I am but a breath, a mere word spoken,
And soon forgotten.
Like the dust that blows easily –
In a soft wind it is scattered.
Who can know such a One?
Those whose lovely deceitful smiles hide
The false flattery of their mouths?
They say what they do not mean and
Their actions are far off from their words.
He has blinded their eyes and hardened and
Benumbed their callous hearts.
But who are they who have set me in derision?
Does the strength of their hand profit me?
These mere men – whose ripe age and vigor has perished.
Like a rabble brood: they jostle me and push away my feet
Casting up against me their ways of destruction.
Oh, How they break up and clutter my path!
Yet they have no helper – No power to trample this dust –
Who is He who has raised me from the dead?
Who has freed me from my burial wrappings?
There is no Rock like my God.
For He is the Lord of knowledge
And by Him actions are weighed.
How many times have I been filled with words;
Yet the Spirit within me constrains me?
You have saved me from the snare of the wicked.
You have made my ways a highway of pleasantness,
And all my paths a way of peace.
I have watched the ways of the wicked, like a deep
Darkness, they do not know over what they stumble.
They walk by the light of their self-made fires
And of the sparks that they have kindled for themselves.
Who is my adversary? Let him come near to me.
I will seek out those who contend with me,
But I shall not find them; they shall be as nothing.
Where is the talebearer and he who sows strife?
The whispers of such separates even close friends!
And where is the evildoer who gives heed to wicked lips;
And the liar who listens to mischievous tongue?
They fled the rebuke of the Lord like chaff before the wind.
Who is he who will condemn me? All these sinners,
And who among you will cast the first stone?
I have searched and poured over the scriptures diligently,
Yet the beauty of the words do not contain Life,
It is the giver of Life that produces the beauty of the words!
All these things taken together, shaken up, measured out
Have not equaled to the fullness of the Lord!
A man can receive nothing except as it is granted
To him from heaven – there is no other source.
But boundless is the gift God makes of His Spirit!
Thus, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven
Over one wicked person who repents than over Ninety-
Nine righteous persons who have no need of repentance.
Well let the trumpets blast in heaven!
For out of His fullness I have received one grace after
Another and spiritual blessing upon spiritual blessing
And even favor upon favor and gift heaped upon gift!
ALL FOR ONE WICKED SINNER – THIS MERE DUST!
I can see Solomon from where I Am
In this time of mine so far removed
Yet there he is none the less lamenting
What a travesty that him and I could
Not meet and cry between us
All the useless trappings of man
I would demand – “show me this god of yours
Who gives wisdom knowledge and joy”
Yet he would not see Him in Me
Because he never caught the wind
Though it Be inside him all along
For all his wisdom – did he never
Think to look there?
I disappear into myself
Not knowing where it is
That I go – that no space
There is wholeness here
That does not exist outwardly
In the world where I split myself
Into tiny bits and scatter about
Pieces of Me – one to each
Those who want nothing more than
A little mirror in which they
Might see a tiny fragment of themselves
Yet – when I meditate
All those gifts return to me
Though they be sharpened
By the splinter – Every shard
Set back in place as though I
Was never made to be broken
In order that I might be shared
When there she appeared like she does tail wagging
A ball in her mouth and her ass carpet dragging
Well I balked at the site and I shooed her away
With my butt stone still on the crapper that day
I plopped down a turd and then farted twice
And here is where I will give some advice
Never play ball when your butts busy pooping
Your dog doesn’t get why you’re sitting there stooping
She’ll keep bringing toys and then running away
She’d be happy to do it all fucking damn day
So once you’re done shitting and whipping your arse
Remember with a smile my dog fetching farce
And don’t toss the ball or it never will cease
And they’ll be no more people pooping in peace
~ In honor of April Fools’ Day!
Are we so different from nature?
Should we not be completely undone,
in order that we might bloom again?
Steel is formed in the heat of the flame.
But am I made of softer things than this?
Of gold perhaps, easily melted and adorned.
The heat of pain to strengthen or melt away the mettle!
What greater forging of beings there be – than Love?
Let me run straight at it – eyes set ablaze with courage,
And melt or stand in strength within the fray.
There is a mastery that heaven downed
Layered beneath these dusty sheathes of skin
And only in the mind can it be found!
Unrighteousness as if it did abound
As though the veil torn yet still be thin
That is a mastery that heaven downed!
Yet some say lost is lost until it’s found
I say there can be no such thing as sin
For only in the mind can it be found!
Our judgments spurn us as they flip around
Each razors back and cuts deep with its spin
Yet we can master this that heaven downed!
You are your Thoughts so use them to astound
Then watch as Love makes better ways for men
But first it’s in the mind THIS MUST BE FOUND!
Or watch us die by every thorn we’ve crowned
‘Cause what is out first starts with what’s within
And this the mastery that heaven downed
Will be our fate if in our minds not found!
So it was I ran on that day – full on and hard,
Leaving behind me in my path all thoughts of sickness,
And every one who spoke to me of lack and lovelessness!
What time do I have to lend my ear to fools?
They speak away their power like smoke
That chokes and churns their vision to ash.
Crushing desire as though they be meek
By their smallness and then made big.
I have no time for dying embers such as these!
I will not go out a smoldering flame.
I will burn hot and smokeless in a rage,
And everything that is mine I will consume!
He didn’t see me when he came
Stepping across the blacktop pushing
His walker with quick careful steps
I watched him many times this way
From high atop my ivory tower
Collecting his water and his beer
It was the job we gave him – to keep him young
We didn’t ask much more of him than this
Yet he gave far more than we ever knew
A selfless sacrifice of sorts
The pain of which he covered with drink
And some begrudged him of it – yet I often
Wondered, what did he owe us?
Who was this man who we called father
Whose heart fought a battle every day
Who made a hero of that which quenched his fear
Making scared men brave and silent men boisterous
And who was it who was selfish really?
We wanted it to be him – the one who drowned himself daily
In his golden glass with chinks of ice and yellow courage
His only faithful friend, Lord Calvert and
Me watching from my window seeing anew
Behind my judgment – his pain
Mere flesh and bone and blood
Memories and life and heartache – the hammering
Of unkindness and calloused unlovingness
With no place for unconditional Love to swell and rise
Or flow or Be – who could we have been had we not hidden
Ourselves away like we needed to be protected by our Lords
Nestled in our husks and made to tremble instead of grow
With a gasp and a quiver – it hit me like a jolt
It was me that I watched – that I judged
Pushing down my pain with words instead of whisky
Wanting Love as I hid behind my ego and my anger claiming I
Was a better one than he – though same we Be
Together we watched and pushed and drank and wrote
And felt unloved, unworthy, unaccepted — until
We disappeared behind the gate with a clink of the latch
And tears streamed as Love found us there – My Father and I
We were as stones gathered in a palm
Held tight and close, in the dark
Clinking together – rubbing each other smooth
Until – With one quick flick of the wrist
We were cast far and wide
With no way of returning one to the other