#1
I wish that I was a poet.
Who wrote words in song, so swift
and sweet
That when ears heard the tears from their weak eyes
fell, down deep
singing:
Oh Beauty,
You truely know me.
More than sound can tell
Reason's fight and will's wishing well
Light finds me
Beckoning:
the water where my spirit dwells
Soaring.
Flying.
Out from Drowning's pull...
taking me high again (or once for the first time...)
I
Touch the surfaces of
Contemplation
With Truth as my Companion
I seek.
I find.
Oh meek and awesome Jesus,
Won't you please make me a poet?
Purslane, the ode to be WITHSANDING through
all circumstance. MAKE ME
the offstep beat of shoes on city pavement
that dance to a drum circle's statement:
"WE ARE HERE TO MAKE MUSIC"
they do. we are.
whether the crowd insists or declines our
UNaplogetic cry out in
joy.
in freedom.
one. two.
tall/dark/crooked/Grin.
STOP!
oh Goodness in essense, you see SO clearly
with eyes MINE could never close.
oh Saving Grace and HOPE
make me! make me
your own
your own
your own.
And I see you move.
you GET me with my clapping hands, head high smile BASS SOLO.
and you go.
right out from my soul to the Goosebumps that follow
REVELATION
And like vines on an old brick house, you flow in and out.
In and out.
TOUCH SOME ONE ELSE
with my open flesh and bones,
won't you?
Make me grow.
Make me grow.
into your own.
#2:
I find myself lost
again.
Having big conversations as
Small talk, which is
not understood by recieving parties...
though they think they know where i'm "at" they don't.
Because I stand [stopped] in my mind's reason
in trying to remember what i've forgotten
and once had gathered for certain
deep in my
conscience.
In my
Experience
In my
Churning, stir-sleep thought process.
Exclusive, reclused, pensive
seen by few and seldom EXposed...
Open, I am.
But unable to reproduce the words as
Sounds and syllables- concepts both metaphor and literal
[spiritual and physical]
I'm seemingly in capable of something I've always been good at:
the art and science of...
commu...nication. trans...lation
of one heart's questions and answers to another soul.
and I just want to be
at home.
But it won't be a place I'll go
Cause if its anywhere its with someone I've not yet known.
Or up
up and away
Inside Eden's secrets.
Which are found ONLY in losing what I've gained.
Heard only in the silence, in the quiet as I've prayed.
But at least my thought and feeling
dreams and far fetched keeping
of what I NAME "BEAUTY"
is begot,
had,
and understood in full
by He who calls me
His.
#3
I am Alexander Supertramp.
I'm Jack; Sparrow and Keroac.
I am Etta James and Joplin
Ella, Parks and Plath.
I am white,
I mean caucasian.
I am culture
I am black-
and blue, as bruises, you see,
but healing
hope filled
and free from outward expectation
I am green leaves growing,
A brave and bold color blooming
on the petals of garden PANSIES
which have been
planted by two hands my mother wears
under her
gloves, which, I have not seen Much of
yet this season,
because
She's been busy...
I am St. Paul brick and mountain snow;
Orange, red and yellow trees that line the East Coast.
I am used and vintage leather boots
custom taylored skirts and tunes
my own mind make the melody for.
I don't rhyme all that good
and my writings mostly mean the world to me
and my God alone...
So I am solitude.
solitare and confined to myself
But IN love with all who I find myself
aware
of existing SO far.
Yeah I am spray paint on city tunnels and church begotten stained glass windows
I am off key, on beat
dirty and Blatent in my
naked. ness.
