Thinking the Essence of Man

Who are we

he said

over a beer with a friend,

troubled by the circumstance

of a gender bending

authority

in his mind,

yet

in another’s

an opportunity

perhaps to find Grace

between man and woman,

to know some

spiritual guidance

will take our lives much further

then simple rejection.

 

Oh, but simple is not truth,

this analogy

seems a convenient

escape beyond our

self-described realism.

 

Man is not alone,

in a sweet testament

could if found

embark upon a journey

perhaps a sojourn

of forgiveness

to know only that

she

might, may, could, will be

a savior

in the fault

of human pride

the human condition

as it plays out

ego.

Peaceful Resistance

king

women’s march 2017

What led the world to respond,

with not only a few, enough to stop the presses

or perhaps filter the pond,

that place with which he will empty he stresses.

 

There this movement spoke with urgency

offered the eyes of millions to understand

we are framed within our own clemency,

to know the bounds for which we stand.

 

A sweet reckoning of the world

we spoke aloud the travesty of miscreants

without any harm the winds swirled

around our energy with little resistance.

 

Inside the mystique of love in sweet release

stand with her, and she, amidst a magical peace.

 

* Getty Images 2017

Poison’s Touch

Breathe a sweet ardor

travels inside mind’s eye,

wishful, wistful, desire fleeting,

a want speaks of love, what we know

sometimes not the same,

what we will

could then become

what we are

when the shadows disappear,

the shades are drawn,

an empty glass display case

shatters in the quiet night of our reckoning.

~

That’s when the real of the world

becomes a sliding reel of memory

wanting to hold court only with our brief respite of

sanity.

So ill-begotten is the pleasure of agenda,

when still in the mind,

our hopes – perhaps simple dreams – an envy

tears apart any fabric of imagination

that makes allowance

alabaster’s human condition.

~

When then I spent a day with a powerful dream,

that which fed,

nourished my need,

well might my vulnerable soul,

that I choose to splay in the public eye,

might that demeanor,

suddenly have at its doorstep

a loss,

a wake of impassioned victory,

that the poisonous quill of insanity,

draws away our inner peace,

eats away,

devours any sense of reality –

might we then whither away,

yet no peace.

Circles

When last we spoke,

I mentioned how long it had been,

since we could recall ourselves,

we had distance in our eyes,

the lines of time, the paths of freedom,

we traversed hours in search of how we knew

our lives were meant to be.

When your eyes said hello,

after the minute or two of

indecision,

we knew that time was less relative

than it was real for the moment.

At least I had hoped you might believe me,

but I gave you no reason to imagine

we could be the same again.

I remember looking around the room,

and seeing familiar faces, eyes, smiles,

hands grasping their only world for the moment,

I do recall seeing

hesitation,

wondered whether grace would ever be allowed

in conversations again.

I recall being here before,

wondering if I might ever understand,

why this place would always be familiar.

I wandered away that day, just hoping somehow,

we might see this day again, but I didn’t know when …

that might be when I decided to retrace my …

I might have realized then,

I was hoping again to find you in my dreams.

Wise Repartee

We like to be right, you and me,

yes you, not me, only us, we all seem to

never want to agree,

instead,

we’d like to be right all the time.

or do we just want to be

ok.

A couple of years ago, I fought the urge to be wrong,

didn’t wish to ever acknowledge I could be a

lying, cheating, insolent, self-entitled, inebriated

jerk.

Funny, I wasn’t even drinking then,

just begin to imagine how truly lost my soul was,

if I even could count on that part of my being,

still existing.

When is it we truly lose our soul?

Wait on that for another moment,

let’s stick to the topic of being real, honest, truthful

about who we are

again.

We do seem to start over quite a bit, y’know.

Especially us!

I know you know, and I believe you could be alright with yourself,

if you just might let your world become the safety zone

she once believed it might be.

Back then, he didn’t have a lot of faith in anything,

and until his knuckles dragged upon the glass lined gravel

nobody anywhere really cared,

anymore.

Fascinating and amazing how suddenly people care again.

Quite right!

Time Beyond Decay

that irresolute nature of mistake,

the grief, sometime pity,

the realization of a period or our lives,

when misnomers, misreads, easily solved riddles

become the purveyor of our future

decisions.

How often have I felt the pain of my reality,

yet while refusal,

that piece of ignorance,

speaks in a tone all too familiar,

when does the wheel begin to turn,

the one I’m slowly trying to recreate,

in the solitary confines of my mind.

~

I would imagine a world where life could

only happen

rather than a constant reliance upon

misconception.

~

We do walk in similar paths,

all of heart, our desire, our inspiration,

driven by a soulful paradigm,

that when slow

we do look inside one another eye’s

we might realize

there is truth to the service of our own faith

to call upon a world similar

with peace and love being the mantra of our day.

Morning Solace

When wake of day the sunlit rays cause a stir

we might know the beauty of another may.

When soul do cross path, we might register

a new sort of peace, a kindly takeaway

~

We do welcome the light of day with hope

a happiness may speak volumes so near

to the heart of that which creates our slope

where descend or rise we might commandeer.

~

while soft the fever of the mourning leaves

the mind to gently wander near to bask

in gentle storms, without wallow she grieves

that very night where he may leave his mask

~

Sweet the eyes of a waking day might release

Chance pheromone albeit, a lasting peace.