climes

the sky, she cries for us
she cries at different speeds
but here she cries for us now slowly
and misty eyed, the drops descend to earth
the crops, supplied with water
which they require to proceed
in birth and death converging into seeds
beneath the labor of a sun who intertwines the atmosphere.
jointly holding warmth to stem and stalks
directing climes to north of cold and south of hot
keeping creature, orb, and water goldilocked.

Jupiter in giant gaseous grace
grapples hurtling stones in her embrace
sheltering the children she attends
to scatter crumpled comets at her waist
doting from her doubtless rosy view
content to mind her daughter's pallid hue

the sky, she stays by chance
held above, yet pulled away from the expanse
causing cosmic rays to ricochet
turning brilliant skipping particles askance
while we reflect, transfixed on places far
pondering our providence in glancing shooting stars
inscribing stationary sightings in our scopes
in hopes of comprehending the confounding lightspeed slopes

All in universal radiance will stray
how improbable beholders scry their flight
where variance would bring these privileged scribblings
rather than an empty endless night.

//notes

at her waist - the asteroid belt

doubtless rosy view - because her eye, it's red : )

pallid hue - earth, the pale blue dot

lightspeed slopes - red shift of accelerating universe

privileged scribblings- that's you and me, friends, and everything that isn't nothing.

precipice

father, father, wish me well
we'll find if i flew or fell
i stand at the precipice
where i'll try again at this

father, father, bless my steps
make them steady, sure, adept
bless the rock from which i lept
bless the promises i've kept

father, father, wish me well
i go to the gates of hell
where they rend my flesh apart
desperate to break my heart

Ancient

An Ancient is not a thing that is old. It is a new mind fluttering in the present, beholding a thing that was long ago. It is the fresh fabric of matter reverberating the patterns of the past into the eyes of the present. A hush, fallen to the ears of a moment. Hanging in the smallest spark between a memory and a premonition.

The old ways speak us secrets, songs, and stories long forgotten. Distill the wisdom of lifetimes to a single sip, that we may drink deep enough to taste progress. And when One whispers, you should listen.

This is an echo of what I once heard in the quiet of a moment.

secondhand

groceries.
those and cloths we throw our capital at:
a bow tie and a apple,
and the means to go between our dreams,
the office, and the hawkers in our social contract.
wrapped in paper or plastic;
rapt, captive, trapped in coin and currency and vendors.
crooning platitudes to the church of package senders,
that our lips might whisper same day shipping
at the shrine of chip readers and choosing tips.
let supplication fall upon our ears at alter call
for greater goods and self services to all
that we might have saved, and find redemption codes.
and praise be to the last discount in stock,
deep savings locked, our cart runneth over by the shipping truck loads.

how could this be so cheap?
people greed steeped in paper and plastic;
smothered in brands and choices
instead of helping hands, and voices.
in drastic need of gratification - fast.
grant us contentment in arms clasped
let that butterfly flutter and land at long last
that we might grasp love for fellow man
and find value in the person we sold secondhand.
let us trade compliments, smiles, and glances,
foregoing sunday papers and clearance aisles -
break off our retail romances.
cast off the chains of possessions,
and profess a life not packed in cardboard, hoarded away.
though we might not have it overnight.

Trouble

I went down to the water
I went down to the sea
and trouble come tumblin' on over
trouble come tumblin' for me

Rain, rain on down trouble
fallin' in doubles and drops.
sky would water these puddles
as i'm prayin' my troubles would stop

shes a sight in the autumn
light as wind through the trees
and trouble come rustlin' my heartstrings
heavy and heaped in debris

fall, fall on down troubles
flutter and flirt with the breeze
shed and scatter to stubble
until all my troubles will leave

there she goes lady winter
cloaked in her snowflakes and frost
frigid she flies, yet i melt in her eyes
and by springtime my troubles are lost

snow, snow on down troubles
fallin' in flurries and sleet
cover all of this rubble
until all my troubles complete

distilled

i took some classes back in school
about bonds and atomic numbers
because i needed a stamped piece of paper
that plenty of people suppose is important.
i disagree, but still sat
for an hour on occasion
to learn how things fall towards stability,
draw near to each other, and interact.

i forget most of that,
but i could learn it again if i wanted to.
i could get a text message about it
from a girl i used to talk to
for an hour on occasion.

did she hold her breath for ninety three minutes?
pretend to sip from the cup we needed to get a cardboard sleeve for?

she said there was no chemistry,
but if you cut that scene
it spills out air and caffeine.

if she caught a glimmer in my eye,
heard me bend a note or utter accidental truths,
she'd know that chemistry is everything around you,
reverberating to the heartbeat
of the poor soul that has to tell you
how much they're worth getting to know,
softly whispering that they're coffee,
distilled and taken in,
for an hour on occasion

cant

i can't.
and thieves can't;
and i cant,
but it doesn't make art if it never gets clear
or never gets thicker.
no matter which way it wobbles,
it must end at a point,
it must speak something;
or be so quiet
that you know
nothing's there.
it can't wax incoherent.
it can't buzz and drone formlessly
because that's exactly what is already.
it can't be unmoved, unshaped, undisturbed.
it can't be so subtle
that you know nothing's there
it can't
i cant

this is a really depressing blog i've been running here

it's been a really long time since i have posted here, and it's good to see that i have grown a bit since some of these posts.

i find that i have written a lot of things in tough times, out of anguish, or careful inspection of my situations. the things i wrote down are important for the process of getting through those times, and part of being human.

reflecting on such things allows you to truly appreciate the good times, however, and i am happy to be able to have such a deep thankfulness for my current situation.

God is good.

I say this phrase almost every time my car starts (and even when it doesnt). I sit back and exhale in reverie of all of the great things i have. a place to stay. an awesome job. enough money to buy food. God is very good. lately i have been able to recognize the very good things i have going for me, and it has been great to simply be alive.