I Burn So Free

Unmoored in the white expanse
chained by air and frozen flats
white as far as eye can see
and just one speck revealed there…me
red on white, no blue in sight
carmine bold against the night
a blood smear there upon that face
so cold, so neutral…blooming grace
I burn there in this gelid place
and nothing here to burn but ice
that smothers every spark and glow
and so I turn my heat high…slow
and steady, burning every flake
and fleck of frozen haughty glance
I use as fuel your silences
and melt the emptiness of chance
that random stark coincidence
of when you turn and look my way
but lend me not even a branch
to burn, just more cold arctic grey
It matters not, I burn my me
I choose to be a fire hot
and brighter than the silent white
I burn the ice…I burn so free

Failure and Forgiveness

There is a brand new recycling of an old, ancient lie told to soothe one’s enflamed ego and sense of being wounded and let down in experiencing the world.

The lie is that there is no such thing as failure, and that as a human being it is impossible to fail another person.

I would laugh if it wasn’t such a tragic and poisonous lie.

But the lie is told for a more basic reason than to just insulate one’s heart against hurt:  the lie is told to free one’s self from the pain of forgiveness, from giving forgiveness and even more important, from receiving forgiveness…

…and those pains are freely paid to avoid confronting the root:  Pride.  I think it likely that Pride is the root of all evils in the world.

At any rate, Desmond Tutu has some very cogent things to say about forgiveness:

“The quality of human life on our planet is nothing more than the sum total of our daily interactions with one another. Each time we help and each time we harm we are dramatically impacting our world.
     As long as we are human, some of our interactions will go wrong, and then we will hurt or be hurt or both. It is the nature of being human and it is unavoidable.
     Forgiveness is the way we set those interactions right. It is the way we mend tears in the social fabric. It is the way we stop our human community from unraveling.
Desmond Tutu, The Book of Forgiving


What Is Love?

Do you love someone?

What is that like for you?  When they please you is it fantastic?  When they hurt you, whether intentionally or inadvertently, do you want to just pull away and cut them off?

What is love?

I really don’t know what it is for other people.  But I do know that love for me is constant and present in me for those I love, regardless of what happens.  Regardless of words spoken, or words withheld.  Regardless of indictments scathing and maybe not even true.

I am haunted by Love…it never leaves me.  It burns true and sure in me, though it has the hardest time getting from inside me to outside me thanks to the plethora of flaws and foibles present in me.  But it carries me…Love does.  Right straight past the wreckage strewn pile-ups and blood everywhere.

I recently heard someone talk about how they couldn’t believe in someone anymore…someone they had professed to love…and I thought about all the times that my beloved has let me down, all the times I have let her down.  I thought about all our times together in the midst…and how even in the pain, NO…especially in the pain Love burned even brighter inside.

Love is your choice to set stock on someone.  Love depends on your choice, and it has nothing to do with the one you choose to love.  And after that?  Love doesn’t even really notice when it is wronged or misunderstood or maligned.  It bears all things…believes all things, hopes all things…endures all things.

Love never fails.

Sometimes I feel like a fool, loving.  That way lays pain and sorrow and let down.  But that way lays truth too…lays joy…and ultimately lays victory.

Hey…if you are out there?  If you ever stop in here to read?  If you are curious, or if you need to stoke your rage?  Just in case you ever stop in…

I love you.  I will never stop loving you.  Til my dying breath, with the last drop of my sweat.

And my one and only prayer is that God in Their Grace would give you a revelation of the actual state of being of that love, and maybe even a lil insight into the terrible tributaries it had to traverse to even get to the outside world.

I have so much more to say, Loves, and yet there is nothing I can say or do right now that isn’t bound up a priori…so I am swallowing, and holding my face bare and still, and brazen in its love for you


Who Speaks For You?

…in baseball bat threats,
and shifting blame bloviations?

there is a narrative constructed
and characters are run thru the mill

Procrustean beds wait, rimmed in razor words
and made up in straight jacket axioms

of hero killing Zeus, Medusa slain
but ‘ware the mirrors lest the true face be glimpsed…

…and you, you both have hitched to this?
your bones know, don’t they?

Or do they?  Crawl inside your skin
when you feel the truth dissolve

and lies (half and whole cloth)
kick like something wicked waiting

to slouch towards Bethlehem
in the kingdom of Ozymandias?

Your silent disengagement lets our history
be Big-Brothered in Orwellian style scripts

and becomes tacit agreement with things
that go against your grain like sand paper.

Oh may your grain glow gold and run deep
for ruin holds this day and devours the moon.tumblr_njkyxgsohE1txde3xo1_1280

Marooned Midst Bones

that wave, it was a sneaker-wave for sure!
standing by the ocean, rhythms, pulses
aligning and consonant.

I thought I could turn my back.
I thought space meant the same thing
to me as it did to you.

I didn’t know it was a place-holder word
for displacement, for excoriation
for vituperation and vitriol.

I looked at cliffs high, formidable,
but scaleable, niches in sandstone
hidden but implied in long familiar places.

But that wave, it came outta nowhere
and it was slick and befouled in the dark
by the contents of leaky toxic ships foreign and domestic.

It nearly killed me, but even more startling
was how it devastated those sandy heights (bluffs)
and obliterated every way up, no matter how faint

and took all that sand in its oily slick greedy grip
and washed it into my sanctuaries, tender and sacred,
as I foundered on bones where the beach once lay soft.

Imagine my shock and horror when I  dragged myself
back home only to find the Sahara had invaded
on cirocco blasts of hatred wearing masks of honesty.

One Year Ago

We were connected and vital, and love flowed
we were enough for our lack and love covered all
we heard our hearts speak louder than hate
and louder than failure and laughed in the night
and tender was our time, we thought would last


“‘They never built these places with winter in mind’
Out the window down the gray road
You can see old walled monastery
Now become a barracks for the paramilitary police”

Suicide Bonfire

By the dawn’s early light
I see the faint track of passing deer
o’ershadowed by padding soft cougar prints,
and I leave behind what I so proudly hailed,
my back to that last twilight gleaming, my last one
I shall endure, or ever see.

I have conceded the fight fraught with perils
and I have left the path, to follow the trail,
the last trail, flag finally furled forever,
victim of futility and vain imagination.

I think it’s better this way, following the trail
of animals, far off the beaten human track
because that way I will not be found
or ever tracked out, and the last horror
will not be me blasted or bloated or slashed or purple

it will be a simple, puzzling absence.

The morning is blazing, gleams of blue and grey,
the air crisper and cleaner than a gunshot crack
and the beauty rolls from ridge to ridge
and my eyes fill and smudge a smidge
in sorrow and relief.

I’ll never see you again, but that is not a thing
cus hey, I haven’t seen you thru the night
and have no proof you’re even still there,
I don’t even know if I’m still here, truth be told.

The going gets tougher, the trail drops away
and I am bushwhacking thru thick thorny
fierce frolics of Scotch Broom and poison oak.
I won’t be allergic, where I am going.

Finally I find the deep copse dark,
slick with shadows, layers laid lifeless
and freshly dead in morning, and I walk to
the deeps of the bowl and hunker.

Down.  Down.  Birds dart overhead in sound and glimpse.
Down. Down.  And spacious skies descend to gulp.
Down. Down.  And ancient hills crouch low and dusty.
and me, in the hollow, growing thin, bleeding out, feeding grasses
copper and salt, tears and surrender, and sorrow on the wind.

Time will pass and my flesh becomes the dust from whence it came
and my bones will still delay, waiting for a spark, waiting for
the Flint of God to strike them, tender tinder with me finally
gone in ghostly ever-swoon,
and there they ever burn, in the night, in memory
of all that we endured, and all we were denied
and all I hope to spare you from
with this bonfire, this bonefire
releasing me in conflagrating furies
in flight to the stars above
and this tragedy stupid, mute, dumb
finally finished.tumblr_ncw0xjvGW41rhrouno1_500