Tuesday, January 15, 2019

Epic of Eur

Thus in the days when time was yet young 
When the vastness of the sky spilt its bile from 
These, the deep places in which the bones of man were made 
And nubile the stones cast up and waters made way. 
There the One looked out from vast, cosmic throne 
And offered here and there footholds of stone 
Forming then with rivers of blood and of space and of time 
The eldest of souls, singular, brooding, and monolithic of kind. 

The eons, the ages like silent deep waters they rolled 
As stones and the souls and the darkness took hold 
But then, in some epoch, forgotten, dim, past,  
As nebulae shown out, stars violent flashed 
The deepest of darkness, of earth and of stone 
Leviathan wakened, and countenance shown 
With lids slowly rising, earth crumbled, behold 
Eyes new and yearning, he basked in the cold 
In dimmest of light of young worlds forming fast 
Perceived he the purest of light in the vast 
Unreachable corners of worlds barely hewn 
And there he beheld her, a soul...like he, new. 
Her light both blue and white and indescribable and pure, 
And he knew it must now be that the cold, dark reaches of the unknown 
Vastness could no longer satisfy........... 
The One, the One perceived as well. 
But the One remained alone... 
Seeds took root.

Wednesday, January 9, 2019

the new year

I walked out into the desert and quietly I bid adieu, 
We have walked this time together, turned some pages, me and you. 
I recalled the laughter, glances, all the trials and moments gone, 
All the pain and bitter waters, simple pleasures ere the dawn. 
In my mind I walked the paths again, the high ones and the low. 
Pulled the oars on tempest raging, trudged the valleys, long and slow. 
The many footsteps we trod silent, joyous din of laughter deep, 
Slopes of grassy undulation, rocky crags so wild and step. 
There within you I made changes, I made troubles, some I saved 
Left destruction, built high castles, laid the path for better days. 
I remember all the moments, many bitter, many sweet, 
And with wonder see you off into the pages at my feet. 
Your essence lives in mem’ry and upon it will be built 
The pages forward to the mountain until words are someday stilled. 

I walked out into the desert and I raised my glass to you. 
My still anticipation of the pages bold and true. 
Holding naught but possibility and dreams of what will be, 
Armed with sweetest nectar flowing from the ripened fruits I see. 
For my feet with take me places that I never knew I’d find, 
My arms will hold to someone that I thought long left behind. 
The destiny that rises will close in and meet me there, 
On the swaying grasses, scent of pine and incense wafting there. 
The colors are yet vague and will emerge in their due time, 
As I gently stroll along the path that shows itself as mine. 

I walked out into the desert and I raised my glass to these,  
Drank a toast to yesterday, cheers for future scented breeze. 
I poured a shot of whiskey up to those forgotten gods 
Sitting silent in the shadows, where the horses run unshod 
The ones who recognize the soul that lives inside these bones 
Understanding that the paths we walk are paths our hearts must go. 
I tip my hat to this dark earth and stone that holds my feet up here 
And to which I’ll soon embrace again, serene and without fear. 
Then I turn and, lantern burning, let the old day drift to smoke 
Walking silently, with purpose, to tomorrow’s light and cold. 

The Beggar

I am a beggar slowly groping my way down a dim lit path
My feeble voice, my fingertips will all, in due time, onward pass
I am a breath of wind that whistles, gently strokes the window glass
Speaking words that dissipate, they fall away, they will not last

The dust perhaps, on which you dance, was once a man better than I
A man who's deeds caused you to swoon, went on and taught the world to fly
But now the earth is his abode and back to ruin he now slides
And I sit here amidst his essence, lift my vision to the sky.

Do not waste your own concern, this is not melancholy prose
I do not envy those who walk the roads that I can never go
For in the end there is no tally, no epic, formidable foe
We will lie silent together, from whence we came, we all will go

Tuesday, January 8, 2019

a meditation on us

and then, in this deep contentment here
unburdened, unbound, unencumbered
by tedium and things obliged
the nuanced sweetness of touching soul
where silence does not still the heady air
the atmosphere thick with the subtle ether
magnetic in its draw, leaving things interwoven
without rope or cord with which to weave.

to this strange, ethereal plane the ghosts, the djinn
the hallowed ones who walk in step with the living
but offer their counsel from distant, deep repose
do look on, eyeless, listen in, earless
and offer up the countenance of the very earth and stone
upon which to sit a while and commune

and quiet peace is the color with which
the canvas is painted
and moments only are left indelibly chiseled
in the fabric of souls
and presence is the only requisite offer.

Monday, April 16, 2018

the old homestead

The dust settles unconcerned upon the weather worn cobblestones.
Paths long bereft of feet, first this way then another they roam.
A breath of wind stirs the dainty tendrils of a solitary wisp of fabric
sighing against the eternal onslaught of time and entropy and neglect.
The walls twist slightly, bowing with slowly diminished strength
As the earth claims its own.
And young boys that venture there do not see the lives and the sorrows
lived within. 
Stopping, casting jaundiced gaze upon the lives spread there before them,
Vulnerable and exposed, they laugh and jeer and do as boys do.
Sticks protrude from out of lighthearted fists and the harsh cacophony of shattering
fills the humid air and rolls out across the pastures.
Splintering jolts of violent energy explode out into the atmosphere
As youth and vigor are released in easy anger, quickly dissipated. 
With a sigh and a yell, the boys move on.
Off to discover some new fantasy, some pursuit worthy of their nubile attentions.

The dust settles unconcerned upon the weather worn cobblestones.
Paths long bereft of feet, first this way then another they roam.
And the splinters and the shards, though cast away, relish in the vibrancy
Ponder with delight the raw and unchecked vigor absorbed there.

Sunday, April 15, 2018

midnight in sink's canyon

long there in the restless night the wind whispers
through the delicate tapestry of pine and quakies,
speaking nearly imperceptible utterances.
heard by few
heard by none save the scurrying feet of one accustomed to the voice
perceived, but not heard by this mortal ear

the dim lights above a deep and mysterious blanket
both warm and callous
the blood that flows, yet unfathomably distant.

the distant din of chilled water
flinging itself joyously from the cold peaks outlined in the starscape
echoes and soothes as if the very air around it
is a salve, drawing out the bile and infection of long days

the regal cry of a wolf, of many, wails low across the canyon
eliciting a primal chill as predator is aware of predator
a dying bed of coals glows red against the ageless stone
and the rich smell of earth and smoke and the mountain fills the soul

Wednesday, April 11, 2018

the seeker

So gone are the flitting days of youth
When all eternity stretched out before and
the time was ample to repair
to rebuild
the brokenness.

The days stretch still ahead but brief,
A flickering flame still strong
but without the infinite horizon
to buffer against the mistakes
the oversights of before.

And you ask of me, what is it I seek?
What balm do I desire to sooth my soul against
the distant but inevitable winter's cold?
What do I seek?

I have wondered at this.
Over many a waking midnight it has rolled
like silent thunder across the fathomless landscape of my countenance.
An unseen thorn burrowing into the skin of my soul.
What do I seek?

In the silence I have discovered it.
Hiding there in the darkened and recessed
corners, the ante-chambers of my heart.
I know it and will have nothing but.

I seek the one who, upon truly finding
Upon discovering the wellspring of her soul
Upon settling into the peaceful ease of her days
I awake utterly absent the notion to seek
Only to explore side by side.

It is said this is a dream
and well may it be, but I cannot settle.
I will have the one who douses the fire of seeking.
It shall be this one, or none.
Should she not be found, the jagged and rambling line of my days
shall follow its lonely path toward that horizon.
A deep and somber and satisfying tome in which is written

I have known interesting days.