Kola

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.   1 Corinthians 13:4-7

I watch you blossom,

I hear the joy in your voice,

I see the happiness on your face,

I feel the peace inside your heart;

my beautiful desert flower,

my warm, sweet dream,

my refuge within the storm,

my last pure thought;

you are my friend,

I love you unconditionally,

I love you completely,

I always have,

I always will.

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holding on

we hold on

to moments;

seconds,

minutes,

hours,

days,

years;

forever;

the light burns low,

dignity all that is left,

love the final offering;

in the end,

triumphing over all.

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Stolen Ground

Kolas, your ways are not my ways, but together we must find a way, together we must walk the red road.

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.   John 15:13

I have tasted heights so high,

swam depths so deep,

touching things along the way

which were never mine to keep,

traveling beyond all there

was to know,

yet still there is more,

so much more to go;

confusion and sorrow color

these early morning skies,

answers lie hidden

among alternatives and

cascading lies,

places once called home

crumble into the far-off fading light,

faces once called friends

disappear into the approaching black

of this forever growing night;

take my hand,

lead me from this land,

hear my voice,

help me make a stand;

darkness grows above,

storms rise from below,

over-fed pretenders

prepare for the final show,

in this never ending battle

which can never be won,

raging just beyond

all that can be overcome;

into the nighttime void a

whisper does sound,

shadows of tomorrow looming large

across this stolen ground,

mistakes of yesterday forever lost,

innocent blood shed,

freedom at such a staggering cost;

take my hand,

lead me from this land,

hear my voice,

help me make a stand.

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The Day is Near

what can be said,

that has not been said before?

facts change,

words rearrange,

details differ,

but at the end of the day,

there is nothing new under the sun,

we are still just a heartbeat away

from forever,

we are still only a mixture

of vanity and vexation;

this life fades like the morning dew,

evaporating into vapor,

forever lost,

eternally gone;

all the dreams and fantasies,

all the longing and sadness,

all the hopes and fears,

remain the same,

in spite of technology and toys,

despite self-imposed indignity,

we anesthetize and tranquilize

feelings and thoughts,

with pompous litanies of monumental self-worth,

and maniacal delusions of grandeur;

I am waiting,

I am ready,

the time is coming,

the day is near;

do not weep for the darkness,

it passes like the night,

fleeing without sound or sorrow,

leaving neither fear nor reservation,

filling the void with the terribleness

of its forsaken sadness and tears,

holding on,

waiting for the dawn;

just one more time,

just one more dream,

just one more step,

just one more breath;

I am waiting,

I am ready,

the time is coming,

the day is near.

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All There Is

“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 have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God.” Then Jesus replied, “Have I not chosen you, the Twelve? Yet one of you is a devil!” (He meant Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot, who, though one of the Twelve, was later to betray him.)   John 6:67-71

Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really know me, you will know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”   John 14:6-7

I turn to You,

because You are all there is,

You alone have the truth,

You alone have the light;

everything fades

but You;

money,

objects,

security,

flesh,

cars,

homes,

mothers,

fathers,

brothers,

sisters,

sadness,

sorrow,

happiness,

joy,

buddha,

mohammed,

vishnu;

all the man-made gods and truths,

everything but You;

You alone have the words of eternal life,

You alone offer the hope of something more,

You alone speak truth, in a world of illusion and lies,

You alone are the way to the Father,

You alone took the burden of our sins upon Yourself,

You alone died that all might live,

You alone rose from the dead;

You alone are all there is.

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waiting for the crossing

I have been to this place before,

only to turn and run,

back to the comfort

of that

which is known;

not this time;

somehow I have to survive,

somehow I have to find

a way,

or die here in the darkness

of a forgotten land;

apologies

will never be enough;

standing at the border,

waiting for the crossing,

is the hardest thing

in life

you will ever have to do,

behind you is comfort

and that which you have

always known;

ahead;

nothing

but sadness and pain,

but still you go,

even though

you wish

it were not

so.

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A Draw

sometimes it is so close,

you can almost reach out and touch it,

as you feel it’s familiar scent floating on the breeze,

closing your eyes and tasting it in the air,

passing through your lungs;

just one long lonely cry away;

but then other times,

it is so very far,

you’re not even sure

it was ever there

at all;

today I felt her sadness,

it touched me deep inside,

and there was little I could do

to make it go away,

there’s just no room left,

the space that was once here,

has all been filled by another,

but still there are the memories,

sweet precious moments,

when we came close;

I shape shifted for her,

she likes it when I do that,

because then she can be who she really is,

without guilt or shame,

without expectations or explanations,

it made the pain just a little less,

but it made the gap just a little greater,

so all in all;

I’d say it was draw.

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Wrong Side of the Fence

twenty year old memories,

call out from hidden outposts,

down here in this ancient relic room,

where only the living creep,

stealing their way into the day,

free from pathetic interference

and frantic innuendoes,

lying broken and confused,

amidst the first rays of light,

full of empty promises,

lost somewhere along the way;

tell me,

does it still hurt

after all this time?

questions seldom work;

answers seldom do either;

now I know she has the gift,

and now I know

she has the curse as well,

I suppose there was never any doubt,

only wishful thinking,

in this battle of one over the other,

and how do you tell one so young,

that you know exactly what it is

they are going through,

exactly what they are feeling;

when you have yet to learn yourself;

how do you erase the sadness

of a million years of suffering,

as she feels every broken dream,

every ounce of inflicted pain,

since time began;

when you go through life

looking into the face of evil,

it becomes very hard to remember

on which side of the fence you belong.

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Rebellion

old memories,

painful and sweet,

slip through my fingers

like water

pouring down a cold

mountain steam;

life is sadness;

I refuse

to be a part of the sadness

anymore,

I may go down,

but I will not go

quietly,

nor shall I make it easy

for those

who ensure

it all stays within

these little yellow lines,

confined

to bitter confrontations

and final thoughts

of death and hate.

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fade

time moves on,

the energy fades,

the end approaches;

no turning back,

life ends,

life begins,

this is the way of things;

there’s never enough;

do not be afraid,

just believe.

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Mackinaw

for a moment,

sitting on that bench,

with the water washing up on the shore,

the cool breeze blowing in our face,

the bright sun shining overhead,

we had come to a place

never thought possible,

a place where everything is as it should be,

as it was meant to be;

we discussed many things on that bench,

warm, bright, happy things,

deep dark painful things;

she has given me more

than I ever imagined possible,

more than I ever deserved.

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A Cult of the Ordinary

the dark night does approach,

silence fills the unending void,

there are consequences

for careless words spoken in haste,

there are prices to be paid,

for miscommunications

and mistaken identities,

we have crossed unknown

lines and barriers,

without any thought

for tomorrow,

settling for pennies on the dollar,

creating monuments of our

own misgivings,

putting eternal wheels in motion

which cannot be undone,

winning victories,

but in the end

losing the war,

the last breath

waits feverishly

on the wings

of majestic crows,

black and sleek,

seeking refuge among

the lost and forsaken

rubble, which

congregates just outside

these prison walls,

waiting for no one,

seeking nothing;

nothing at all;

they never see past the veil,

this charade,

this hideously pathetic impression,

for most, it is

business as usual,

part of the routine;

a cult of the ordinary.

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Morning Crows

the crows come early on the mountain,

between 6 and 7,

arriving like an invading army,

complete with advance scouts,

privates and generals,

a secret society of mystic warriors,

ancient and old,

wise beyond wisdom and words;

they like the shelled peanuts the best;

the days pass by,

the ball of fire

inside my chest grows,

choking breath and life,

I search for strength,

wondering how much longer,

how much further,

but it passes just the same,

gathering myself for

another round,

a new day;

more crows;

the rains start to fade,

the floodwaters recede,

now the heat begins,

relentless and unforgiving,

burning within,

until there is nothing left to burn,

sucking the last ounces of energy,

destroying everything it touches;

the memories drift by,

like trash and debris,

on a gently flowing current,

floating and bobbing,

becoming trapped in long forgotten

log jams and curved muddy bends,

sleep finally comes,

tucked in-between the sweat and coughs;

and the only thing that matters anymore,

is the morning crows.

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Parole

within the conquering depths

of this cold black cell,

You bring hope and life,

from the empty darkness

of this perpetual dungeon,

You fill me with your light,

trapped in the endless despair

of this eternal bondage,

You bring freedom and peace;

this prison holding me captive all my life,

no longer decides who or what I shall be,

this depraved fortress of iniquity,

filled with suffering and pain,

where so much has been lost,

no longer shackles me in the binding

chains of anger and fear,

the master of eternal night,

no longer blinds my eyes with illusions of

short term happiness and instant gratification,

through the pleasures of vanity and lust;

freed from this prison

at a cost beyond compare,

paroled by Your sacrifice and love;

PRAISE YOUR NAME FOREVER!!!

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This Prison

in the dead of the night,

the breeze finally comes,

as the heat floats gently away,

like the breath of a slowly dying man,

his soul crying out to flee this prison,

where it has been held for so long,

never allowed to become,

all that it could have been,

praying for survival,

among the destruction of prison walls,

returning to a home it has never known;

sleep comes hard,

in this land of loneliness and pain,

while thoughts of words already said,

echo through the silence of the mind,

remembering places nearly forgotten,

by this clever disguise called life;

the small still voice,

quietly calls out,

offering a refuge of hope and light,

amidst the cold and barren darkness,

of this forgotten, forsaken cell;

I wish I could walk out of this prison,

discard it like old clothes,

free at last,

no restrictions,

no fear or rage,

only quiet, simple thought;

this prison which holds me to the earth,

this prison that makes me crave depravity,

this prison in which I was born,

this prison which has grown with me,

but has never let me grow.

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grieve

I would do it,

but the finality of it all

stands in the way,

the uncertainty,

the hesitation;

beyond feeling,

beyond caring,

beyond knowing,

beyond rewrites and

perfection,

beyond judgment,

beyond misery,

beyond charades,

beyond lies,

beyond self-delusion;

beyond love and fantasy,

beyond wondering and doubt;

beyond self;

every denial demands

atonement,

every question requires

answers,

for every gift

there is a price,

for everything worth having

there is a cost;

I wish it were not so,

I wish there was another way;

madness rules,

darkness lights the way,

You are all that is left

at the end of the day,

there are things

bigger than ourselves,

beyond thinking or reason,

things that

matter most,

things that define

who we are,

the miles go by,

the years pass,

the end is near;

soon enough,

soon enough;

this poverty has

another face,

a different kind of soul,

quiet and alone,

frightened and confused,

suicide can be so blind,

nothing more than

a whisper,

spitting and sputtering,

laughing and pretending;

you cannot love anyone,

until you have learned

to grieve for everyone.

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Pain In The Ass

my 4 year old grandson,

is a little pain in the ass,

always looking for new ways

to get in trouble,

always wanting to do,

exactly what you don’t want him to do;

he spent a week and a half with us

down at the shore,

the day his mom took him home,

I bought him a Franklin doll

and a bag of candy;

he tore the hat off Franklin,

and when I tried to hug him goodbye,

he hit me in the mouth with the bag of candy;

now it’s real peaceful and quiet;

I sure do miss that little pain in the ass.

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Dog Shit and Other Saturday Morning Rituals

in the morning, we awake to

dog shit on the kitchen floor,

Cody, our family dog is getting old,

he can no longer control his bowels,

this is not the first time,

“that dog has got to go!!” cries my wife;

I suppose she’ll want to get rid of me,

when I start shitting on the kitchen floor;

upstairs, my grandson

watches Saturday morning cartoons,

Hercules or some other super hero I think,

when it is over he and I will go to McDonalds,

for out ritual hotcakes and sausage,

he usually eats all the sausage and

about a quarter of the hotcakes,

I eat the rest,

I think that is my role in life now,

to finish eating what he cannot,

someday he will grow up and eat

everything on his plate;

I suppose I will starve to death then;

elsewhere, my 15 year old

comes bursting through the kitchen door,

fresh from spending the night

at her best friend’s house,

“watch the dog shit!” I cry out,

Ooooooh! Gross! she replies,

then bounds up the stairs to her room,

where she will sleep most of the day,

after being up all night

talking to boys on the phone,

she thinks I don’t know about these things;

meanwhile, I get out the paper towels and Lysol,

to clean up Cody’s shit,

who looks at me

with deeply apologetic eyes,

“it’s ok” I tell him;

we’re all getting old.

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Buddy

I look at you now,

the years passing before my eyes,

I feel the changes taking place,

in my body and my mind;

only yesterday you were a little boy,

eating hotcakes and sausage at McDonalds,

watching Sponge Bob and Rugrats,

screaming “yeckkk!!!” and

throwing the night crawlers into the lake,

the first time I took you fishing;

now you are a man,

no longer the wide-eyed little boy holding my hand,

as we walked the boardwalk,

begging to play mini-golf or skee ball,

at every putt-putt or arcade we passed;

“please Pa!”

“please Pa!”

a tiny bundle of energy,

never slowing down,

exasperating yet so endearing

at the same time;

I remember towing you around the pool by my beard,

both of us laughing so hard I thought my side would burst,

playing whiffle ball for hours on end,

always ready for a new adventure,

whenever I could find the time,

of which there never seemed to be enough;

now you own a home and work on diesel engines,

with a busy schedule and little time,

which is the way it should be,

as natural as the setting sun,

but no matter where you go,

or what this life has in store for you,

always remember one thing;

I love you buddy,

more than you can ever know.

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Almost a Religion

in the morning, I am reduced

to plates of Cheetos and potato chips,

attempting to satisfy the great beast,

with whom I share this life,

chained within these prison walls,

where we survive, sinking deeper

into these pits of ultimate depravity,

where it has served from the beginning of time;

can it sink any lower?

occasionally it becomes far too personal,

as I take a step back,

taking refuge among the reality of it all,

finishing up the chores,

and lesser known deeds along the way,

for which there is no thanks,

even from those who know it all to well,

it is then reason comes through,

sharp and crystal clear,

like lightning bolts on dark and starless nights,

showing limitations for what they are,

and how little there really is;

we are as nothing, when compared to this storm,

yet together we defy the fury,

providing mystery,

to this epiphany of endless, rushing fools,

where not a one survives,

in spite of mighty cries for merciful solutions;

that which means the most,

is usually the least of it,

in the eyes of those who see only for themselves,

as this great dream continues on,

down winding, endless roads,

for which there is no choice,

only illusions of options,

changing shape with a wave of the hand,

twisting and weaving,

into something new and fresh,

until the outer layer is removed,

only to find the same old story,

inside brand new skin,

like a giant vacuum,

sucking all that there is,

into it’s deep dark hole,

as some hold on a little longer than the rest,

but eventually even they are swept away,

by the weight of those standing above them,

waiting their turn for the great slide,

into this vast and empty wasteland;

mowing the lawn,

on cloudy, rainy Sunday afternoons,

can be most rewarding,

depending upon the method

with which it is approached,

and the spirit in which it is given,

in fact it is;

almost a religion.

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Today I Drank a Beer

where do you go at night,

when the lights go down?

when darkness surrounds this world,

to who do you call out?

the end was never clearer than it is right now,

at this very moment,

lost somewhere between the living and the dead,

somewhere out on the edge, where no one wanders;

for long;

do not let it end now,

hold on for just one more round,

try just a little more,

reach for the only chance

you ever had;

the music guides you down

paths unknown,

it is here you have longed to be

from the very beginning,

it is here you have waited,

all your life;

I don’t know what it all means,

I only know that it means something,

at least it feels that way,

sometimes it comes so close,

but then it slowly fades away,

as I continue trying to stuff round pieces

into square holes;

but today for the first time,

I drank a beer,

without the need to slam it down,

so I could move on to the next one,

I controlled it,

it didn’t control me,

and strange as that may sound,

somehow it all fit;

it fit like a bloody glove,

lying in a back street alley,

as this journey takes continuous turns,

down one-way empty streets;

they give me legitimacy,

allowing me to fit

into a world,

I would otherwise

never belong.

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Where Midnight is Forever

deep inside these rusted, prison walls,

live words never before spoken,

saying all that can be said, about truths

which know not tomorrows or yesterdays,

satisfying burning thirsts and overwhelming hungers,

which have existed from the days of the beginning,

but now lie silent;

down roads well traveled,

destinations become blurred,

inside vast empty kingdoms,

where self will is non-existent,

ruled by masters who do not yield,

deciding on courses to be taken,

tossing tired, old rules, defiantly out the window,

into brave new worlds of anything goes,

where it is every man for himself,

and that which was good,

slowly turns to bad,

while that which was up,

suddenly becomes down,

as silent, solitary, dwellers of the night,

hold on tight to anything that does not move,

trying to survive the coming storm;

which is never an easy task;

the darkness seeks its prey,

crawling into fits of deep, nocturnal passions,

fleeing from the intoxicating touch of fear,

destroying with a vengeance,

without conscience or remorse,

all who drink from the bitter cup offered,

tasting its final burning mix,

slowly spinning deeper and deeper,

taking one last journey,

from which there is no return;

where midnight is forever.

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Nothing Left

there is nothing left

on which to hold,

nighttime breezes,

blowing softly

though open windows,

cool and fresh,

like some distant friend,

calling us back,

down this road

to a distant home,

known and departed

so very long ago;

let it flow,

feel its pain,

crying deep within,

it is here,

the answers wait,

silently,

innocent and pure,

without shame;

without accusations.

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If You Only Knew

if you only knew,

just how desperately

I depend on you,

how hopelessly lost

I would be without you,

your love is like

a delicate pane of glass,

so fragile,

so beautiful,

waiting to be shattered

into a thousand pieces;

do not be fooled,

by the masks and charades,

the unimportant things,

see into me,

hold on to me,

but most of all,

don’t let me shatter you,

for it is I

who needs you

more;

more than you could ever know.

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Golden Child

hold on to your dreams,

my bright, beautiful,

golden child,

do no let life,

with all its darkness and evil,

steal them from you,

be prepared to fight,

do not give in,

do not look

for answers and roads,

quick and easy;

hold on to your dreams,

do not be misled,

by the mystery and excitement,

it is all just an illusion,

designed to trick and fool,

hold on to your dreams,

my dear, sweet, precious,

golden child;

be a warrior,

be strong.

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Sand Creek

Sand Creek;

the truth dances like a ghost,

a mighty wind, whispering through the

silence of the night;

who will hear the voices?

who will right the wrong?

hard to love,

when so much injustice abounds,

hard to forgive,

when innocent blood

runs across stolen ground;

dirty little secrets,

deep dark memories of which

no one speaks,

you can never escape the past,

it follows you like a shadow,

softly surrounding you like a glove,

slowly becoming a part of who you are,

quietly determining what you become;

the treachery and cowardice revealed,

their souls laid bare,

the self-made bravado and false heroics,

silently exposed;

sons of murderers,

daughters of thieves,

descendants of swine,

a little lower than dogs,

somewhat less than human;

without honor,

without dignity,

without hope;

their homes built upon hypocrisy and greed,

their tongues filled with misconceptions and lies,

their legacy standing like a wavering deck of cards,

waiting to crash down upon their guilt-ridden heads;

Sand Creek remembers.

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DOR II

the old man looks hard,

silently watching

life passing by,

moving so fast,

with barely a glance,

gone,

the power no longer there;

he silently returns

to sweeping the sidewalk,

just a fleeting moment,

a blink of the eye;

I hear your voice,

I feel you in the darkness,

I hold you in the night,

your energy fills me up,

I don’t care

anymore;

I want only you;

I’ve traveled so far,

you are so close now,

I can smell your freshness,

like a springtime meadow,

nothing matters,

they can take it all,

nothing matters,

but you;

I give you all I have.

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DOR

springtime sunshine,

green shades of youth,

I remember your energy,

your voice,

it was fresh new rain,

it was energy,

it was all I heard;

it was all I needed;

then suddenly you were gone,

everything different,

the darkness gave way to new light,

springtime breezes smelled like old

and trusted friends,

silence

filled the space

where you once lived,

I searched for so long,

lost in this fog,

a touch,

an echo of your voice,

it all seemed so ridiculous,

so hopeless;

and what did it matter?

words never changed one thing,

what will be will be,

our lives nothing

without each other,

meaningless,

without the memories;

in the end,

we became

our own god and goddess,

forever linked;

I remember now.

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