in clover

in the brightest of sunlit days,
before the first snow;
we must let some things lie,
so that others may grow.
wild flora... in clover and vine;
blooming bushes that baffle to flower,
in what seems for some -
but is not, our darkest hour.
to our surprise some things gone never pass.
they are resting in waiting and come spring eternal-
return from same root, then rise above, a new body amass.

trap

a layman and fool though ordained
falters with sacred truths not well maintained
and fortunes lost not honest gained
will have lies come to light blood stained

a sword, a sword...  by such words you swore
I never met a liar like you before
how some o'er others, a pious plagiarist they adore
wicked nets are set, they will fall through the trap door

reckless

sometimes hope allowed is reckless and dangerous;
best intentions through affection's eyes at first adventurous.
not so innocently as months pass then much affectation we see,
how some o'er other some forget while one still feels deep quietly.
through passages we learned it's best not to hold on;
more battles won than lost still I was never all that strong.
strange how some are made to fulfill a place,
forever broken resilient, the wounded born to mend the race.

to believe in you or any of this as recompense,
no longer any wisdom found allows it enough sense.
as time sways, people smile and lives move on,
some speaking prayers desperate it won't be long,
when in both heart and mind you can forgive,
the way without dissemblance, the choice I made to honorably live.
my faith remains since I was born with plenty evidence,
perhaps in this case these moments were mere coincidence.

though was my decision to, evasively, part ways-
without derision, you are what's on my mind, punitively, most days.
pardon my tongue, insult is never the original invention;
for on these pages, does one give as they get, so much attention?
my efforts and potions fail- I can not help how I was made,
to friend, falter fast, and empath of the highest hallowed grade.
from a far place will come a time, when we will see, you I he she them, like any-
of the same clay cast, kindred mold, from the same hand, trine and midheavenly.

true

for many years in a historic time,
He was only thought divine
by a few who believed in the trine.
this nation viewed Him as a heretic;
and those ruled by Roman politic,
did forsake and with a cheap trick-
by one they thought was a True Believer,
who turned his back to be the worst deceiver.
at the table still painted paired as a foremost receiver.
instead of a woman with steadfast visage last;
tears now speak and give rise to more than outcast-
she the one whose sails remain on the strongest mast.
not small creatures, but for Man, hard to tell in days to come.
the swan, the dove - can not speak but know the one,
who counts the clouds with no rest yet never undone;
and as an alien will rise to set free the Sun.          

echoes

this voice within that becomes an omniscient vision;
no different than yours also part of my mission.
from the corners of a round earth,  in mid heaven, the seven seas...
every blade of grass, the dirt, the air breathed through the leaves...
many of us have these professed sentient guardians in our midst, 
but foolish are those to think it is a love triangle or personal tryst.
if I do, mine are not from princes charming or romancing;
for thine stings with sharp tongue, and dreams are stopped from advancing.
they still my heart, yank me close to hear clear, so I make no mistake -
know that I am small but what they demand is great.
they command with eternal thunder, echoes so loud;
do this work humbly, dear child, we keep watch, dare not be proud.
but unlike for you, sweet child, it does no matter what I need,
they simply turn the other cheek each time I die to lead.

earn

every word I say or write,

I stand by until I die.
I will not go down without a fight;
long since was taken back the night.
often said, as done best, do- not try.
my love, no one will I deny.
ears to hear and eyes to see,
but what good will they be-
if an ignorant and intolerant mind,
renders them deaf and blind.
throwing money one ne'er themselves earn;
falsehoods hidden will come to the light and burn.
you condemn your friends and judge as prostitutes and thieves,
but they will all go before yours, the idle rich, like these...
fledgling campaigns patronage to convenient lives,
the fool's research to push the swan dives.
some born reluctant, wounded healed, are best to lead;
those most resistant to follow, should perhaps take heed.
I remember the silent fight;
every word I said that night,
I upheld until I died.
    

echo blush

it began in the brush
felt like a hand's touch
across my legs my hips
and the pine nestled
as a kiss on my lips

some mud came through
was a comfort... cool
soft on a hot day
I blushed, what a fool

wet wood, a chain to rust
will one day turn to dust
I will, I can, must I again... trust

then, smell his skin
from the dream, thin
my gift box tin

all through till dusk
stayed, carried the wind
sweet like the tree moss musk

descend to ascend;
ever true, lied to,
on the mend-
witness to my demise
I rise.
      
though eyes plucked
still believe in kind
blood dried
in hands blind...
time needs time.
trine divine.
      
though a distance-
my sight,
still steady, fine.
honeysuckle twine,
in the pine brush,
cool mud, hot sun.
echo blush.
   
to the sea
went the last
undeserv'd tear.
near or far.
the star, the star,
I see the star.
I know who we are.
   
hush, hush... whisper!
echo blush
don't make a sound.
LISTEN near the ground.
 
echo blush,
I felt the touch,
a stone by the sand,
of my own- land.
   
land, leap, run...
stop, wait.   hesistate.
a moment. breathe,  in
out. stall. recreate.
All.
   
descend to ascend.
on the mend.
but in my eyes
the trees give and bend...
   
hush, hush... whisper!
echo blush
don't make a sound.
LISTEN    near the ground.
   
like that day in the brush...
I felt the touch,
like your hand
in the sand,
a stone, a love...
of my own.
   
that night remains
a few hours, smiles and no games
only a memory kept
 
hush, hush... whisper!
echo blush
don't make a sound.
LISTEN near the ground.

pay attention
to what we have heard...
bound
unbound
they do make a sound.


February 2011                                
                

      
      

    

  

shepherd

this herding is lonely 

this herding is only 

a passing of time

keeping us in line

heeding a warning
showing us that time
is freezing but turning
needing and burning

the herd heard 

while in the herding...

a blessing a burden

oh shepherd O fellow shepherd

you are always disturbing

my inconsequential wording

I am never unnerving

you and your life

oh, oh- so perfectly deserving

I guess I am not so

blessed and in grace returning

I'm drowning- cold water is warming

am I not heeding your warning
keep needing and burning

the herd heard 

while in the herding...

a blessing a burden
oh shepherd, O fellow shepherd
keep longing your disarming
kept fawning, the bleeding alarming

am I never unnerving

you and your life

so oh, oh perfectly deserving

am I not so- so very so

blessed and in grace returning

                

friend

found again in that recurrent friend zone unrequited,
broken by master zen with karmic laws charged and indicted.
hearts diss-missed between pole and pulpit, there is no cure,
until strange love fades, we laugh and smile through a tear to endure.
but if such sentiment was met as fair trade and well felt returned-
no need to be seen as a shameful wretch to be spurned.