Angel Serenade

Angel Serenade

Outside the open window the morning air is all awash with angels - Richard Wilbur

I stand at the window,
waiting for the sun to rise.
my shattered body held together
with a thousand beads of glue,

I stand stiffly,
carefully,

Creativity

Creativity

A drop of water,
hanging from the faucet,
glistening in the sunlight,
distends as it drops,
PING!
Into the sink.
The moment is my inspiration.

A hand holding a pencil,
crooked between the thumb and fingers,
hovering pensively above the paper,
dropping down into it’s white depths
to rend and tear it’s purity,
forging it into a new being.
My poem.

Depression

Anxiety

The shriek of a bird of prey
cutting through the air
like a knife through butter
piercing the stillness
of the early morn
He hunts

Panic
A panicked bird
wings a blur
heart beating too fast to count

Angelic Healing

Angelic Healing

Lying there,
eyes closed,
waiting for nothing to happen,
when You surround me in a nimbus of fiery light,
wings spread in a cocoon over my tingling body.

I hear Your voices raised on high
and I hear You sing,
a sound so pure I cannot comprehend,
only begin to cry at the beauty of your song,
my face wet with tears as your hands lift me up
pulling me to the sky,
crying “Glory be to God, oh Glory be to God!”

You pull this filth from me
and lay me down with soft hands,
stroking my trembling muscles,
your feathers drying the tears from my cheeks,
until I am asleep in your arms
pure as the paper I write You on.

The Passing of Time

The Passage of Time

Maiden, Mother, and Crone
are stirring the cauldron of bones

The soup of a life that shows the passage of time.

The feet that walked the roads
The hands that held the soul
The hips that welcomed the lover
The arms that rocked the child
The knees that bore the crushing weight
The spine that bent in the wind
The skull that saw it all

Maiden, Mother, and Crone
are stirring the cauldron of bones

This Emotion

This Emotion

This emotion -
a drop of hot gold
burning the tip
of the heart’s tongue
melting the soul’s
deepest desires
inflaming the walls
of the mind -

Has brought me here
where I am blind
where I hear only
a distant melody

When I am Old

When I am Old

I want to fall in love when I am old.
When the path that has brought you to me
Shows in the wrinkles on your face,
In the lines of laughter and pain
That surround your mouth, your eyes.
When you love the soft parchment skin.
The rounded belly, the soft doughy breasts
As signs of life lived

My Epitaph

My Epitaph

She walked the Earth
Always searching
Above, below, without, within, and in between
Now on the other side of the looking glass
She has found.

A poem bestowed upon my lips

A wrote me this beautiful poem a couple of days ago:

Kali sings in your clear

amber eyes

where passion vibrates

like the vocal chords

of the vast incomprehensible power of the sea.

Your body is as precious as the substance of a god’s pulsing heart,

spreading exhileration through and through me.

You dance naked.

Vishnu opens his eyes,

and a world comes into being;

he closes his eyes and a world goes out of being.

We border the spiral of sweaty dreams

that hang off our minds like rain-soaked leaves.

I met you on the brink of a cigarette,

you kissed me completely,

full on the mouth

like the ocean sucking on the sand:

Sweet, sweet intention.

Warm, warm wind through my frozen heart.

Melt, melt the frost off my breath.

Press, press wavy carnal language against my

Horizon’s sunset lip of flesh.

Bloom, bloom the flowers of your lips against mine;

My buds of taste are silent, silent roses-

Drinking an oasis of joy into my bloodstream.

And oh the honeyed sap

that hides in your maple tree skin,

.