For more poems, check out this page.
Patch of Prayer
walked through a
And even a skyscraper
little in the wind
Natures of God
the flitless, solid thorough!
the flashing, rockness,
blotless, thingless, weightless,
love-stuffed, bliss crammed, stateless!
veiled, light sheen,
angel sprawling, shaking hell-
infinite speed, patient swell,
widthless, wide most,
clearest, hidden, christ
then church-bell gongs!
to bellowed songs!
ripple absent, so still and waved,
mountain peaked and quiet caved;
gloom robbed, gravid blessed;
death dead, make-saint
logic’s sharp, mind’s blunt;
the prey, the hunt
Stave off the crashing worlds of sorrow,
Clench me close-tight in every midnight and morrow.
When upon the uneven darkness and wicked I stumble,
Velvet me as on that down-ness I tumble.
If hell hails, then haunts my will to brittle,
Do not untend me, in your breast be my committal.
If when seeking my work in this realm of compete,
Help me complete my orders while supine at His feet.
And in decade and day that my flesh pour to the grave,
Keep Your promise, and make me pure brave:
Stay with me in that graying, colding dead place,
And unveil Yourself, love me, reveal me Thy grace!
That rived bone, the plummeted bomb,
The flesh that you adored so dear,
The comrade and confidant to earth gone,
The wrecked mind, the goal gaunt year.
The spasm and twinge of absented love,
The fretful scramble to gorge the bank,
The glances for lightning from Above,
The jostling for a surpassing rank.
Oh! how all items are so serious!
Existence a carcinogen, a hurricane of tumors!
You really should be exquisitely delirious,
If you could only get God’s sense of humor!
There are no tragedies, no despair’d black
A broken life, is but a broken nail
Everything simply, repeatedly grows back
And once again, you are whole and hale.
Total Tilt (or Ever Rise!)
me spotted tertialed, covert speckled spec that slow lap the sapphire sweep,
wow! this flighted-crucifix through blue though not blue bare
yawing striped tail, whip fro to, too-too steady in the vast slips of clear
Pinions faintly tip, your total tilt, to round you round some rondure unseen.
scurried thing search? no, not this light – uptucked grapplers!
and your eyes aloft, toward the apogee of the tentless!
you, eagle, know me, are me, though me plumped to this flat this.
but we wait, we patient, circle realms, eyes both toward the ever up
we live not for life, but for some Invisible we know not of, yet aching sense