Tag Archives: love

An Abandoned A-Frame Church, On The Edge of the Kansas Plain, Late August

End of a cul-de-sac in an abandoned suburb,
surrounded by a plain of golden wheat,
as golden as the sun.

Musty and broken A-frame church,
mid-century bright and pretty and full
of light, shines for no one, or only one.

The starburst cross on the wall,
the altar empty and broken,
by our greed, restlessness undone.


I sleep in the old nursery, with a happy Jesus
and bright colors and a nostalgia glow
of a happier time before doubt.

I write words in my yellow, legal tablet,
trying to touch God, be touched by God,
in the ruins of a world left to those left out.

I remember, seeing something in the sun, once,
in an August morning, so bright and pure
that my child mind couldn’t help but shout.


The sanctuary still glows gold in late summer,
in the morning glow that may even be a Sunday morning
as I wait for her to come back from the war in Amarillo

I pray for her safety and bravery, and to know beyond this world,
when I wrap her in my arms again, the weight of her reality
and the softness of her kisses, the harsh breath from a cigarillo

and that we will be one flesh, and one spirit, complete, total,
made new in God’s sight and the musty gold and holy light
of this old church so full of light, as the fading trees still lush billow.

Paladin’s Proposal

My love, my angel,
I bow at your feet.
I make myself small,
humble and open.
I am a knight, offering you
my battle scarred sword.
I am a man, offering you
my life scarred heart.
I am a man, offering you,
submission and adoration.
My kingdom, my secrets,
my light, and my darkness.
My heart, mad and wild,
with it’s blood and desires.
My mind, with it’s dreams,
it’s fears, it’s hopes for tomorrow.
My hands, too often clenched,
always open, tender to you.
My eyes, too see your light,
and the stars shining through.
I raise my head, as I am on my knees,
as I am small and humble before you.
The sword offered freely, for you to take,
to show I serve you, I am your champion.
My heart races, my mind swims in love,
my tongue is silent, waiting.
Your answer, your choosing, your heart,
will they be given, will mine be taken?
And you stroke my cheek, and kiss my head,
pull me close to, so tender.
My love, my angel,
I am yours.

A Thousand Miles Distant

> I lay awake in bed, propped up on one arm, watching her sleep.
> She is dreaming, sighing, restless, but escaping from slow time.
> I lay down, lay my head to hers, so desperate to hear her thoughts.
> So desperate to close the distance, even touching, so we are one.
> The world out there is on fire, and the angels are not swooping in.
> We have our little place of solace, we have each other, we have love.
> But the flames of the world could come through, turn it all to ashes.
> Angels are not cavalry, but demons are eternal, unfeeling
> bushwhackers.
> In the morning, work and all that drudgery will be here, fill our day.
> I still can’t rest, find peace in the night, or in having her near, my
> own.
> I close my eyes, sigh, send a prayer to her, to that frantic dream
> world,
> that paradise may be ours one day, if not in this hollow, than in the
> life after.

Will We Go Together To The Sea?

In the mountains, by the Alleghany River,
we hang out in a bare white room,
listening to chirpy pop music,
talking about God a mile a minute.
Your hair is pink again, and you
wear that ragged army jacket
your dad wore when he was in,
torn jeans, worn down Chuck Taylors.
God, something more, escape,
all the scattered broken glass thoughts
tossed out onto the floor helter-skelter,
making pretty colors for a moment.
I smoke another ciggie, try and keep up
and add my own colors and shards,
though I should just let you talk,
have the floor, and just follow you down.
We go outside this tired and weighed
down house that slumps it’s shoulders
and sighs with the excess of the wet winter
and misty morning, never ending rain.
You put you head on my shoulder.
Impulsively, I kiss your bright hair.
I think you smile. You don’t pull away.
You take my hand in yours.
The river down below, you say,
is like us in  time, just flowing on,
until the end, death, the sea,
where we are all together in heaven.
We are quiet then, and still, and the
come down is sweet and warm
in our sleepless eyes and thrumming hearts.
I want to travel with you, down to the sea.

Harsh With Peppermints

Her breath was hot and wet,
Harsh with peppermint.

Her hair fell loose, veiled our faces,
As the stars sighed and were spent.

July 6th, but still fireworks explode,
Low rent razzle dazzle in the night.

She is thin, small chested, taut wire,
And a new Athena now in my sight.

This is life wanting to plant seeds of death,
To make and nurture an inevitable loss.

I am a pilgrim of pleasure, devoted to her,
Ignoring the light reflected in her gold cross.

Her hand is sweaty, moist, in my own.
She hums a love song as we walk up stairs.

On her thin, hard bed we quietly make love.
Passions, like angels, are made to be pairs.

We Are Not Married

Deep In Light

She stands at the window in red briefs and a black tank top,
lost in a revirie of city grim and golden morning light, deep in light.

A shadow, a breath, from an unknowable place reveals outlines of
her silver, gossamer angel’s wings. Reveals her divine spirit and light.

That smooth mess of long brown hair catches the last stars
and they’re fading light halo her head, pronouncing her the skies queen.

Passion and lust and simple love crash through me, still half dreaming in bed.
The stars and dirt that make me can shape these disturbed things into paradise.

The train horn wails like a weeping ghost or a banshee fortelling death to come.
Morning is here and the starlight idyll must end for the real world we can’t leave.

I get up, my feet cold on the hardwood floor, pimple flesh crawling up my arms and legs.
I get up and wrap my arms around her middle, kiss the nape of her neck, inhale her scent.

Wishing I could pull her back to bed and we could make love in this perfect morning,
in this cold apartment in this crumbling city, in this absurd and sweetened life.

She pulls away, kisses my cheek, and strips to get into the shower and start the day.
I strip too and join her, carefully, reverently washing her shoulder blades,

for they hide her wings, her magic, her lighter than sunlight magic that pulls us up
to someplace better than the world that shames and breaks us and drains us without end.

Pale flesh reddened by the hot water, her eyes closed in gentle reverie, remembering
what the sunlight showed her, and what glories come in a shared morning,

when you can still love, still walk deep into light, and know what’s born in skin
can still touch the stars and leave these chains of corrupted carnality behind.

Wolves and Demons

So cold in winter, but you are here.
The roads cannot be passed in the snow
and in the dark.
The stars are more numerous than our wishes.
The moon hides her face behind black velvet.
The snow catches the window and the glint
of candlelight beside your bed.
You sleep, at peace.
I dream, awake.
The fire cackles like a witch as the wood pops.
The amber and crimson flames devour the dark.
You are here.
I feel the cold in my bones, in my blood.
The stars are a halo around the sky.
I watch them spin around her head as night passes.
It is cold, and is dark, and we are here alone.
But I will watch the night for the wolves and demons.
For ghosts that have hounded you here.
I feel the cold in my bones, in my blood.
The night is long and howling in my heart.
But you are here.

Two Cigarettes

Cara and me share a cigarette,

try to forget, try to forget,

the cold days that are ahead.

Her head against my cheek,

and some peace we seek,

from the bad shit in our heads.

I tell her a corny joke,

and it was like an angel spoke,

for we could smile in the rain.

Two cigarettes between us,

and it’s an hour before morning bus,

and it’s so hard to refrain

from the though that no one above

could spare us a second of love,

and we’re here to fight alone.

Or that we’re not worth the time

for one who’s seen every sin and crime

and knows our brokenness to the bone.

There’s a news story about a child,

found out in the thick wooded wild

dead and left to rot, innocence taken.

The darkness of people’s hearts,

and how easily all sweetness departs,

has us broken. With child, she is shaken.

I kiss her head, and she smiles, as rain falls.

Somewhere in the coming winter He calls.

In her heartbeat, in her love, even her tears.

She sings a song she knew as a little girl,

about a saint and a princess’s bright pearl,

and I want this peace and innocence to stay.

We’ve been through hell and we’ve come back.

We’ve been to the grave that is so deathly black.

This world will pass to a new, He’ll wipe our tears away.

All The Boisterous Day

Ice crusted snow crunching underfoot, sickly yellow light of streetlamps.
The buildings are dark, the campus empty, all the boisterous day gone now.
My lungs ache as they are filled with cold air, condensed breaths signal the stars.
I want to be in her arms, cuddled up together in bed, safe behind the door, in the dark.
Trudging alone, no earbuds or music, just the quiet night so I can here The Devil coming.
The winter is his season, and the one I know so well, so comfortable burning in.
The quiet, when the worst voices come, relentless and bitter, with sharp faces.
A clink of a cloven hoof, a swish of a pointed tale, but I won’t hurry or show fear.
She is waiting in our apartment, with some soup and bread and unsweetened tea.
She will welcome me in. She loves me. We’ve both slain demons to make it this far.
The Devil will not win. Spring will be here soon.