moon bathing

i snuggle in, turn out the light
i love the day and fear the night
i dream until the sky is bright
while the world is moonbathing.

the grass is warm, the water's clear
but sunlight sheds a lonely tear
in the dark, i have no fear
if i am moonbathing.

"carpe noctem, shadow man
your shadow friends have shadow plans
you slept until the night began
for you love moonbathing."

i never thought that it would fade
that pale expanse of lovely shade
full and round, my song it played
when i caught the moon bathing.

it waxed & waned, my lunar dream
hid behind celestial steam
demons wrought an evil scheme
and stole the moon bathing.

mesmerized, i watched it fly
across a tattered, windswept sky
leaving stardust in my eye
still i long for moon bathing.

bittersweet, in many ways
the month with three-hundred sixty days
yet still my heart is set ablaze
by the hope of moon bathing.

to the darkest depths i would swim, for you
my muscles strong, my spirit true
yet not before you're born anew
so i wait for the moon-bathing.

~ ~ ~

i see you, sinking Cheshire smile
think i'll sit and stare awhile
a single step can seem a mile
as I watch the moon bathing.

colors

black, for the deep stain of guilt
red, for the blood that's been spilt
grey, for the overcast sky
white, for a quick, clean goodbye

black, a replacement for brown
blue, for the sailor who drowned
green, for the growth of a seed
white, for the healing i need

black, for a cry of despair
brown, for the sackloth i wear
orange, for the fire i eat
white, for the sign of defeat

black is to honor the dead
white is the wedding gown's thread
black is the thread i now weave
white is the truth i believe

black guilt is mine
red blood is mine
grey sky is mine
white goodbye is ours

black eyes are mine
blue sailor was mine
green seed is mine
white healing is ours

black despair is mine
brown sackloth is mine
orange fire is mine
white defeat is ours

black death is hers
white gown is hers
black thread is hers
white truth is ours

it was ever real

somewhere between dreams and death, i find my wishes granted.
somewhere along the edge of me, i find my heart enchanted
by a spell of arresting charm and reservoirs of feeling,
where life is found in moments, and they leave my senses reeling.
every part of me is dying; all my lusts, her eyes are stealing.

i shout, and silence echoes; i whisper, 'here i stand,'
yet my footing isn't sure, for i dance upon the sand.

i dance upon the shifting sands that scorch the skin and sear the soul.
i writhe in pain as dust attacks my eyes like freshly kindled coal.

i gasp my last as i start to drown.
i float in a dark and peaceful sea.
i scream with joy as the moon goes down.
i trade my grin for a guarantee-

of new life begun.
of hope reborn.
of a glimpse of the sun.
of a single thorn-

from a rose, tossed down from a balcony.
from a rose, which never belonged to me.
from a rose, who dared to kiss the grey.
from a rose, that doesn't care to say-

what color, her petals?
what strength, her stem?
what depth, her roots?
what price, her gem?

i have no wealth, save memories,
(and memories fade, like clouds in a bleak desert sky).
i have no strength, save hope in dreams.
(and who hopes in dreams, when dreams so easily die?)

yet some dreams refuse to pass away,
thus the life i have is just a ghost
of the life that i once knew;
and some say, "you have no prayers to pray.
though the eyes of gods see more than most,
all their ears are turned from you."

when i come to the end, i find a chest.
it is made of stone, and locked with steel.
i reach for the key that was given to me,
and realize: it was never real.

was it ever real?

i sail alone

to read this poem as it was expressed,
speak it slowly and softly, and do not skip the blank lines

silence must be heard

---

i sail alone
chasing a horizon that never comes
chasing a dream that never ends
chasing a sun that never sets

i sail alone
chased by a lukewarm wind
chased by a cautious storm
chased by a hidden wave

i sail alone
watching the moon half-risen
watching the stars play hide and seek
watching the clouds form question marks

i sail alone
watched by all the ocean
watched by empty eyes
watched by distant houses of light

i sail alone
ignoring the broken mast
ignoring the empty barrels
ignoring the hole in the hull

i sail alone
ignored by the gulls
ignored by the other boats
ignored by the crowd on the shore

i sail alone

i sail alone

i sail alone

i sail alone









i sail with Him
praying for rain
praying for food
praying for healing

i sail with Him
blessed with grace
blessed with hope
blessed with Love

untitled

X marks the spot (or so I've been told),
where pirates of old buried silver and gold;
by the sweat of their skin, and the blood of their veins,
endured wildest of squalls and greatest of pains
to safeguard their treasure with padlocks and chains

diamonds and bloodwine and pieces of eight
are rumored to wait in the chests and the crates
that sit silent, unmoving, alone in the sand
begging the world for a curious hand
to discover the map, and to scour the land

but the trustworthy map is nowhere to be found
as far as I know, it's been floating around
on the treacherous, bittersweet winds of the sea,
the same winds that bring stormclouds to me

so I have no direction, no knowledge, no guide
just a purpose in mind, and a friend at my side
this companion, he's faithful no matter the cost
he keeps my heart beating as it's battered and tossed
by the merciless pounding of wave after wave...
so I trust in his power to save

we are driven by goals that we set long ago,
when the swift summer winds in our favor would blow
and we thought of the treasure as already found
and we slept through each night, safe and sound

we followed our compass, by day and by night
whether stormy or peaceful, in darkness or light.
but a new day has dawned, with no sun in the east
no promise of safety; not a chance in the least
of a favorable breeze, or the swell of a tide.
I didn't think compasses lied.

I trusted my friend, and his compass, as well
but it turns out the needle points straight into hell
so there's really no sense in our traveling, now...
we're as far as good sense will allow

I've bailed my last bucket, repaired my last sail
and now, like a fool, I gulp the last of the ale
wond'ring why I was led here, to death and decay
I was stupid, and now I must pay-

-for my adventuring spirit, my hunger for fun,
-for my selfishness, equaled by none
-for my false sense of truth, and my trust in my friend
who said he'd be here 'till the end

but he did keep his promise, so I guess he deserves
some small credit, though I don't know what purpose it serves
to stick with a friend, when we're destined to fail.

never again will I sail.

rhythm

rhythm is the beat of fragile human hearts
rhythm is the way a techno remix starts
rhythm has a way of causing feet to dance
rhythm is the chaos of a brief romance

rhythm is the drum that leads young men to war
rhythm is a salesman knocking at your door
rhythm is a cricket chirping in the night
rhythm is the 'tap' that gives the blind girl sight

rhythm was, before the evening sun began
rhythm was, when woman gave herself to man
rhythm was the humming of a small boy's sling
rhythm was, as David danced before his King

rhythm is the herald of a thunderstorm
rhythm is the crackling of the fire warm
rhythm is the scratch of branches at the glass
rhythm is the murmur of the midday mass

rhythm is the howling of the shifting sands
rhythm is the clapping of an ocean's hands
rhythm is the labored breath of sweating slaves
rhythm is a crashing hull against the waves

rhythm has been threshing wheat at flour mills
rhythm has been smithing under ancient hills
rhythm has been pumping blood and drawing breath
rhythm has been twirling swords and cheating death

rhythm is the avalanche of rock and snow
rhythm is the skipping-rocks that children throw
rhythm is the fall of rain on earth so dry
rhythm is the sorrow of a seagull's cry

rhythm is the sweeping of a dusty floor
rhythm is the song you hear when high winds roar
rhythm is the thunder of a crowd's applause
rhythm is the snapping of the Pacman's jaws

rhythm is a blogger typing thought and verse
rhythm is the clinking of a stolen purse
rhythm is the scraping of a piece of chalk
rhythm is the tension of a ticking clock

rhythm will be: running when we're all called home
rhythm will be: praises at the Father's throne
rhythm will be: tears that fall from tired eyes
rhythm will be: trumpet-calls as spirits rise

her voice is the wind (new)

her voice is the wind
neither steady nor failing
it scattered the leaves
one by one, far away
    in many directions
    with no single purpose
    her voice is the wind
    that scattered the leaves

her song is the breeze
a powerful grace
that captured the earth
in her lukewarm embrace
    heedless of motion
    her melody persists
    her song is the breeze
    that captured the earth

her dance is the storm
both splendid and strong
that tortures the soul
and shatters the heart
    forward, and backward
    unfeeling and kind
    her dance is the storm
    that tortures the soul

her gaze commands fire
at her touch, all is still
her breath lifts him higher,
for his wish is her will
    but his rise is arrested
    by a ceiling of grey
    and, for lack of a kiss
    his Word melts away

in the eye of the storm
he finds pause in her words
as her lips plead the sunlight
to abandon the shore
    the sands are now cool
    given rest from the flame
    but soaking in blood
    they may find life again

words fail, unspoken
as empty hearts bleed
but he knows that, for now,
her want is her need.

still,

    her movement is guiding
    his eyes to and fro
        by her touch and her beauty
        may hearts be made whole

in the wind, rain, and fog,
and the shadows, skin-deep
he finds virtue in patience
and patience in sleep
    because waiting is all
    that a cripple can do
    except cry out for help
    to begin life anew

the fog finds its home
'round the edges of joy
and waits, every morning,
for the smiling young boy
    who sprints through the darkness
    with the greatest of ease
    that daring young man
    who kisses the breeze

a storm drew the boy
from his mottled-brown tent
when thunder was heard
he jumped up, and went
    to find pieces of metal
    and other safe things
    to capture the lightning
    the storm always brings

the storm brought no light-
a murderer, instead:
sly stealer of faith,
inspirer of dread
    it smashed through the walls
    of false hopes and dead dreams,
    at the call of a boy
    who is more than he seemed

sorrow and joy
pretend to be coy
they flirt with each other:
young girl, younger boy
    they've lost sight of the story
    and the trust, from above
        yet neither is willing
        to suffer true Love

    so they settle for romance
    and the fun of the fling
    and as the two dance
    the other wind sings:

        "through fog, storm, and murder,
          through the burning i feel,
            i will wait for you here
              where true Love is real"

i will wait for You here
where true Love is real

Gordian

your rowboat next to mine,
we paddled on together,
and tied a rope between,
in case of stormy weather.

but now the storm is passed (for you)
and i am left behind.
but if i can catch up to you,
i hope that i will find...

...a rope tied to your prow
with the strongest knot of all:
romance, true Love, and chivalry ;)
to catch us when we fall.

yet i watch with growing terror
as your hands attack the knot;
but, why try to untie it,
when you can simply -cut-?

darkness' death

Though cold may kill as darkness falls
A Hope remains; a Saviour calls


His gleaming star: a beacon bright
His only wish: your heart set right
He offers strength, and shelter warm
To cradle man's chilled, lifeless form

He brings the sun, in glory great,
To banish night and re-write fate
His power changes destiny
His boundless Love WILL set you free

Though past is black, and present grim,
All days to come belong to Him
To see these days as He ordains
Be washed in the tears of the Gift that was slain

Remember Psalmists' earthly cry
When hearts were crushed, and souls were dry:


"Why has my god forsaken me?
His presence here, I cannot see
My heart bleeds like a candle's wick
As soft as mud, as hard as brick
My loved ones leave me here to die
As darkness falls, so, too, do I
I scan the sky for hints of light
But Hope is hidden from my sight"

Blind you will be, until the day
When fire chases gloom away
When future wrought by gentle hands
Binds mind to heart- His soul to man's

Take courage; wait for morning's light
To pierce the growing darkness' might
To take the place of shrouding night
And set the wandering soul aright

For all who know Him know the Sun
Will someday rule the skies once more...
Until that day, remember the One
Whose bright-hereafter conquers dark-before

intercomm

I took a little string
and metal, round and flat
for swinging back and forth
o'er the table at which I sat

the pendula around me
were carving swathes in space
as the thoughts of eager lemmings
willed their toys to win the race

the crap that fills this classroom
is intangible and blurred
it flits about my ears
seeking power o'er my world

I proudly swat the garbage
back towards its evil source
as the gibberlings around me
stampede madly down their course
of simple foolishness and "wisdom"
of foul enculturation's sting
all brought to forefront by a washer
and a little piece of string

thank You

thank you
for making me cry
for taking my walls and my will, and
shifting old sand
and clouding my sky

thank me
for letting you in
to clean house, redecorate
to renovate
to expose my sin

thank him
for touching your eyes
for reaching across your
dark world, for
hearing your cries

~ ~ ~

thankful
is what we become
when justice is absent, or looking away
and mercy, from another world,
remembers nothing, except the way
we welcome her

stranger

I live in a place where normal is best;
The unusual isn't accepted.
The typical guy is always preferred,
The average is always expected.

The slightest of changes in an unchanging world
Is treated with malice and scorn.
The faces of those who call themselves 'normal'
Look down on the unnaturally born.

I live in a world filled with average people,
Where men of my type don't belong.
They frown at the grin on my unearthly face
As I belt out my falsetto song:

"John Myers' face is a halibut's spleen!
Mac-and-Cheese bubbles are being invaded!
The Blue Ball of Fuzz is a symbol of pride;
It reminds us of horse-poopy roads we've paraded!"

I wish I could leave, and go to a world
Where outrageous is better than plain;
The people would love me, if there were such a place.
They'd worship me, strange and insane.

Often I dream of that wonderful place,
Where monkeys and blue poodles wander...

...Then I awake, and the vision is gone, but
Absence makes my heart grow fonder.

One day I'll set out for that other dimension,
On perilous roads, fraught with danger.
But though I am scared, I'll cherish the day
When my title is no longer Stranger.

I enjoy being Stranger; I've never complained.
I'm content to just live, and to wait.
But sometimes I wish, when they call me names,
That they wouldn't address me with hate.

I've got more than one title. I'm not just the Stranger,
But also the Alien from space.
They call me a Weirdo, an Unnatural Freak,
Outcast from a non-human race.

I can't wait to be home, where everyone loves me;
Of course, they will still call me names.
But when they say, "Peculiar," they'll be wearing a smile
That says I can live without shame.

Highly irregular! I've always been alled.
The Extra-Terrestrial Guest!
But when I am welcomed at the place I belong,
They'll give me a new title:

Strangest.

her voice is the wind (old)

her voice is the wind
neither steady nor failing
to scatter the leaves
one by one, day by day-
in many directions,
with no single purpose
her voice is the wind
that scatters the leaves

her song is the breeze
a powerful grace
that captures the earth
in her lukewarm embrace
heedless of motion
her melody persists
her song is the breeze
that captures the earth

her dance is the storm,
both splendid and strong,
that captures the soul
and shatters the heart
forward, and backward
impatient and kind
her dance is the storm
that captures the soul

her voice is the wind
that scatters the leaves
her song is the breeze
that captures the earth
her dance is the storm
that captures the soul-
by her touch and her beauty
the heart is made whole

her gaze commands fire
at her touch, all is still
her breath lifts him higher,
for his wish is her will
at the rise and the fall
of her terrible eyes
he answers the call
as together they rise

in the eye of the storm
he finds pause in her words
as her lips plead the sunlight
to abandon the shore
the sands are now cool,
given rest from the flame-
but burning with blood
they begin life again

a word falls unspoken
between dancer and soul
taken from fire
it simmers like coal
her movement is guiding
his eyes to and fro

by her touch and her beauty
his heart is made whole

the fortress and the wind

an invincible fortress
his sanity reigns
over heart, soul, and spirit
secure his mind stands
no mere mortal's strength
can bend the high walls
neither iron nor fire
can cause them to fall

his intelligence sits on the throne of good will
but her voice is the wind; it never is still

her song is the breeze that makes the flags flutter
her dance is the storm that makes the ground mutter
her melodies wrap 'round the stones of the walls
though ever unbending, they answer her calls

the foundation trembles, though the fortress stands fast
its gates are locked tightly; but how long will they last?
the iron chains creak as the wind rushes past
they resist the allure of the spell she has cast

in the midst of the thunder, her own ruler stands
unaware of the war she began with her dance
her mindset is empty, aloof, and above
she is cunning as snakes and as gentle as doves

the fortress is bold in the face of assault
while the dancer looks elsewhere, unaware of her fault
imperfect and blind, yet her beauty is great
perhaps greater than that of the fortress' gate

the storm rages fiercer, devoid of intentions
it knows nought of the whispery goals the wind mentions
the breeze, oh-so-softly caressing the door
is driven by whim; nothing less, nothing more

the cause of the war is obscured and unseen
her soul is not evil- never tempted by sin
his pride is not great; peace is all he desires
but he defends himself not against iron or fire

his bane is her song, though his wish is her will
though he moves with the wind, his ruler is still
a second war waged, in the heart of the stone
will eventually triumph o'er king, crown, and throne

her breeze will retreat; her wind will fall back
the storm will surrender its will to attack
but as the ground stills, in the midst of the quiet
another sound rises: a clamorous riot
it ruins what's left of the fortress of rock
his walls are destroyed; every chain, every block
her victory, gained through no effort of hers,
is unchallenged; but a single man mumbles and stirs

the ruler, once strong, has lost crown, throne, and will
his wish is to serve her with desire unchecked
his once mighty kingdom has fallen to dust
his unfailing devotion, she does not expect
her surprise is sincere; her apology, true
she knew not how strongly her fickle breeze blew
no permission she gave for the wind's thoughtless acts
her storm, like her dance, all impurity lacks

her spirit is strong, her fury is hidden
by her simplest thought, is the strong fortress bidden
to abandon its strength, no resistance to give
to surrender its heart and desire to live

nothing i see is as it seems

i've finally left reality
in a swirling cloud of dust behind
the things i saw and felt and knew
while i retained my sanity
are foreigners to this new mind
which, to the world of real, is blind

i've reached my mental boiling point
the stuff called "real" is only steam
-floating away on the winds of change
never returning, always going
escaping from my cup of dreams-
not so real as it once seemed

i've turned away from common sense
forsaking wisdom and logical ways
order, which seemed to be (to me)
the epitome of intelligence
now occupies the lowest place
in my heirarchy of praise

i've missed my turn, gone down the path
of fantasy and wishful thought
i thrive in surreality
ignoring all reality's wrath
its scornful calls affect me not...
i do not heed the lessons it taught

reality is nothing more
to me than tiny wisps of smoke
shadowy visions without shape or form
clawing at my spirit's door
the doorkeeper's sympathy to evoke
while i, in my ethereal cloak
sleep tightly in my bed of dreams
and nothing i see is as it seems

mirror

mirror, mirror, on the wall,
who's the fairest one of all?
whose charm can bind the hands of time,
transforming chaos into rhyme?
whose beauty far outshines the stars,
making peace where once were wars?
whose gentle words, when spoken firm
can cause a frozen soul to burn?

mirror, mirror, in my hand,
who's the fairest in the land?
whose eyes can search the inmost parts
of feral minds and human hearts?
whose soothing touch can heal the blind
thus leaving darkened days behind?
whose smile makes the sun to rise,
and brings the moon to starless skies?

the one whose laughter shakes the ground
the one whose footsteps make no sound
the one who sails the sea of dreams
the one who is not as she seems

the one who has a thousand faces
whose dwelling is a thousand places
whose eyes have shed a thousand tears
whose life will see a thousand years

mirror, mirror, on the wall,
you are not mine to keep at all
you belong to the one who cannot see
herself as she is meant to be
you show the one who loves you not
the battle she's already fought
pierce through to find her deepest cares
to lift the tiresome weight she bears

mirror, mirror, in my hand,
you came to me from a foreign land
i cannot keep you, for i need you no more
you've shown me what you're really for
your purpose is to reflect the sight
of the one whose beauty burns so bright
that the poets are silent and the masses are stilled
so your voice can be heard, and your wishes fulfilled

sand castles

as the poor, rich man
builds his castles in the sand
he rebukes the ocean winds
that swirl in mockery 'round his sins
for his works can never stand
against the wind that always wins

i see the poor, rich man
making angels in the sand
as the tides go in and out
laughing at his angry shouts
they ignore his proud demands
changing all his truths to doubts

when the poor, rich man
sees the folly in his plan
then his wealth will turn to glory
and his stubborn heart turn sorry
as he lifts up empty hands
to the Author of his story

too many mind

there's too much on my mind right now
i think that i'm thinking of too many things
no rhythm or order does this mindset allow

i could never unravel the mess my mind sings
each note is unique, set apart, on its own
chaos is the gift my experience brought

i wish all my senses would leave me alone
if they did, i would tackle my gordian knot
but i keep seeing things; i wish my life was done

i will always remember how much i forgot
'cause i know that my mind hasn't earned, hasn't won
all the concepts I think that I once might have thought

i used to think thinking of nothing was fun
-thinking of everything is too much for me-
but now i have realized i'll always be shunned..

..by the very embodiment of sensibility

so my brain is entangled like a cat's ball of string
but i think it's ok, though my thoughts can't be trusted
or maybe i should be concerned with just being

the traveler

a road not made for travelers
a road unmarked, unknown, unswept
yet his feet have walked its dusty lengths
a steady, measured pace they've kept

his steps are brash and strong, like fools
who've never seen the ends of roads
the paths that lead to a lonely place
the paths where a wise man never goes

a street unlit, like a clouded sky
a street never clean; a shroud of dust
floats here and there to beckon the blind,
to warn the cautious, and taunt the lost

i fear the way of wishful thought
though my fickle heart knows every turn
of the trail that twists 'round rock and tree
of the trail that makes my dry lungs burn

the old wood splinters against my hands,
tearing at flesh and mind and soul
the dust attacks my light-cursed eyes,
burning like freshly kindled coal

 but a gentle hand touches my shoulder, to guide me,
 and a cloth soaked in love caresses my skin
 and my dark, filthy feet are washed clean in the pouring
 of the water that cleanses this companion of sin

the sailor

rowing to nowhere on the sea of my life
bending my back, a slave to the oars
i pay no attention, to peacetime nor strife
to the lightning that strikes, nor the thunder that roars

my direction i choose by the light of the moon
ever waxing and waning, untrustworthy guide
i hope against fate that i'll find the wind soon
no more oars, no more worries, just the wide ocean's tide

my sail is not raised, for i see no strong wind
only mountains and valleys of infinite waves
i've watched them approach: they have giggled and grinned
for they know that the wind is the power that saves

a boat in the eye of its sailor is all
but the wind, far above, requires less sky
it knows all the patterns of the rise and the fall
of the waves that have giggled and grinned at my cry

i plead for a breeze, for a brief breath of air,
for a change in the current that fills other sails
though the wind keeps its course, it bends ear to my prayer
its whispered reply: my path never fails

i stand on the deck, and my hands grip the rope
that will hoist up the sail and capture the breeze
and the sails in my heart are lifted by hope
as the sails catch the wind that my eye never sees

tossed this way and that by the unending fight
my once-sturdy oars now splinter and bend
the rope in my grip is now easy and light
as i raise up the sail to the height of the wind

the storm rages on, the waves never cease
my oars shatter and vanish in the dark of the night
but the wind lifts me up; i am finally released
from the chaos of pride and the lie of my right
to bask in the dawn, and the warmth of true peace
above waves, above storm, above trivial sights

gliding towards heaven on the breath of my King
refusing the lure of material things
my worries below, the heavens above
i depend on the unending wind of His love

antimony

one blessing, one curse
in this tomb may be found
one angel, one devil
behind stonework are bound
perfection, corruption
bright truth, dark deceit
all enslaved in this prison

where life and death meet
all reasoning ends
not chaos, but madness-
reality bends
'round this portal of evil
this gateway to hell
this reflection of heaven

a seraphim fell
a red demon 'rose
her mission was duty
his one goal, he chose
but the lord of existence
gave approval to neither
it devised their demise

without pity for either
or regard for their quests
it wrapped them in marble
it laid them to rest
it deprived them of choices
left them empty and null
robbed them of their voices

so here they will crawl
till some chance twist of fate
should favor her prayers
or savor his hate
may that time never come
to our mere mortal eyes
for her smile would save some

but all touched by him, dies