact.
Still, the ache hurts and is sweet and is filled with venom.
The memories of her touch softly, and leave burns on me.
I promised I’d see the ocean she never saw, wanted so badly too.
I sit on the beach, morning cool, salty and harsh wind coming.
I see a girl there by the water, wrapped in a blanket, looking at sunrise.
I don’t know if it’s her, or my broken heart’s wish for a better world.

March To The Fire

The march to the fire, the stake against a
powder blue sky, the early hope of spring.
She walks, head held high, no fear for her
angels are here, have always been there.
The war is won now, the tide has turned,
and she knows soon she will sleep in His arms.
In the fields, the wildflowers bow in the wind,
and the world begins again, awakening from sleep.
In Domremy the children will be playing in lush
and verdant forests, be wild and free in youth.
Angels and saints came to her, and she took their hands,
and she gave that up forever; honor calls for blood.
And she looks to the sky, still a girl, but a darker heart,
but not hard, still a softness in her twilight life.
The fires are burning, and tears come, but she is
going home, and all this darkness will be lost in the light.
The smoke and flames, pain and choking, but the sun,
the sun has His face, and she sees him now, face to face.

Galilee

Young woman, summer girl,
long straight hair behind her,
bright in bikini top and Daisy Dukes,
riding her Vespa to the beach.
There is madness in the sun,
the endless blue ocean, bright eye,
that swallows all of the world,
and takes us to Galilee.
On theĀ  picnic table, in the shade,
I watch her with her friends,
and think of all those amazing things
they’ll do, favored angels, favored children.
There is a madness in love, and lust, and desire,
in reaching for a sun that you cannot touch,
and it still burning you through, in the things we want
and the things we cast aside.
I catch her eye, and she smiles, waves.
I smile back, wistful and distant, not from
that Sacred Sea like her, but I chose my lot
and have not yet sailed to Galilee.
There is a madness in our hearts, in the sun,
in the warm and reckless season of infatuation,
in all the dreams that fill our heads with stars
and with blood. We look away from stars above Galilee.