Sombre Absurdité
O grand giants of Gath in grotesque graves,
will ye dread the deer that dance in your lays?
Does and bucks do the dead ye not revere?
And the dark dense depths do ye truly fear?
O grand giants of Gath in grotesque graves,
will ye dread the deer that dance in your lays?
Does and bucks do the dead ye not revere?
And the dark dense depths do ye truly fear?
There’s a wasp within the cloister
There’s a wasp that sits and spies
Today I smelled tobacco from a pipe
Although there was no one around except
Perhaps the ghost of the hardware store savant
Whose wisdom filled the air along with smoke
Lord, I am not worthy,
That Thou should enter me.
For I am but a sinner,
Yet Thou hast set me free.
Trees form an arch overhead, / shading my eyes from the fierce sun. / I’m winding down the twisted paths, / meticulously moving through the shadows. / Back and forth, the road bends and turns.
Read MoreBooks have many authors, and the Author of All Blesses them and us with their waves of words
Read MoreShort strings of words that breathe and sigh as songs
Sunflowers fainting in the afternoon
A treefrog pulsing on the windowpane
Ladybugs drowsing on a tomato leaf
eyes like fire
and heart like frost
mind of mire
soul exhaust
There is no peace
People cannot
Will not choose it
All literature is world literature / A culture that hugs itself to itself / And refuses to share and share alike / Consumes itself in a closed loop, and dies
Read MoreAdil paces the floor
Impatiently waiting for a very important package to arrive.
His suit, the suit, the perfect tuxedo for his wedding
A vintage tuxedo like that worn by Cary Grant
A dog, a pocketknife, a twenty-two
The rightful possessions of every Texas lad
For working out the values he must live up to
The virtues that he learned from his solid ol’ Dad
Crumple clenched fist leaf flings up
From damp earth’s deep urn and dark
On furied stipple stems fluorescent green
Vitality gleaned from seed pod potential
Each Altar is Minas Tirith these days
A city of kings and of the true King
Behind whose twice-barred gates and golden doors
The faithful may find refuge for a time
Tomorrow his mother and his little girl Will meet him at the gate and take him home No more white suits and big boondocker boots No wire, no bells, no lining up for counts
Read MoreJust as a father passes on to his child The popular music of his long-lost youth A teacher passes on to those in his care The ‘way-cool poetry of his own lost youth
Read MoreToday we harvest broken bits of glass
Fragments of old toys, bit of aluminum
A Sylvania flash cube still intact
From a picture taken decades ago
This, this is the blessed woman
From whom God would take the nature of man
Hail, hail maid full of grace
Your answer will determine mankind’s fate
Through the glass one can see a slender arm
And a shift in the light shows it to be
All splotchy in decaying reds, greens, and blues
Seemingly covered in a tropical blight
The window slides open to a beautiful smile…
There’s a rainbow blooming in the garden
An array of colors adorning the sides of the path
As petals unfurl and release their sweet perfume
While melodies are swapped at the bird bath