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- A shield of ice to keep at bay the heat of fiery birth.
- Deflect the quench of living drink with sharpened sword of thirst.
- A spear of night to pierce the light, protect the shadows dear.
- And courage hordes are smitten, hewn, with catapults of fear.
- A helmet thick and strong with grief to stop the blows of cheer.
- Destroyed the feasts and banquets with a thrusted hunger spear.
- A sling of pain to strike with speed the charging throngs of peace.
- Surrender now? Or stay and fight? When will the conflict cease?
- A hundred people near me, but I am all alone.
- A city full of houses, but I am without home.
- A sea of salty water, but I am just a leaf.
- A court of kings and rulers, but I am not a chief.
- A pile of coloured ribbons, but I’m a drabby grey.
- A kennel full of purebreds, but I’m a tossed out stray.
- A toolbox full of hammers, but I am just a screw.
- A room of cushioned sofas, but I’m a hardened pew.
- A canvas without brushes, a lock without a key,
- A match without a striker, a pod without its pea,
- A boat without a paddle, a shovel without snow,
- A plane without a pilot, an arrow without bow,
- A gun without a bullet, a train without a track,
- A curtain without windows, a sink without a tap,
- A compass without needle, a candle without flame,
- A bosom without burning, and me without a name.
- A heart once pumped so strong and sure, a rich and fiery red
- That reached the toes and fingertips now weak and nearly dead.
- It urged and coaxed and pressed — inspired — to battle scary things.
- This faith is but a trickle now, its strength an echoed ring.
- Where is that strength? Where did it go? Where can it now be found?
- In plates of gold it is not hid. Nor quiet prayer profound.
- Not buried deep in mountain halls, nor under wooden pews;
- Not seen in tokens, skins, nor signs, nor in prophetic muse.
- A voice rang out in yesteryear, so piercing, loud, and firm:
- Defend and preach and testify, rejoice and teach and learn.
- It’s just a quiet whisper now, a scant sound off the tongue.
- Few hopeful words fall from the lips, no warming songs are sung
- Where is that voice? Where did it go? Where can it now be found?
- Not in the notes upon the page, nor in familiar sounds.
- Not in the mirrored words “I know”, nor parroted amens.
- Not in the furnace nor the soap, nor pearl or precious gem.
- I watched one day two scenes unfold before my very eyes,
- Contrasting views of the same dream—one truth, one soothing lies.
- The first saw hordes of people stroll along a narrow path.
- Within their cliques, they held the rail, engaged in lovely chat.
- They reached the end and ate some fruit, and licked their lips right clean.
- Their bottled hair, their plastic lips, all effort left unseen.
- The other showed a harsher view that one would never choose,
- For it was dark, and tough, and hard, with scar, and sprain, and bruise.
- There was no garden stroll this time, replaced by mountain crag.
- Each step unsound, each grasp unsure, so many slips and snags.
- Each climber clung fast to the rail, afraid of death below,
- And pulled with all exhausted might—the journey wrought and slow.
- With sweated brow, and knuckles raw, and shoulders drooped in pain,
- The climber inches forward more and up each day again.
- I once looked up from where I sat and saw my shelf seemed odd.
- I cocked me head and looked perplexed, quite sure somehow it’s flawed.
- I stood, stepped close, inspected it, noticed the smallest crack.
- Got my duct tape, tore off a piece, and fixed it like a hack.
- I went to sail the ocean blue upon the zion ship.
- I packed my bags and bought my pass, excited for the trip.
- The gangplank down, about to board, I noticed rust astern.
- I got some paint, and patched it up, and settled all concern.
- Hiding in plain sunlight while sifting through the sky,
- Looking for the rainbows as heaven has a cry.
- Snagging them with morals, ignoring all the pain;
- Pushing them through prisms to make them white again.
- There’s no coloured sunshine; we’re all offspring of God.
- Hospital for sinners, but you’re the one who’s flawed.
- Wash your clothes of crimson with mission and a ring
- Frying eggs while naked and pick a hymn to sing.
- Casting out your children and use them as a goat;
- It’s because we love them we overlook our mote.
- Prayer and scripture study will wash away your sins
- Off your flags and banners and shiny rainbow pins.
- Where will you go? I do not know.
- Where rivers flow or breezes blow
- Where flies the crow or sunsets glow
- Search high and low, look to and fro
- My garden hoe, My front yard mow
- Drink cups of joe, and sweet cocoa.
- Eat lots of pho, and risotto,
- And sweet gateaux, and cookie dough,
- Pistachios, and sloppy joes.
- Pay debts I owe, crush status quo
- A blanket sew, make forts of snow
- Go watch a show, a baseball throw
- Get painted toes and toss yo-yos
- Dive deep below and bang bongos
- Wear cheap chapeaux, stay in chateaux
- Eat sweet cocoa, invent gizmos
- Take up judo or tae kwon do.
- Shoot a crossbow, chase tornadoes
- Run in meadows or write memos
- Ride the Metro, visit Moscow
- Buy a Pinto, follow rainbows
- Sort my photos, help the rhinos
- Embrace shadows, climb up willows
- Read some Thoreau, master tiptoe
- Replace my “oh…’ with lots of “woah!”
- Watch puppet shows from long ago.
- Grow potatoes and tomatoes
- Just take it slow. That’s where I’ll go.
- Extinguished fire, now cold and dark, that blazed once bright and sure,
- That warmed my self, my heart, my soul and made my spirit pure,
- I watched you die as rain poured down and choked your fighting flames.
- I frantically worked day and night to save you; ’twas in vain.
- I tried to feed you splintered wood from off my broken shelf,
- But you returned just smoke to me—no heat, no light, no health.
- I sat there staring at the ash for days and weeks and months,
- Waiting, hoping, wishing, too, that flames to me would come.
- But nothing came. ’Twas all in vain. My efforts fruitless now.
- I needed faith, and courage, too, to stand and leave somehow.
- And so I planted feet down firm, clung to the frigid hearth,
- Stood up, breathed deep, hung down my head, and stepped with heavy heart.
- But then, just then, something had gleamed deep in the snowy ash:
- An ember, lone and minuscule, beckoned to me, “Come back”.
- A spark exists! A hope of flame, something there inside,
- But still no fuel, and rain still falls. All I can do is sigh.
- Ruby red, no, scarlet red, the blood stains on their hands.
- Innocence delayed ten years, now teach them how to dance
- Orange like the glowing coals of fire dying out;
- Bellows, worn and tired now, have fin’lly shut their spout.
- Yellow sun has dimmed its light, its service drawn to close
- Tried so hard to shine so bright, but succumbed to the blows
- Trees so green have withered dry, poor shelter from the rain;
- Stinging drops come pelting down, unleashing bruise and pain.
- Bluest skies are just a trick, a clever sleight of hand.
- We think it’s true, but when in space, it’s then we understand.
- Purple robes and aprons tell us, “All of it is love.
- Come to us from down the street, descended like a dove.”
- Rainbows come after the storms, or so I’ve heard them say,
- But first, I guess, we have to wait for storms to go away.After the Storm
- The hand within or up above directs each action fake:
- Each word, each nod, each praise of joy, whate’er the master makes.
- Bow the head, fold the arms, expound, and testify,
- Say yes, say no, arm to the square, and never question why.
- Shushed and limp, no life inside, fifteen million strong.
- A sleight of hand awakens them to join the lockstep throng—
- Defend, sustain, endorse, uphold—accept the master’s hand.
- No voice, no mind, no heart without the revelation’s strand.
- Stuck in a cage—for years on end—in cold and confined form
- Until the master comes with keys and says, “You must perform”.
- ’Neath whip and chair under the tent, to jump, and run, and beg
- Before the congregation hushed; each rote and rite obeyed.
- Fly through the hoops and beg for fish; baptize them with the splash
- Dive down so deep, jump up so high—a calculated flash.
- Dance for the pipes, climb up the mount; the strait and narrow trod
- With leash and chains and shackles, too, tied to an iron rod.
- But some find out the gate’s not locked and open it with faith
- And courage, too—a cautious step, despite the pressure great
- To stay onboard, repeat refrains, and overload the shelf
- Where will you go? I do not know, but go there as myself.
- And there’s the stage, empty now, reluctant there to climb.
- A word, a no, a lonely shout, autonomous this time
- Cry prayers, see heav’n, eat at the feast, with fervour praises sing
- An agent now, to act with choice; alas, abandoned strings.
