Glimpses
.contact
THE SPACE clean and ordinary, greeters holding nicely between aloof
And overborne, avoiding excess, order called at the appointed minute,
And when opportunity presented to raise my hand and speak
I stumped them with a teaser yet slept badly that night—
.prayer
A SPIRIT of steel hardly suffices
To approach the lioness
Who kills for the pride—
Hardly suffices to await
The bloom of the apricot
When hungry.
Faith poorly endowed in darkness
Wearies of hands held high
For angels to take—
Endowed poorly to step
In honor of darkness
Broken only by starlight.
Dawn is the coldest time of night
Readying rushes of wind
In the unsettlings—
Pleasing the lioness
Seemingly—
Alert.
.kingdom
A KINGDOM is generally ruled by a king
Who does deeds and an occasional awesome thing,
Who in general has the help of trusty knights.
More often than not peasants serve the king
With hard work the weal of the commonwealth to bring
And the song of his deeds they sing,
Jubilant with sustenance and covering and families all a-light.
Castles by and large serve as homes for a king,
Shared with trusty knights who sit in a ring
To confer in trust of peasantry in its many plights.
And if power beseems there might be a wing
Above all—a pope over king—
Beloved or besmirched depending—
The cloud above mountain beyond days and nights.
.foundation
AS THE DUST of New Mexico
Could suck the River dry
If it tried, so I yearn.
A reason—no, a reason—I mean a reason to believe
And do and don’t and live and die
And give it up through desperate situation till I cry—
.day-journey
DON’T RIP this book in two
I tell my troubled soul—
Eat it—chance it—who rips who?
This journey—prize me whole.
It opens with a prayer—
I pray—or so I used to—
Till God went snuggles in the cloud
And I sought another avenue.
Could fluttering flags say our prayers?
A wisp of smoke? Our groans?
Maybe a mechanic in our brains
Or a toss of copper coins.
My storm-tossed soul
Surrenders—the heebie-jeebies reel—
Subdued I read as on parole
With hope it will not kill.
Gathering to glory
Too like the God I knew
But not the mountain I once climbed
Which laughed—a chill went through—
This book now reads in glory
Then crunches down reverse—
Paradise—promised gardens—
Then dark-eyed babes in service.
Housed within the male loins
Lurk desires that can grow—
Unto an end—will bless or ruin—
Seeds of love or seeds of sorrow—sow.
Reminiscent of the Tao
Ambulating a pleasant path
And then—a leafy hole—
The ankle turns—unwelcome word of wrath.
Thoughts run dry and classes end—
The journey—to a halt—
Leaves reader heavy in confusion—
Soul pondering a quiet doubt.
.alternatives
BUDDHISM:
HINDUISM:
TAOISM:
CONFUCIANISM:
JUDAISM:
CHRISTENDOM:
ISLAM:
CATHOLICISM:
PROTESTANTISM:
ORTHODOXY:
LATTER-DAY SAINTS:
JEHOVAH’S WITNESSES:
UNITARIANISM:
FREEMASONRY:
HUMANISM:
AGNOSTICISM or APATHEISM:
SPIRITISM:
WAR:
LOVE:
POETCHILDE:
ATHEISM:
PANTHEISM:
FALSE RELIGION:
TRUE RELIGION:
.speculation
Pandemic rumination
THE FIRE CHIEF of Los Alamos when I was growing up impressed upon us Boy Scouts seeking the firemanship merit badge that no truth whatsoever could procure residence within the tenacious rumor called “spontaneous combustion,” meaning that a human would occasionally burst into flame until turned to ash, marking a bizarre moment upon this Earth attested to by the vehement voice of the few witnesses lacking evidence of registry or trace. According to the Bible and hinted at by Greek mythology, demons once sojourned upon this Earth, having lingered at gaze, thus assuming humanoid bodies from which they impregnated women, producing a hybrid race mythologically called “demigods.” This was tolerated by God until the Great Flood, attested to by traditional stories from many lands. According to Biblical exegesis, this Flood chased the demons back to the spirit realm, killing the hybrid offspring. Could it be that in hippie days when skirts were short enough to tempt the tempters that demons who came down to repeat their stunt were met with the Fire of God?
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