In The Slanted Dust

Language straining paralytic,
thrashing around in a kerfuffle
of dust and cant and sorrow…

exhausting itself and
still and side by desperate
side with Experience…

As Melody
eludes the lack
of knowing hands
delicate and stands
free and unfettered
and still a Mystery
to Language, to
Experience

Ears made for melodies
run to dance and spin
in the Slanted Dust.

Kind, Beautiful, and Foolish

 

“beauty will save the world.”tumblr_n8ifvafz7z1tqm397o1_1280I read that and went on tilt
tilt permanently.

And when I repeated it?
I discovered this:

“beauty is an incommunicable mystery”Abstract-Illustrations1we worship Her simulacrum
in fashion/beauty businesses
we dissect Her til She’s become
a body flayed and labeled, neat
or purely abstract notion sweet
or distinct but distant divine Tweet.

Beauty, oh Beauty,
my blood and bones
inescapable essence
of my inmost being!7d72d822f5ac322c9286b2d3af488ca5-d8z8ojpYour hand gives help not harm,
mercy sweet for malice-charm,
forgiveness never ending
in the midst of endless non-forgivings
who think me idiotic because
I will not join in the feast
disparaging, destructive
and ugly in the noggins
and practice of those thoughts!

Beauty, let me take what’s cruel,
what’s discarded by the fool
and spin it into treasure bright
and I will caper in the night
become Sweet Beauty’s Ever-Fool!tumblr_nrkyd44pqv1sooy9go1_1280My blood, beautiful foolish flow
spilt from this creamy skin so torn,
stripped away and splattering
upon the dismal dusty ground,
each crimson drop hung glittering
in crystal sun and pregnant with
the chance to drink of God right now
and They imbibe our Grateful Vow!

My face, my bloody hands, my crowns
once mourning, heavy ashes dark
now shining in Her presence sweet,
I cast those crowns down at Her feet
I wash with Oils of Joy and praise
that repair ruined cities there
and step into the gaping breachtumblr_nr0nudVxoI1qas1mto9_r2_1280with cups of cool water sweet
with words like stained glass murals bold
my heart a great cathedral, gold
me with my shards sat at Her feet
my offering of helpless thrall
for She is become all…my all.

And Incarnation sounds that horn
Participate, and come partake!
Imbibe glory, intoxicating!
For it’s Beauty, Beauty saving
all the crushed, cut down, outcast!
Day is come!  Night is passed!!378e8e09c257b65920602dcbf1f17dbc-d8vi64lFor Beauty will push through and soar
high above this broken shore
transcending all our ugliness
in our following, courageous
and pressing thru the mystery
to find the stairs of transcendence
and be reflections of that Beauty

“beauty will save the world.”tumblr_nr8uf1duJA1thfeewo1_500

 

 

 

The Gates of Departure

I feel odd, dislocated
for no reason visible
or known, when I am
about to enter thru
the gates of departure…tumblr_nptr07xEoF1risr9ko1_1280
connections of time and place
and meaning, these I shall miss
though they are not yet gone
they tremble on the cusp
of the convergence of now and thentumblr_npvcrhO0Gq1qat5pio1_500
I imagine the person I will be
and start to miss the person that
I am before I am
even gone but somehow I am
in that when then right now.
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It’s because I know it
in my bones deep
that I will never be
this way, ever again
and that is such a mystery.
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Homecoming

If you are a skeptic be careful
when you stroll by the sea.
So much in this world
hints at so much more to be,

We are intricately bound
to this world of woven wonder
and its all-encompassing gain
bled thru the all-encompassing loss.

I am caught there,
snagged on the loom
of poetry, and poems of mourning,
poems of profound lament.

They chronicle abrupt realities
and tales of exile in this realm
under the sun, and never new
and they go silent, choked on vanity.tumblr_niwavp4zff1qllucco3_1280

You see, I am skeptical of happiness and yet
I am also skeptical of sorrow, that mere
A to Z acrostic of grief and loss expressed,
because it has its built in default limit.

These our exiled lives in disarray,
spirits torn out of our homes
and singing songs of misery
much deeper than we can endure?

These our exiled lives of aching mystery?
This pert uncertainty?
This frank finality?
This haunting history?Image 001

It ends with bleeding blossoming,
our longing for that shining home
that waits across the water
and that notion, bright as noontime.

and that foggy haunting certainty,
that aching homely homesickness
that sings a deeper song unceasing…
All that tells us home is there

and waiting our return.tumblr_neiigsKwTx1rktvico1_1280

 

 

Mystery

The horse we ride through this dark night
of velvet shadows, points of light shine
swimming high above us there,
those flying hooves running on air
to lift us up into that Where
and When and Why, and flowy-free
we ride the back of Mystery…

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Advent Poem: The Season of Expectancy

tumblr_n4xx9l5k781tqglaio1_1280
I’m homesick for a Blue Place
that might not be real…
but I know it is.

It has to be!

It floats here,
Azure in my silver
longing heart unsinkable
and it’s scarlet voice calls
from Beyond into beyond,
to that Place
I have never been
but can describe
oh so very well,

down to tittery wine
that brings all joy
but never leaves
hangovers in its wake
and the drippy bread that breaks
crusty with truthful crunch
and fills you up
without filling you out.tumblr_nd3f1fcRM41sktpb4o1_500

Slow down, to open
quick windows 
of awareness
and 
be of thick spiritual health.

Find jubilant quiet Mystery
inside stillness’s expectant embrace,
the only Place that God’s own Face
can safely show Itself, It’s Grace.

God’s Grace, God’s Face,
an infant among us…
Good God with us
(a freaking BABY??!!??!)…
a disruptive Mystery
wedged into reality
and stuck in the craw of dismay.

Where only They can fit.tumblr_ng0upkntmb1sn5m44o3_1280

But Mystery, even a disruptive one
(no…especially a disruptive one!!)
is well worth

stillness,
wonder,
contemplation.

This Mystery is rich enough
to make us stop and wait,
and is poor enough
to catch out all pretenders
greedy for gain alone
and thus lost of soul.

God has stepped into our world
to dig us out of every prison
we disguised as snug burrows
and cozy hobbit holes.tumblr_nepxwwD5ae1t0vssco1_500

Listen.
If you cannot hear it
you will miss it.

Make room.
Divest yourself
of lists and budgets
and endless holiday labor
and fretful commotion and
freeze-dried contentment.

Contemplate
empty your heart
and your hands of stuff,
of chaos, of injustice and
hatred, death and despair.

It’s the season of Expectancy
so heavy in the air, and that is
miracle enough, from there…

from Blue…and from Beyond.

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