Tuesday, July 28, 2009
late in the summer
a ripened sunflower of the field,
just past it's period of awkward wild growth,
dropped a seed into the ground
it watched in amazement and pride
as a single, beautiful tendril,
a tangle of green life,
began to shoot out of the soil
the young sprout, unaware
and unspoiled in it's growth,
came not up against disease or drought
but healthily thrived
in the shadow of it's wilting womb
delicate and innocent, it seemed
the season changed,
and was unkind to the late bloomers
ripened sunflower, it sees
a struggle to survive and to flourish
with its offspring's roots gasping for rain
the blossom does not understand,
cannot recognize its own former state,
wildly producing buds and new shoots
in a desperate attempt to reach the light
it forgets the cut of the wind
and the frost creeping up
in the dark night of the soul
ripened sunflower and tangle of green
the light will take them both one day
round the globe cross ancient seas
équateur champs sans gel
eternal summer of the soul
i am the tragic artist, the noble saint.
i feel a bit of both in me.
nobody talks about the lukewarm,
the in between dreamers,
the ones who chose neither yes nor no.
did they discover more about the divine
than those who seemingly tore themselves away?
or did they lie awaiting the end?
were they projected from the cosmic mouth?
did the creator spit them out for want of ice or steam?
am i more than just a weed awaiting the harvest,
the goat lost among the flock,
or am i on a journey to limitless wisdom?
timelessly praying for a heavenly treasure,
i await the inevitable; growing beneath the son.
letting the light bend me across the dome of the sky
with the wobbly rotation of the planet.
like the corn we are harvested
every hundred years,
before the frosty death of eternal winter.
we experience the plucking away,
picked by divine fingers from our earthly flower bed,
our death bed, our market fresh sale bin.
besides an ant farm
we are an organic extension,
a cosmic arm of eternal life.
i am a spinning strip of the milky way.
and you are seeing me from the dark of saltless earth.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
time balanced on the steeple
of my young and restless temple
this season's but a brief and lonely phase
my days still waxing with the pale ale moon
picking up old habits in my new found habitat
greasy food and good times every night
wash my baby face, in the sink when i get home
can't wash clean my conscious, not tonight
get off work and go home to a silent sleepy house
lazy neighborhood arise; the cars are pulling out
want to eat some cereal but it's my evening meal
had some late last night, 3 bowls; that breakfast wasn't real
called you way too early; i can hear a hint of hunger
something younger that i lost awhile ago
years of learning what my false start freedom would be like
drained much of my life, my curious light
three alarm clocks still can't drag my blessed body out
of the the best dreams that i've had in years
waking fears on wood floors, 6 feet down, and vertical
sleep, it comes in waves; i'm nearly ready
1:30, finally, summons midnight quiet
roaring water dreams to summer storms
please, sweet sunrise...i could get up now,
but i think i'll lay here just an hour more
3:30 a.m. turns to 4-O-clock, soft
and i'm up to muddy coffee and a walk
the birds start talking tall, as if to call me out
taking walks by myself, cause round 'bout 4 a.m.
there's nobody to talk to but myself, and then
the sun starts coming up, on a blue day bobbin' up
like some sign god caught a fish in heaven's pond
at least i know he'll reel it in each morning till i'm gone
at least i got to see this dayglow dawn
Monday, June 1, 2009
tumbling off into the night
of futures still unknown
leaving burning trails behind me
branded hands with love
left all treasures here behind
to find it up above
no, hold on, accept it
i could help you with those chains
they wear your writsts raw
why let these weather patterns control your mood
tossed by the wind, i saw you, letting go
letting a hundred small portion of your energy
go to waste on a worry, when
you could be completely free
the keys have been given to you
it's almost painful, to love
because it's real and it's scary
letting go of your ego and self appraisal
taking a leap, floating free
in a sea of uncertainty
only to fall face first into it,
a sunny afternoon, a cool bed, food provided
a mysterious, gritty, joyful existense
love free of bribes and battlefields and ownership
i want to tell you about it
i want to bring you a giant mirror
i want to bring one for myself
and i want us to look, and discuss
the things we can learn from each other
i'm not done discovering, i have much to learn
but for now i will lift you up
just before i drift off to sleep
with birds singing the sun up
i will dream of those days
a future filled with struggle
struggle and fellowship
Saturday, May 2, 2009
standing in the backyard of
Tom and Linda Coffey
i am consoling my uncle.
he is distraught over the loss of his wife.
my father stands next to me with wise words
my 21 year-old arm, wrapped around his shoulders.
my uncle cups his face in his rough, ruddy hands.
i begin picking the buttery golden blooms
of dandelions growing wild in the grass.
i don't hold them up to my chin
like i did when i was 8
to see if i was the sort of boy who liked butter.
instead, i eat them by the handful
recalling bradbury's dandelion wine
and how i longed to know what it tasted like.
at least in this place they are delicious.
i have wandered to the opposite corner of my yard.
my father and uncle have followed me
wrapped up in their own, grown-up conversations.
i notice my mother and her sister.
they are standing at the back door.
they seem excited about something.
they want me to come in the house;
congratulate my brother on his bride to be.
i am unconvinced and continue picking flowers.
my mother says something like, "he needs you"
and then, sadly, "you're his only brother."
i reply quietly, "not for long."
suddenly i'm alone with a lonely uncle.
i ask him if he's tried eating dandelions.
he croons, "i always thought it was just a weed."
i feel sorry for his loss and offer him one.
he receives it and smiles,
glad to be in my company.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Friday, March 6, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
A being, a human being is an outcome of creation. Just like the rest of the world we are atoms that were put together in such a way to make function as we were designed to. Beautiful, loving, kind, strong, firm, creative, and artistic hands crafted every being into existence. Hands that took time, love, extensive thought, and made every piece of His work completely different from one another in ways that our minds cannot even comprehend or understand. It is His joy and passion in life to create this place that runs completely on how He has made and designed it to work all together in beauty. The Love Of Life, made us in His own image, so that we can connect with Him on a level that no other thing on this created place can. Human beings are the created art from God himself, and we display and scream out who God is, his desires, emotions, and his passions. All that we beings know is how to mimic the one that we relate to and are created from, whether it is conscious or sub conscious. This is the reason that many beings turn to the beauty of creating their own art and creations; the way that some take a plain piece of canvas, wood, or paper, and we pour our own passions, love, and life on to them. We take what was given and put into us, and we make our own creations, simply mimicking the one that created us in His own image.
This puts so much joy in my heart, it really does, but I just cannot help to see the other picture. I just cannot help to think about God and how he does not just look at his art, but experiencing his art, and lives with it. Then thinking about how beings take the paintbrush and change the perfect vision God has in mind for us. His art is perfect, He has perfect plans for it much greater than any being can create for oneself, but we take control of ourselves, taking God's art out of His hands. Why does God allow this, because God’s love for us is so great He gives us a choice in whether it is God, or ourselves that does the painting? Just think about this: What if while Vincent Van Gogh on his piece "Starry Night" had just finished the last touches. Then he called it perfect, but “Starry Night” took the paintbrush and either just not caring, or thinking that it could be better, started painting over it making the beautiful master piece a jumbled mess. This is the same way mankind takes God’s art, and tries to change the perfect vision that He has. We take God’s brush, and make a mess with what He has given us. Then with love and patience, He watches until we realize the mess we are making, and with the help of the Spirit we give God the brush back, and He starts painting our mess back into a masterpiece He had planed for us to be. Every line, every shadow, and even every stoke of love is restored, and God looks at us again and says, “There…now, you are perfect.”