The Hidden Mercy

The wall creeps back in the night,

She loved the wilderness. She lived the wilderness.

The actions of the many have guided us.

Like our ancestors, we seek the Song.

There is a voice upon the waters.

I turn to you.

The people have forgotten.

I wandered far, seeking for the Song.

The mountains loom above the horizon.

I am lifted up by Her holy word.

There is a darkness

Blood calls to blood. But the water answers.

The mountains move. The seas part.

Between the hunter and the stag

There is nothing that is not known to the heart.

May She walk in light.

It is time again for miracles.

August 6

It is time again for miracles.

Let us declare our holy desperation to the gods,

And let us scale the crumbling walls

And shout our disdain at the state of things.

This world is made of corrugated iron

And half-remembered visions of freedom,

Glimpsed once and chased forever more.

We will cast down the idols of mediocrity

And leave only silence in their stead,

A silence pregnant with the possibility

That we were meant to be here,

Meant to love and laugh and destroy

That which condemns joy and speaks

Only of gain and loss and dull efficiency.

We will dream so loudly that we can hear each other

Over the crash and clatter of complacency.

We will live, once and forever more.

They say the way that can be walked

August 6

They say the way that can be walked
Is not the true way,
But I have to take a next step anyways.

They say the way that can be spoken
Is not the true way,
But I gotta use words when I talk to you.

In emptiness we are filled.
In desperation we are redeemed.
In fire we are reborn.

The true way is
A mixed metaphor,
A fool's game,
A tilted windmill.

It's also worth it.

Exiles in the garden,

August 4

Exiles in the garden, Saturn's lost children, we spin circles of hopelessness and deceit, spending our coin on the only thing in the realm that fades, the only thing that time can touch, false idols, golden calves and silver mirrors, offerings to ourselves that we may placate our own hungry ghosts with the promise of just one more, forgetting that the first one more was what got us here in the second place, slaves to a god that hears, understands, and doesn't give a damn, and frankly, it's enough, enough light to see by and love to live by and loss to put by, storing up dreams for a sunny day when the light blinds us and the loss finds us and we forget neither where we were going or where we came from but rather why any of it matters at all.

Believe me when I say that it does.

In my boredom, I steal from the gods.

July 26

In my boredom,
I steal from the gods.

I knock down the headstones
of my idols,
rummaging for ticket stubs
and stripclub match books.

I need to know
if they were real like I am,
or more real:
actually present in the flow of life.

Tired phrases tumble from the ashtray,
a mismatch of alibis and metaphor.

I pocket the scuffed ones, the sad ones,
and leave the rest for the cleaners to find.

I slip out the back,
and forget I was ever there.

Surrender, Believe, Pray, Repeat.

July 25

Surrender,
Believe,
Pray,
Repeat.

Even simple things can be hard.

But easy things aren't worth much.

I struggle with my own worth.

Something happened, long ago, and it left a scar that hurts even now.

Or maybe it was a thousand somethings, each leaving its own tiny scar.

Either way, something inside me is broken.

I don't hate myself, I just don't much like myself.

I don't want to die, I just don't much want to live.

I don't want to scare you, I just want to be honest.

I wrestled an angel last night.

July 24

I wrestled an angel last night.

She told me her name was despair.

She warned me I had wilderness yet to wander.

I protested, what about Egypt?

She told me I didn't want to go there.

She smiled and continued, telling me of signs and wonders, of golden calfs and temples within.

I told her the Temple had been built and burned and built again.

She offered me honey. I asked her for locusts.

She laughed again, rivers running with blood.

A trumpet sounded in the distance, seven times, then once more.

She seem afraid for but a moment, and asked how many days had passed.

I told her, as many days as there are sons of the blade on the mountain.

A lamb wandered by, it's fleece glinting golden in the swelling sun.

Her voice rang out in silence, speaking of miracles remembered yet unheeded.

Her silence rang out even louder, as though it were the ninth hour on the hill of the skull.

Mountains crumbled like dreams at dawn, forests burned like clouds at sunset, and the land cowered like a rose at midnight.

I wrestled an angel last night. That angel was myself.

Watching Hunter Street,

July 24

Watching Hunter Street,
Americano in hand:
Tiny shiny things.

Something within me balks

July 24

Something within me balks
When I pick up the pen.

The walls inside tremble at its stroke,
And I tremble with them.

Mightier than the sword indeed,
For what sword could free me from myself?

But freedom chills,
And I would somehow sooner remain bound,

Caught up in the monotonous lies
I've woven of my life.

But still I write, my fingers dancing,
Mixing metaphors and finding ways

To convince myself that freedom
Is the better life by far.

So still I write.

A blank canvas, awaiting her arrival.

July 24

A blank canvas, awaiting her arrival.
It doesn't mock, it doesn't judge.
It just exists.

Perhaps it beckons gently,
Whispering of times past,
Of lines written and inspiration given.

And maybe today the fear isn't so sharp,
Or maybe it is and she whittles it into a point
And takes aim at her tedious desperation.

She still dreams of forest fires and butterflies.
Maybe it's time to paint them again.

How did we get so broken,

June 17

How did we get so broken,
That these cities of shattered glass
And withered dreams seem
Worth living and dying in?

Families without houses,
Junkies without rooms,
Children without hope.

How can we see the sky
With blind eyes turned to our
Own softly beating hearts?

Because our hearts must still beat,
Because still we walk and talk
As if life runs through our veins.

But in vain we look for something,
Anything, that will make us whole again.

But we can't even tell what shape the hole is,
Or what could possibly fill it
Except desperation and despair.

But the sky is still there,
High above us, and it makes me
Think that it's not over yet.

Little star,

June 9

Little star,
You don't need to
Hold on to
Your pain.

Let the wind
Carry it away,
And let the sun
Plant healing.

Let the river
Wash you clean,
And let the rain
Bring the blossoms.

Little star,
Hold on.
We need you.

Drifting softly behind the dawn

June 6

Drifting softly behind the dawn
Comes the promise of redemption.

I turn from the open gate
And return to my still
Slumbering garden.

The colours faded long ago,
Wind and rain conspiring
To wash them away.

There is so little left,
Especially when I close my eyes.

The wall creeps back in the night,

April 25

The wall creeps back in the night, like an occupying army invited but unsought. The people had decided, had chosen willing openness over suffocating self-will. But the wall will not fall so easily. It cannot be dismantled from within. So the people pray. They seek the guidance of something outside the wall, something greater, something higher. But when they forgot the song, they also lost most of how to pray. The asking was simple. The receiving was hard. The people were consumed with a seeming paradox: the wall stood in the way of prayer, but only prayer could remove it. And so the people pray.

The Isaac question Still perplexes me.

April 20

The Isaac question
Still perplexes me.

The knife is sharp,
The altar prepared.

The angel has spoken.
And yet...

Abraham holds the blade.
Not God.

I almost died,

April 20

I almost died,
Trying to live out a lie.
I'm not going back.

The summer the well went dry,

April 19

The summer the well went dry,
We turned our eyes
In supplication up to the sky,
Forgetting that God was in our hearts.

We begged for rain,
Imploring God to remember us,
As we forgot the covenant
We had already been granted.

Faith is a process,
Not a destination.

And faith is difficult,
Though it is simple.

The summer the well went dry,
We remembered how to pray.

Father, I spent my whole life

April 18

Father,
I spent my whole life
Trying to please you.

Trying to avoid your
Disapproval and harsh words.

You say you always loved me,
But somehow I never felt that you did.

There's so much trauma
That I didn't even know
Was there,
And now you've shut the door.

On the day I was finally ready
To be open and honest,
You decided that you
Were done listening.

That's on you.

The young god always

April 16

The young god always
Finds his way back. But will we
Believe his story?

Three trees, growing in

April 15

Three trees, growing in
A place of darkness. Tell me,
What is redemption?

Faith is founded in

April 14

Faith is founded in 
Love. God loves us, and so we
Reflect that love back.

I pray that I walk in the Light of the Day.

April 14

I pray that I walk in the Light of the Day.
To walk in the Light, for this I pray.

I pray that my ego be stripped away.
To let go of my ego, for this I pray.

I pray I hear the words Your People say.
To embrace the Truth, for this I pray.

I pray I have faith to walk the Way.
To strengthen my faith, for this I pray.

I pray I see Your Love wherever I may.
To surrender to Love, for this I pray.

Knowing is not the

April 13

Knowing is not the
Same as accepting. One takes
Faith and surrender.

There's nothing better

April 11

There's nothing better
Than love. Love heals. Love accepts.
Love has saved my life.

The best way to change

April 10

The best way to change
The world is to change ourselves.
Love has taught me that.

New meds. Drifting through

April 9

New meds.
Drifting through
The weirdness again
Of my mind getting
Better, but the
Newness feels
Worse.

I've been here
Before, and the
Trick is to watch
It pass without
Holding too
Tightly or
Worrying too
Much.

Kind of like
Life.

I don't know what it's

April 7

I don't know what it's 
Going to take to heal, so
I just keep praying.

Prayer without action Isn't worth much.

April 8

Prayer without action
Isn't worth much.

But action without prayer
Is even worse.

The first is often a way
To soothe our troubled conscience,
While the second is a way to
Satisfy our unexamined desires.

The world has a surfeit of action.
People everywhere are scrambling to
Do the right thing.

But so few ask
What the right thing to do
Really is.

And that's where prayer comes in.
Prayer is not begging some
Old man in the sky
To grant all your wishes.

Prayer is opening up
To something greater
Than ourselves,
And being willing to listen.

If we're going to make
It through all this,
I think we all need to pray more.

Morning time bird song.

April 6

Morning time bird song.
The world is waking up and
Slowly so am I.

Take Time Out

April 5

Take Time Out

They want to see us keep

Our eyes on the ground

And our shoulders to the wheel.

They don't want us to see

That there are others all around,

Struck with the same despair we feel.

Take Time Out

Bread and circuses have danced

For millenia, to keep us from seeing

That a better world is in our grasp.

As long as we pay, we won’t advance.

But we can create a new way of being.

Their poisons will not last.

Take Time Out

Time to love, time to heal,

Time to listen, time to feel.

Time to hope, time to achieve,

Time to pray, time to believe.

Take Time Out

The trauma makes The poems come slowly.

April 5

The trauma makes
The poems come slowly.

Most of my poems
Bubble up from under
The surface of my mind,
Deeper than conscious
Thought likes to go.

But lately, down there,
My mind has been reeling
With pain and hurt,
The legacy of 30 years of trauma,
Unacknowledged and unhealed.

And so the poems come slowly.
But they do still come.

What I need in my life

April 3

What I need in my life
Is serenity.
And so I pray.

What I need in my life
Is courage.
And so I pray.

What I need in my life
Is wisdom.
And so I pray.

What I need in my life
Is Her.

And that prayer has
Been answered.

Friends, I want you to know That I believe in you all.

April 2

Friends, I want you to know
That I believe in you all.

You are all beautiful
Children of the stars,
Full of potential and glory.

I have total faith
In your ability to
Live the life you've
Always dreamed of.

We all walk crooked
Paths, but I know
We all have the
Way in our hearts.

I know you're
Gonna make it.

I believe in you.

The rains come, As they always do.

April 1

The rains come,
As they always do.
She can bend,
Or try and fight the rain.
One path is the Way.

I gave up on politics,

April 1

I gave up on politics,
Like kicking a bad habit,
Or walking away from a friend
That promises the world
But always bails on you.

Instead, I'm trying to be the change,
To help the people
In my community that need it most.

Like myself.

It works a fuck of a lot better
Than ballot boxes and
Letters to politicians.

And playing the game
By their rules
Never felt right to me.

We grasp time

April 1

We grasp time
So tightly, as if through
Sheer force of will
We can preserve the
Present moment as a
Diamond, flawless and perfect.

But we know it doesn't
Work that way.
We have to let go
If we are to find the
Gems that truly matter.

Optimism is a fragile flower.

April 1

Optimism is a fragile flower.
We plant the seed and pray it grows.
But in that prayer,
optimism has already blossomed.

And in the end our words matter.

April 1

And in the end our words matter.
They make the world.
They hurt.
They heal.
They start wars and they bring peace.
They explain and they deny.
They are the building blocks of all our stories.
And what is the world but stories spoken in the darkness?
Our words matter.

Some days, the poems don't

April 1

Some days, the poems don't
Come very easily. This
Is one of those days.

Fallen snow on the

March 31

Fallen snow on the
Astroturf. Tiny grass is
Still dreaming, softly.

They still speak, if we are brave enough to listen.

March 31

They still speak, if we are brave enough to listen.

No amount of hardship and abuse can stop us from hearing their voices.

But how we react to our trauma can.

It hurts. It fucking hurts. And the voices tell us it doesn't have to be this way.

But we're scared. We're fucking terrified.

Something in us would rather the familiar agony of the darkness than the unknown peace of the light.

But still we have to try. And it gets harder when we do. And it hurts even more.

But everything we long for is on that other shore.

If we put our faith in the place from where the voices come, we will survive crossing that river.

We will be reborn.

And when we do, we will find ourselves back where we have started, and see it for the first time.

Trust me when I say it's worth it.

I'm still praying for the water.

March 31

I'm still praying for the water.

I pray every day we wake up and realize what we're doing to Her.

I pray we remember She birthed us and sustains us every day of our lives.

I pray we stop dumping our hatred and industrial byproducts into Her rivers and oceans.

I pray we learn to live in harmony with Her.

I pray She forgives us.

Love can save us if

March 30

Love can save us if
We are willing to let go
Of our fear of it.