For the First Time

I read their poems,
I feel their rage,
I see their sadness,
I understand their frustration,
I know their darkness;

I have been where they are,

I have been on that side
of the fence,
like a giant vacuum,
it sucks you into
the deep murky mire,
while echoes below
cry out from within,
visions of madmen
standing on the platform,
waiting for a train
that never comes;

I have been to their edge.

This body fades,
for the first time
words come to life,
for the first time
the possibilities
far outweigh the
realities;

for the first time
I am clean.

The pain grows,
you hold it inside
like a deformed child,
locked away,
out of sight,
out of mind;

no one listens,
no one sees,
no one understands;

but You.
.
.

Part of the Cost

Southern boys like their trucks
clean and sweet,
moaning and groaning;

like fresh young virgins
on warm Saturday nights.

Dreamers dream,
lovers love,
sleepers sleep,
inside we all silently weep,

part of the cost,
part of the loss.

Kingdoms crumble,
melting like sand castles
beneath mighty ocean waves,
crashing violently upon
white sugary beaches,
stranding aqua blue jelly fish
for all eternity;

part of the cost,
part of the loss.

Haughty, petulant children
search in vain
for honor and truth
among lost ruins
and ancient halls
of perfect darkness,
never finding,
never knowing,
never understanding;

part of the cost,
part of the loss.

So many memories,
so much lost
along the way,
we try to hang on,
we hold on
with everything we have,
but in the end
they fade away
like the early morning mist
before the
noon day sun,
and all that is left
are echoes,
silently bouncing
off empty
forgotten walls;

part of the cost,
part of the loss.

There is no hiding
in this solitary world
called life,
no sanctuary,
no turning back,
through it all,
You continue to look down,
through it all,
You stand by my side.

You are the beginning,
You are the end,
You are all there is,
do not leave me here Lord,
do not forsake me,
hear my plea,
forgive my transgressions,
deliver me from evil ways;

bring me home to You.
.
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Confessions of a Mad Poet

He writes so eloquently,
with all the proper provenance,
all the MFA’s and PhD’s,
yet reading his work
is like running on a treadmill,
no matter how much effort you put into it;

you always end up
right where you began.

I suppose at one time it was different,
prior to the formal training and academic nonsense,
with all its self-proclaimed knowledge
and airs of superiority,
I’m sure the words flowed naturally and free,
taking the reader on a journey
into never before seen,
 far-away lands;

but then the education got in the way.

I have tried all the natural highs,
all the mind-expanding techniques
and self-promoting exercises,
all the little tricks of the trade;

alcohol works the best.

Sometimes I almost forget,
but then a song comes
on the radio,
an old video clip is played,
something is said,
and like tiny bubbles
in a bubble machine
memories rise,
it is then that I remember,
when it
all comes back;

the loneliness,
the isolation,
the sadness,
the darkness,
all night diners,
coffee and eggs
at 3 in the morning,
oncoming headlights,
the empty road,
the feeling of being unlike
everything and everyone,
the searching,
the attraction to
dark and mysterious things,
endless shots of whiskey,
never satisfied,
never enough,
always wanting more,
more, more,
standing at the edge of nothing,
peering into it’s oblivious perfection,
breathing deep
the intoxicating scent,
understanding the futility,
seeing through the myth,
fighting back the inevitable.

Sometimes the strangeness
became overwhelming,
all the differences,
the inner silence,
the unspoken words,
it’s a miracle
I never became a serial killer,
a deranged lunatic
hiding out in public places,
waiting for a single nod,
a lone wink,
singular acknowledgement;

silent peace.

Yes, sometimes I almost forget,
almost, but not quite,
it has been such a long time,
but it was never about fortune
or fame,
not about store bought
hypocrisy or
witty, tongue twisting words,
riding on the coattails
of expensive, inconsequential degrees,
complete with lifetime supplies
of picture-perfect, post-card image,
Vermont farms
and summers on the Cape;

it was so much more.

All I ever wanted
was to know that
somebody was listening,
someone saw through
the technical difficulties,
past the political correctness,
beyond incorrect commas
or questionable capitalization,
seeing something more than
paper and ink,
seeing the life
beating within the pages
of endless, mind-numbing sentences,
someone who could grasp the treasure
buried beneath the trash,
all I ever wanted is the same thing
every mad, raving, delusional, twisted,
scum-sucking, self-pitying poet wants:

to be heard!

I gave them passion
but they only wanted bullshit,
I gave them agony and defeat
but they only wanted bullshit,
I tried love,
I tried hate,
I tried darkness,
I tried light;

but they only wanted bullshit;

bullshit,
bullshit,
bullshit,

words to soothe
their bullshit minds,
pictures to fill
their bullshit lives,
paper with which to wipe
their bullshit asses;

self-made bullshit titles,
hiding behind unknown
bullshit presses
ending in ‘ville’
or ‘stanley’,
new paradigms,
publishing for the masses;

bullshit,
bullshit,
bullshit.

We are hanging on,
everyone of us,
waiting for just the
right moment,
ready to leap
whenever the chance
presents itself;

we are all hanging on.

They say death is cruel,
but usually it brings
hidden blessings,
when life no longer nourishes,
when words are not enough,
even non-educated fools
can understand the basics,
it does not require
above average intelligence,
it is not a learned affair;

it is something so much
more.
.
.

Romans 12:21

Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

Ephesians 6:11-12

In the depths of my carnal mind
the master of darkness softly speaks,
quietly searching for weakness and flaws,
silently planting his evil seeds;

seeds of lust and temptation,
seeds of doubt and fear,
seeds of hatred and anger,
seeds of revenge and retribution;

corrupting and twisting the truth,
clouding all that is real,
tearing down and destroying
until there is nothing left within,
building walls and divisions
between my brother and I,
putting words of venomous hate
on the tip of my imperfect tongue,
attempting to devastate and waste
all that is good,
all that is pure,
all that is holy and righteous;

all that is from God.

You patiently discipline and rebuke,
until at last I am able to understand;
providing the light for my blinded eyes
while gently holding my trembling hand;
guiding my feeble and wavering steps
as I slowly learn to stand.

Raise me up above the filth and mire,
hold me in Your mighty arms,
remove the darkness surrounding my soul;

teach me to not be overcome by evil
but to overcome evil with good.
.
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Do Not Fear

Alone in the shadows,
lost with no way home,
frightened and confused,
heading for destinations unknown;

do not worry,
do not fear;

God is near.

In the darkness,
in the light,
within the sorrow,
within the joy,
through the suffering,
through the pain,
through times both good and bad;

do not worry,
do not fear;

God is near.

All things pass,
all things fade,
but His mercy endures forever,
His love knows no bounds,
so rest your tired head
my troubled and frightened child;

do not worry,
do not fear;

God is near.
.
.

Sanctuary

The touch returns,
the cold black night closes in,
dogs return to their vomit,
sows freshly cleaned
wallow in the mire once again,
am I really so far,
will I ever escape
from these prison walls
surrounding me now?

And yes now I see,
now I know
just how far it goes,
just how costly it becomes,
what fools we are;

trapped within snares
of our own doing.

I see my life play out,
I remember all the wrong decisions,
I relive all the wasted opportunities,
I count up all the lost minutes;

and I am so tired.

The darkness waits
once more,
thick and black,
silently enveloping my soul,

does no one see?
does no one know?
does no one care?

Everything fades,
everything passes by
like shadows in the night,
everything changes
with the morning dawn,
save me O Lord,
let me rest in Your powerful arms,
let me find sanctuary
within Your sacred walls;

bring me home to You.
.
.

You Are All There Is

From this time many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him. “You do not want to leave too, do you?” Jesus asked the Twelve. Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We believe and know that you are the Holy One of God.”                                                                                                                         John 6:66-69

Dark clouds on the horizon,
the storm rapidly approaches,
no escape,
no where left to run;

eventually the end
catches us all.

Within Your sanctuary
I seek shelter,
You are my safe haven,
my only refuge,
to You alone do I run;

You are all there is.

Time grows short,
soon there will be
nothing left,
I wait for the day,
I long to be
where You are,
there is nothing else,
I cannot escape
even if I wanted to;

You are all there is.

Lord, I am so lost,
I am so blind,
I am so hopeless,
I am so pathetic,
I am so helpless,
without You
I am nothing;

You are all there is.

You teach me truth,
cutting through all
the hypocrisy and hate,
giving the example;

You are all there is.
.
.

Once Again (Luke 5:8)

Back in the gutter,
covered with filth and stench,
full of dark angry thoughts,
pointing fingers,
passing unfounded judgment;

once again.

Wrapped up in the cares of this world,
thinking of short term solutions,
lost in the self absorbing pity,
searching for flesh driven answers,
drowning in vanity and pride;

once again;

go away from me Lord,
I am a sinful man!

Instead You reach out Your mighty hand,
pulling me from the murky quagmire,
softly whispering in my ear:

“Don’t be afraid,”

once again.

O Lord,
I don’t know why You suffered and died
for someone like me,
but I know that You did;
I don’t know how someone like You
could love someone like me,
but I know that You do;
and I don’t know
how someone as perfect as You,
could save someone like me,
from the fate which I so undeniably deserve,
but I know that You will;

thank You my Holy Lord,
praise Your mighty name,
all glory to You,
forever and ever.
.
.

Greater

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.

Romans 8:37

Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”

Matthew 19:26

You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world.

I John 4:4

I awake in the middle
of the dark, silent night,
helpless and afraid,
surrounded by the still and quiet depths,
overcome by the worries and cares,
reminded of an uncertain tomorrow,
fearful of all that lies beyond my control,
then You softly speak,
filling me with Your love,
overwhelming me with Your grace,
cleansing me of sin,
restoring my soul,
reminding me that I will never be alone;

that with You there is no condemnation,
no rejection.

I sometimes wonder
just where this road is leading,
and I know no matter what lies ahead
You will see me through,
You will be by my side,
You will provide a way,
through every trial,
through every test,
You are there,
holding me up
when I can no longer stand,
providing strength
when there is nothing left;

through You I am more than a conqueror,
through You all things are possible,
through You I am greater than the world.
.
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Job 38

Then the Lord answered Job out of the storm. He said: “Who is this that darkens my counsel with words without knowledge? Brace yourself like a man; I will question you, and you shall answer me. Where were you when I laid the earth’ foundation? Tell me if you understand. Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know! Who stretched a measuring line across it? On what were its footings set, or who laid its cornerstone – while the morning stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy?”             Job 38:1-7

O Lord,
how mighty are Your words,
how vast is Your wisdom,
how righteous Your judgments.

My mind cannot comprehend the greatness,
my thoughts cannot contain the immensity,
my knowledge is but a fading mist,
all my understanding but a drop
in the enormous power of Your raging fire.
.
.

Rejection

Rejection (again),
I’m beginning to think it’s a rigged game;
it’s always the same,
an apologetic form letter:

“Thank you for your submission and interest in our upcoming
anthology/monthly ezine/periodical/(fill in the blank):

‘Under the Yellow Brick Road Beside the Fallen Bridge’

however due to the tremendous volume of material submitted
we are simply unable to include them all (of course this
doesn’t mean they are not worthy of printing), we do hope
you will remember us in the future, and oh by the way;

‘Under the Yellow Brick Road ’ will be available for
the low purchase price of $9.99 in February.”

It would almost be beyond bearing
if it wasn’t so comical,
coming from editors of obscure presses
that no one has ever heard of (or ever will).

I always imagine some pathetic little man (or woman),
sitting in a cramped, seedy apartment,
with wet underwear drying on a clothes line,
signing form letters and feeling important
because they were able to scrape up enough cash
to buy a laptop and create a web page,
and now they’re an ‘EDITOR’,
putting together chap books and monthly
broadsides with the help of Staples or Kinkos,
along with a few dozen of their closest friends,
presiding over the monthly readings and critique sessions
at the local library or Barnes & Nobles,
passing judgment on everyone and everything
which does not fit their preconceived ideas or molds.

Yes, it is very comical and pathetic;
although ‘EDITOR’ does have a nice kind of ring to it;

and I have been thinking about building a webpage;

and there is a Staples right down the street;

if you can’t beat em,
might as well join em;

I sure wish that underwear
would hurry up and dry.
.
.

Aid to Haiti

The following is an email from the Nazarene Church Philadelphia District Missions President concerning aid to Haiti. As a former local church Missions President I can personally vouch for the Nazarene Church and the Philadelphia District Missions program. Any supplies you care to donate will get to those who need them. The email for Rev. Esnel Principal is listed in the email and is JeanP5@hotmail.com. Please contact him to find out how you can get supplies to him for the trip to Haiti. Thank you.

Friends...

See the notes below about medical needs for Haiti. The plan is for items to be brought to the next PCDC ( ask your pastor about the date)
If any of you want to help and need more info.... contact Pastor Esnel.
sharon T


The Maranatha Haitian Church is planning a short return trip to Haiti. They would like to deliver medical supplies as part of the relief effort. Below is a list of supplies they hope to collect over the next few weeks. If anyone would like to donate supplies, please contact Rev. Esnel Principal at JeanP5@hotmail.com


Dear Pastor Chuck,
I was speaking to Pastor Esnel and he had asked me to send you a list of medical supplies etc. that we will be needing for our trip to Haiti this year. Should you find people that want to help please let them know that these are the things that are needed.....thanks!!
Latex-free gloves
thermometers
Over the counter meds like aspirin, advil, motrin tylenol,cough meds,
allergy meds etc.
Prenatal Vitamins
Regular Vitamins for children and adults
Masks
baby diapers
Baby formula/plastic bottles
blood pressure monitors
Glucometers(blood sugar monitors)
Any used but in good condition crutches, wheelchairs, walkers
Gauzes,
Band-aids
Alcohol swabs
Cotton balls
Eyes drops
Hand sanitizer
Betadine solution

If Possible, the following would really help with the cholera outbreak:
Ringer’s Lactate 1000cc IV bags
• IV fluids
• Oral Rehydration Salts
• 24g needle IV giving sets
• Chux or absorbent bed pads
• Pedialyte
• Personal Protective Gear: Gowns, Glove
• Stool sample containers.
• Doxcycline 300mg tab
--
Sharon Thornhill
Philadelphia District NMI
.
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Perfect World

In a perfect world,
frightened, young US Marines
do not throw grenades
into unknown Iraqi homes,
killing 2 year old Iraqi babies
along with their terrified Iraqi mothers,
as they try to shield them in their arms.

In a perfect world,
true justice does no harm
to the helpless and innocent,
in a perfect world;

heroes are perfect.

When does enough become enough?
When does truth overcome lies?
When do facts matter more than fiction?
When does spin and myths
give way to reality and dead Iraqi babies?

and yes;

there are always two sides to every story,
there is always more than meets the eye,
there are always underlying and mitigating factors
which cannot be adequately understood
unless you were actually there;

but still;

there are dead Iraqi babies,
along with dead Iraqi mothers,
and frightened, young US Marines
left holding on to memories and consciences,
reciting official company lines
and other man-made truths,
while wondering inside
how everything became so twisted and wrong;

in this almost
perfect world.
.
.

Brother

When I first began organizing my writings I called what I wrote Lifesongs. When I had written enough for what I considered a volume I would start another volume and call it Lifesongs 2, Lifesongs 3, etc, etc. I am currently on Lifesongs 13. This poem is from Lifesongs 1. I remembered it today and dug it out in honor of Dr. King.

For the first time
I have seen your hurt,
I have felt your pain,
and I realize
just how wrong
I have been.

When you called out
I did not hear your voice,
when you needed help
I turned away;

and for this
I apologize.

I cannot crawl inside your skin,
I cannot know
what it is you feel,
and though we cannot be brothers in race,
can we at least try
to be brothers in life?

I need your help,
you must tell me what it is
you see wrong,
as I must tell you
what it is I see wrong,
and we both must listen,
we both must change,
we both must go to the mountaintop
so that we too
might see the vision,
that we too
might have a dream
as glorious
and wonderful
as that
of the King.
.
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Martin Luther King Day?

I wrote this several years ago when the idea of a national holiday for Dr. King was still quite controversial. I am pleased that this issue seems to have been resolved. As a footnote (and insight) for those of you who have read my book 'even Einstein knew that' Dr. King is the prophet talked about in the title poem.

Martin Luther King day?

he brought sanity
to an insane world,
created calmness
out of chaos,
peace
to a battlefield,
forgiveness
where none was deserved,
light
to a land grown black
by internal darkness;

so,

Martin Luther King day?

I would certainly think so,
or at least a floater
for the first 50 years or so;

oh,

make sure it’s on a Monday,
might as well get a long weekend out of it.
.
.

Right and Wrong

Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. Consequently he who rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgment on themselves.

Romans 13:1-2

In America being poor is a death sentence,
in America your pocket book determines
the amount of respect you receive;

in America you either love it or leave it.

Sometimes I think it is forgotten
that this nation was founded by people
who didn’t necessarily ‘love’ being
controlled by a monarch hundreds of miles away;
only instead of leaving
they fought a violent and bloody war,
or that a hundred years later
this nation was literally torn in two
as brother fought brother,
because one side didn’t ‘love’ being told
what to do by the other.

It makes me wonder just who
the real patriots are,
those who blindly accept whatever is thrown at them,
by a government growing increasingly powerful and intrusive,
or those who question every policy and decision?

but to be perfectly honest,
it doesn’t matter to me
one way or the other.

This nation and this government
are only what they are allowed to be,
by a God who created all things,
this nation does not have any more power, wealth or wisdom
than Rome, or Greece, or any of the other great civilizations before it;

like those civilizations this nation exists
only because God wills it to exist.

In colonial days
I’m sure there were preachers within the colonies
who stood up in their pulpits and declared
that those who didn’t ‘love’ being a British colony
should just leave,
just as many religious leaders of the day
branded Washington and other leaders of the revolution
as criminals and traitors,
the difference is Washington and the revolutionaries won;

and winners, not losers, write history.

They won because that was God’s will,
plain and simple,
so you should be careful who you call a criminal,
or who you tell to love it or leave it,
because you just might find yourself
on the wrong side of God’s will;

unless you presume to know more
than God Himself.

So try not to get caught up in
who is right or who is wrong,
try not to take sides
in the affairs of men at all,
seek the will of the Lord first
and trust in Him
without leaning to your own understanding,
and remember His command for us all:

As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you obey my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have obeyed my Father’s commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead I have called you friends, for everything I have learned from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit – fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. This is my command: Love each other.

John 15: 9-17

.

.

Doctrine

For the time will come when men will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead to suit their own desires, they will gather around them great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear. They will turn away from the truth and turn aside to myths.

2 Timothy 4:3-4

My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay own his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit – fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. This is my command: Love each other.

John 15: 12-17

Entire sanctification or not,
tongues or not,
special discernment,
gifts of the spirit,
mysterious new doctrines,
self-declared knowledge,
man-made wisdom,
foolish and stupid arguments,
quarreling over who is right
and who is wrong,
emotional roller coaster rides,
puffed up words fading with the dust,
vanities of the heart;

in the end
all that will be left
is love.

For now we see with imperfection,
peering through a fog shrouded mist,
unable to find complete clarity or understanding,
one day the fog will roll away,
the doubt shall be removed,
we shall see through eyes of perfection;
we shall know perfect truth,
we shall experience perfect love;

one truth,
one Lord,
one kingdom,
one love.

Lord I am so unworthy,
I am so inadequate,
go away from me
for I am a sinful man;
tear out my sin-filled eyes,
burn my lips and tongue
with hot burning coals;
let me be silent
before Your magnificent
and holy presence;
let the whole world be silent,
let every knee bow,
let every heart confess,
that You and You alone
are Lord and King;
that to You
and You alone
does all glory belong,
let me walk in Your light,
let me live in Your love,
let Your will be done
forever.
.
.

The True Vine

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.”           John 15:1-5

You are the true vine
I am the branch,
apart from You
I am nothing,
within You
I become fruitful,
through You
I can do all things;

because of You
I am a son of the living God.

Your light is greater
than words can express,
Your love fills
even the deepest valley,
Your truth goes
far beyond that
which my limited mind
can comprehend;

hold on to me
forever.
.
.

Deliver Me

Within nighttime dreams
I walk in cold, forsaken places,
dark, dead lost places,
far beyond the reach of hope.

I listen to the suffering,
I hear the sorrow,
I feel the pain,
I know the emptiness;

they are places through which
I have walked before.

When I awake
You are there,
standing by my side,
never letting go,
never walking away;
healing me,
renewing me,
blessing me
when I deserve nothing,
forgiving me
when I can not forgive myself,
reminding me that without You
I can never overcome.

Deliver me O Lord
from dark, dead places,
lost and forgotten places,
hidden within the shadows of dreams;

take away the emptiness
as only You can.

Hold me now,
bathe me in Your light,
fill me with Your love,
surround me with Your glory,
let me belong to You forever,
my Savior,
my King,
my God;

my Everything.
.
.

An Uneasy Interruption

In the end
I will fade away
like the early morning dawn,
quietly changing from darkness
into light,
without a sound,
without a fight,
a passing whisper
in the middle of the
dark, crisp night;

we all do,
we all will,
we simply have
little choice.

Words will mean very little,
relationships even less,
memories but a brief moment,
an uneasy interruption,
a passing vapor
in a world of swirling mist.

I have been to the mountaintop,
I have peered into the oblivion below,
I have heard the small still voice,
I have known the touch
of His calm, cool hand;

words will never be enough.
.
.

Questions for T McV

I wrote this after the Oklahoma City bombing. I think it applies to any situation where people or groups place their own desires, agendas, or needs (whether rational or not) over that of others and are involved in the death or harm to innocent people. Wake up America, before it is too late!

What have you done?
babies lie broken in the street,
what have you done?

Did they do such terrible things
to justify this?
did you think this was all
some romantic hollywood script?
did you think the innocent
would get up when it was all over?
did you think the babies
had some magical protective shield?

did you even think at all?

You are not a hero,
you are not even a man,
was your land taken from you?
have your loved ones been dragged
from their beds at night?
have they been tortured or killed?
have you ever even been told
what you could think
or not think?
what you could say
or not say?

These are reasons men do what they do,
these are reasons heroes do
what they do not want to do,
you are none of these;

you are just a sick,
demented,
despicable
coward.
.
.

Memories of a King (or god)

When I was 6 years old my Aunt Ruth took me to a Chicago Whitesox/New York Yankees baseball game. I don't remember the details of the game but I do remember standing with my aunt after the game trying to get autographs from the Yankee players as they left the stadium to board the team bus. Many years later I expressed those memories in this poem.

I remember that day in August 1961
as if it were yesterday,
standing outside Comiskey Park,
the Yankees team bus waiting nearby,
holding on to my aunt’s hand
as reporters and others
buzzed and milled about,
all of us waiting to catch a glimpse of a man
who I thought at the very least
must be a king or perhaps even a god;

although at the time
I didn’t really understand why.

I remember the commotion as this king (or god)
emerged from the stadium darkness,
reporters rushing forward, camera bulbs flashing,
my aunt pushing me to the front
with pencil and paper in hand.

To my six year old mind
he was everything a king (or god) should be,
tall, blonde and crewcut,
hard as a rock, with a jaw
that looked like it was chiseled from stone,
and eyes of steel that flashed with anger
as he pushed his way through the reporters,
ignoring their questions,
the pant leg of his thigh
brushing my hand as he went by,
bounding up the bus steps then
angrily throwing his duffel bag against the window.

Today I understand the pressure and stress
he must have been going through,
trying to break the record
of an even greater king (or god),
but when you’re six you don’t understand
that even kings (or gods)
have bad days at the plate,
when you’re six you only know
something has upset the king (or god);

and you cry.
.
.

Danielle (daughter)

The children of darkness
have their moments as well,
glorious testimonies and self-made fantasies,
delightful, intoxicating delusions,
breath-taking beams of false light,
rising to incomprehensible heights;

perhaps this is what
I understand best.

I have never been able
to survive in either world;
just somewhere in-between,
out on the fringe,
slightly past the known,
standing on the edge,
where even shadows
remain silent.

I should have reached out for you,
I should have protected you,
I should have pulled you from
the gathering storm,
I should have been stronger
than this miserable mix
of flesh and bones,
I should have been willing
to fight for you,
die for you;

now it is too late,
now you are gone;

lost forever.

Baby,
you’ll never know
how I grieved for you,
how I loved you like a daughter,
how I loved you as a woman,
how you made me smile
on the inside;

how I will always miss you.
.
.

Babylon (excerpts)

Wept (Alpha)

As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace – but now it is hidden from your eyes.”

Luke 19:41-42

I do not weep for the truth,
I weep because of the truth;

I weep for the futility,
I weep for the loss,
I weep for the waste,
I weep for the hopelessness;

I weep for the children,
I weep for the tragedy,
I weep for the sorrow,
I weep for the suffering,




I weep for the inevitability.

._______

Shadows

We sit among these growing shadows,
standing on the brink of an unknown tomorrow,
hiding somewhere between the darkness and the light,
safe within this land of perpetual sorrow.

Moments come and moments go my dear one,
leaving only traces they were here at all,
this moment we hold alone,
free from a land full of killers and madness,
a world of defined boundaries and limits,
designed to imprison all that live within their deadly gates;
and to you do I say:

that it is better to lie here among these shadows with you,
than to walk among the light with any other,
better to have tasted your love even for a moment,
than spend a lifetime without it.

.__________________

Sometime in the Night

What is left to be said
that has not already been said?

We live in a world
where quiet heroism means nothing,
ruled by those who boast
of every accomplishment,
crying out every great deed,
putting others down
so they may be lifted up,
a world where truth and effort
are no longer rewarded,
only loud mouth trash-talking
and instant self-gratification.

We live in a world
ruled by television and play stations,
where might makes right
and ends justify means,
a make-believe world
in which there is no longer room
for simple lives or
even simpler dreams.

We live in a world
of our own choosing,
a death within the dead,
a soft quiet whisper
among the shadows,
a hot white empty light
filled slowly and surely
by the dark innocent night.

The time is now,
even as the moments pass us by
on their way to lost foreign shores
where mourning vessels await,
hidden among broken smiles,
cold and dark,
filled with a lover’s passion,
her eyes shining like liquid night;

seen by all
yet touched by none.
.____________________

New Gods and Prophets

What if I told you that white was black,
that day is night,
round is square,
up is down;

would that make it so?
would you believe what I had to say?
or would you let reality rule the way?

What if I told you
that the invasion of Iraq,
the overthrow of Saddam Hussein,
was what 9/11 was really all about;

that we are doing exactly
as it was planned on us doing,
what was counted on us doing,
that American youth are dying
for the cause of a new Islam,
would you believe me then?

Sometimes truth is so big,
staring us coldly in the face,
reality so twisted and unreal
that it is impossible to be seen
by those who think
only in terms of yesterday.

New religions are born
from the ashes of impossible thought,
by visionaries who recognize its birth
for what it is,
those who see beyond
the way it has always been,
those who see the promised land
before it has been reached,
and it is these visionaries
who become the new prophets,
the new gods of tomorrows reality;

whether you believe it now
or not.

.________________

Where Now America?

Where now
America?

Your playgrounds and sandlots
lie empty,
as your youth
grow tired and disillusioned,
hanging out at the mall,
gathering in clumps and clusters,
wearing hundred dollar rags,
wrapped up in coolness,
struggling to be ghetto,
jaded with knowledge,
dripping with sarcasm;

nobody’s fool.

Ice flowing through their veins,
filth dripping from their lips,
incapable of genuine laughter,
void of dreams,
growing old
before their time.

South jersey farm boys,
full of TV bravado and
James Dean machismo,
daddy’s good little girls,
playing MTV hoes,
busy being
trash talking lil bitch wannabes,
joking about
giving blowjobs for a dollar.

Generation X,
childhood gone,
innocence lost,
forever;

where now
America?

Where now?

._________________________

Teach Your Children Well

We thought we could change the world,
a new society,
the great experiment,
that we were different,
knew more, knew better,
we were the solution
not the problem.

Make love not war,
tune in, drop out,
hell no, we won’t go,
rebels with a cause,
defenders of the righteous,
crusaders of a higher standard,
a new code;

instead we became
more of the same.

Hypocrites within a world
of hypocrites,
masters of enlightenment
without light,
monsters disguised as
children of peace,
dogs licking up
their own vomit,
white-washed sepulchers,
dry bones,
sheep without a Shepard;

we fooled the world,
we fooled ourselves.

We became draft dodgers and activists,
poets and musicians,
stock brokers and analysts,
doctors and lawyers;

anything but our mothers and fathers;

we became consumers,
we became users,
we became takers,
we became the future,
we consumed
until there was nothing
left to consume,
we took
until there was nothing
left to take,
we used up what belonged
to our children,
we took what belonged
to our grandchildren,
but even that wasn’t enough,
we pointed our fingers,
we blamed the man,
we blamed the over thirty crowd,
only to realize we had become the man;

we were the over
thirty crowd.

It was all about us,
the ‘me’ generation,
gods of our
own making;

we taught our
children well.

.____________________________

Babylon

After this I saw another angel coming down from heaven. He had great authority, and the earth was illuminated by his splendor. With a mighty voice he shouted: “Fallen! Fallen is Babylon the Great! She has become a home for demons and a haunt for every unclean and detestable bird. For all the nations have drunk the maddening wine of her adulteries. The kings of earth committed adultery with her, and the merchants of earth grew rich from her excessive luxuries.” Then I heard another voice from heaven say: Come out of her, my people, so that you will not share in her sins, so that you will not receive any of her plagues, for her sins are piled up to heaven, and God has remembered her crimes. Give back to her as she has given; pay her back double for what she has done. Mix her a double portion from her own cup. Give her as much torture and grief as the glory and luxury she gave herself. In her heart she boasts, ‘I sit as a queen; I am not a widow, and I will never mourn.’ Therefore in one day her plagues will overtake her: death, mourning and famine. She will be consumed by fire, for mighty is the Lord God who judges her. “When the kings of the earth who committed adultery with her and shared her luxury see the smoke of her burning, they will weep and mourn over her. Terrified at her torment, they will stand far off and cry: ‘Woe! Woe, O great city, O Babylon, city of power! In one hour your doom has come!’

Revelations 18:1-10

O Babylon;
land of opulence and luxury,
kingdom of self-indulgence and lust,
home of instant gratification and decadence,
you use until there is nothing left to use,
you take until there is nothing left to take,
you lie dying in the filth of your own greed;

where is your pleasure now?

O Babylon;
trampling on the backs of those who have less,
stealing from those without the resources to fight back,
killing under the guise of righteousness and the greater good,
how long can the hypocrisy remain hidden?
how long can you pretend
the misery and suffering doesn’t exist?

how long O Babylon?

O Babylon;
surrounded by wealth and excess,
your children grow restless and bored,
turning to technology and machines,
ashamed of a legacy stained with innocent blood,
unable to reconcile the truth
in the name of liberty and justice for all.

.________________________

A Midday Dream

On a bright blue morning
I saw the end,
as the city went up
in flames,
you turned to me
with panic in your eyes,
screaming “WHY?! WHY?!
I said we must not
cry,
so when it is all over
we can face the truth
and say
we remained
human beings.

…..Be still
my tired,
beating,
savage,
heart,
your day of rest
will come
all to soon.

.___________________

Wept (Omega)

As he approached Jerusalem and saw the city, he wept over it and said, “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace – but now it is hidden from your eyes.”

Luke 19:41-42

I do not weep for the truth,
I weep because of the truth;

I weep for the futility,
I weep for the loss,
I weep for the waste,
I weep for the hopelessness;

I weep for the children,
I weep for the tragedy,
I weep for the sorrow,
I weep for the suffering,
I weep for the inevitability.




What now
America?
.
.