silver glimmer dust

What shall it profit a man…to spend all his days at home…feeding the young? 

Living in a silver gilded castle.

Days of rest long gone.

Weary, tired, loss of youth.

Never listening to the heart’s cry

To break out into the beyond.

Where is it?

Does it exist?

Is it found somewhere between the torn pages of withered books?

Is it purely fantasy?

The sound of piano keys and flutes from a distance.

A shofar…calling out into the wilderness.

Will the dreams die?  To pursue the lost.

To feed the hungry.  To welcome a weary traveler.

A mission lies out there somewhere.  Where is somewhere?

Does it lay beyond the non-existent mountains?...of flat land and valleys.

Is it heard in the voice of a baby’s cry, awakening one in the midst of the dawn?

Has it gone before us with all the saints? 

The roll call being taken.  Their very names piercing our soul of long forgotten memories. 

The contours of the face.  The touch of the skin. The sound of laughter.

Must we take the road of the labyrinth only to find ourselves trapped in the spirituality of all that ever was?

And yet reality faces us each day. 

Whether we want to admit it or not. 

The feel of the autumn winds.

The sounds of children playing in the streets.

A vacuum humming not one of an empty soul but the grit the dust, the very being of what makes life.

What brings life.

Dust.

Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

From dust we emerged into this planet of nothingness which became something within the very first rays of the morn…until the setting of the glimmer of the moon.

Silver abyss.

(I have decided to repost my original blog writing...especially for my newer followers...hence this was the piece which gave me inspiration for the name of my blog)

Assuagement

Is there gold which lies beyond the guilt?

Or is this another fallible misconception?

Shall I be ashamed and hide in the disillusionment of hibernation?

Or plunge my feet into the crystal clear smooth waters of depth?

In my fury of mental deliberation

A sliver of light begins to refract and emerge.

Improper sacrifices are rebuked

Shouldering the burden of linear thinking.

A shepherd and image bearer

Obligated to save truth

That is hidden

Rectifying rivals,

Finding refuge in the inadequacies

Insufficiency

A reminder

Of dead weight

A cracked cistern

Holding no water

This unflinching hidden agenda

Requires risk to seek the mineral,

Perspective against  humility

And weakness

A providence of failings

And motives

Laced with intent

Enthralled by mercy

Triumphing over judgment. 

Retorts and Refrains

Let justice flow as water

And kindness fall as rain

Here in the ordinary

Skirmishes and burnishes

Of life.

The melodrama continues

Will truth prevail?

The prophets of old echo

Voices of reason

And spirituality.

Pernicious evil

Noisy clangs of songs

Empty inter-faith

Veils the righteousness

Which can be heard

In the psyche.

As one hears the music

Before it starts

And unscrambles

Lyrics and notes,

The taste of the sour tongue

Drones on

Drowning out

The sweet sorrow

Of yester-years.

In tune shall the itching ears

Only hear

What they blusteringly choose

Or will another muse

Awaken their senses?

I shall whittle

Out the night

The fright

Of the frenzied

Whimsical

Whimsies.

Introspectively

Rest

Will not be

Intercepted

But will

Stave off the pride

Knowingly

Unwittingly

And unwillingly

The answers

May not

Yet

Arrive.

Curfew

The littered carcasses of aluminum cans

And nubile breasts

Padlocked behind wanton's door

So inviting to just come in

To drink of the fountain

Of poisoned lips and letters

Weary and wandering

Upon lost alleys

And cold wet cement

The truth lies dormant on the tiles

Of wet delusions and forgotten promises.

Snatch them before they are gone

Their merry way

A deluded trellis

How to reach a fools heart

Of whispered promises

And rough calluses

The innocence

Lighting their irises

In frivolity and splendor

This time the clock struck one

Rescued by the blink of the sirens.

Next fate might not shine the fair morn card

All is not lost

That which remains shall stand pure.

The embers of the fire will not snuff.

Or the bellowing waves overcome

Never shall she never give up

On the wings of a skirmished prayer

Smolten, lost, quivering, weary

But taken not by the storm

Of dance

Perchance the lullaby rings on... 

Devil's Lair

Succumbing to the dark side of anger

This two-headed dragon-rat raises his head once again.

The Phoenix burning on the ashes of the crumbling boulders

Shall I be hyper-religious or reluctant

When wrath requires a certain sophistication

To wield its mane?

Learning to walk in the heinous minefields of grain

The annihilation of desire and treacherous faith

Will not obliterate verbally

Or hurt the one intended to save.

Blank and Mumbling Matter

It's easy to be brave when the stakes remain low

The guts and the glory come when there is a price to be paid.

To lay down the crimson of man's wisdom and ever increasing fortitude.

A soft shimmer is awakened and I sense the call to bear arms.

Against the wind.  Against the tides of the moon.

My unawareness brings me to the keys.

The unknown which waits right outside the door.

Shall I quake for more, or shall I lie down in the dust?

And let the remaining feathers fly.

The quiet, the nonsense,  the media glares and stares.

If I fill my mind with this bumble and let the masses crumble

Maybe just maybe I won't have to deal with the aftermath.

Sometimes it's just much easier to sit on the chair.

So I'll just listen to the plucking of the strings,

And let the brain sludge crevices drill...

"Do not put off tomorrow what you can do today."

But just for this once I'll shun...

To embrace this moment of sheer unadulterated nothingness

And mindless bliss.

Dissolution of the Pizza Parlor

Melting mozzarella, dripping in grease.

Wet slimy floors.

A carnival in the background.

Taunting those who can no longer be.  A part of what was.

As the embassy reigns forth.  Feigning territory.

A cold hamburger.  A crying child. 

Expecting the pace of existence to quicken.  To be convenient.  Exception.  Undertaken by another flourish. 

The pennies fly crashing into a place of future solicitations.

Dollar bills crisp now waning into another yester year as global economies fall. 

Quicken the dimensional sky.  Cloudy gray creeping into the morrow. 

Yet a place to meander by when all else fails.  To spend a moment in a nondescript room.  Cornered walls.  Melding into one another.  No one notices.  Except a few who still remain. 

The Author's Voice March 2011

Looking out my kitchen window I saw a blue jay.  My heart was delighted to see this gentle reminder.  Alas it's spring!  It has been a pleasure blogging with all of you.  I am thrilled that persons of different countries and of different faith journeys are following me!  I want to give a shout-out to all of you in the United States, United Kingdom, India, Canada, Spain, Malaysia, Poland and Turkey.  Keep following I am gleaning so much wealth from each of you!

Some of my writings have been a bit more intense or dark lately.  This has been a season of much growth coupled with pain.  Personally I am dealing with some strong teenage angst from one I dearly love.  That being said, I wouldn't trade any of it for the world!  My character continues to be strengthened, and it has given me great fodder for writing.

My blue jay friend has flitted off to another tree, but he'll be back once again, reminding me tis a new season.

Peace to all, and especially to our dear friends in Japan,

Lorely

The Morning

She walks

as the glistening waves beckon

transparent, crystal clear

smashing current upon current

No time to breathe, to mourn.

Determined, a different woman.

One who has tasted of the coldness of life.

A seething mystery

unknown and unexpected.

Crashing into the bellows

Raging violence.

No time for anger, to cry.

Transfixed into numbness.

A state of being.

Unknowing, not expecting

seeking serenity

peace of mind.

As the gulls encircle

crying out to one another

a gentle breeze

trying to soothe, to remain.

Another dawn approaches…

Mourning subsides for another day.

Reverberation Backlash

The sputtering forth

Of malice and hatred

Resentment her worst enemy

Her greatest friend

She has embraced this foe

Clinging forth unencumbered

While it spews forth

In shallow malformation

The grotesque and the obscure

Lies bending

Never knowing

When or what to believe

To whom you are

And whose you are

The transparent withered bough

This limbed-arm prong

Is beginning to break

Its tines shall not wait upon the morrow

And shall address this curse

To Boomerang the starry nebulae

Of declarations

Till they pierce

The fork -shaped tongue

And slither

Back to reality.

Convergence

                                                                                       

The mean spirited spittle

Cannot have a conversation

With the virgin ears.

The Good Goody versus

The Queen Bee

Never the "twain" shall meet.

Rather cross viciously and collide

Two engines falling apart at the seams.

How does one take rails of iron

And bend them to converge and merge?

Rather spill salt on the wound

Turn the shoulder

And walk out of sight

Not Glancing back

As Lot's wife

To watch the body burn. 

Piracy

The mark of the beast swept in

With a crimson spray vessel

A lonely widow, a young couple

The blackness  swept

While we slept

A  ghostly finger came sweeping

Across the brick yards.

Agnostic, Acrostic, shameful ways.

Now the dusk owl is perched

Upon his lamb

Seeking to consider whom he might find

A boy scout flashlight in hand.

Gangs, graffiti, munchkins all

Nary a fear

As he trembles.

Not to be jittery  

Of the red smears

Or the jeers

As the night prey

Crumbles.

In The Quagmire

Time is of the essence

The firing squad with eyes darted

No floundering rather a secure testament

Of frivolities and truths.

Steadily traipsing across the bog of

Saturated soft  green tomorrows.

A look of knowing, of familiarity

The pace quickens

The questions commence

To Be or not to Be...

That is the stance

When one is under fire

From the glimpses,

Steadiness shall remain.

Fortunes were told

Lullabies sung

All is at rest

Now leave it to the one who holds the Fortress Silver Master Lock

The grand wizardry of shadow and moss  awaits...

HOPE

In Honor of International Women's day...I'm reposting this... 

I speak as to the vulnerability of woman                     

A gentle embracing fragrance

Encapsulating the parts of mankind

And antiquity.

Wisdom finds itself among the captured, the hurt, the priceless.

Encircling universal

Her gentle touch

A whisper in the wind brings her to her knees,

And she finds herself among common people, the babies,  the toddlers, the forlorn.

Wind-swept and kept

She struggles to  maintain, to keep up the pace, to fight noises of the night

Which awaken.

If she could only learn to embrace the bellowing, the howling and speak

Find the voice within which calls her to these palaces and shanties.

The walls of gentle and crumbling brick

Yet a fortress withstands, withholds and welcomes

All who are willing.

To  take their place among the peoples

Realizing that she is not only woman, she is part of mankind

Which goes beyond gender

The rulings, the manifestos

Creeds of the ages

Each has heard the cries that concern.

Reaching out to touch those who no longer want to be touched.

But rather want to listen to the soft mellow beckoning of the wind

Embrace its folds and retreat into a surrender

Not to listen, to ignore, not ponder

There must be something more...

Hope Springs Life Eternal

Breadcrumbs

A hurting world crying out

of calamity and good.

Life’s lamentations.

Struggling to find breadcrumbs along the way.

Seeking signs thought once miraculous…

now mere morsels.

Something to chew on for fodder

to absorb the elements

to yet believe.

Finding amongst us the myriad of the colors of life.

No longer ashen.

Attempting to reflect our Maker’s light,

a splash of prism rainbows.

Seeking hard to understand what may never be…

this side of eternity.

Knowing the all consuming Love of the Father

will restore what has been broken.

Standing strong.

Fighting the fight.

Warrior aching, yet choosing to trust in the battle’s cry.

Heartsick

As the full moon arises and the 3 D inverted lense strikes

The world becomes a wretched wobbly habitat.

Unable to stand, the legs are spindly

Water sploshing  about in the body

Words sicken.

The cutting edge

"How dare you!" begins

Another throttle and battle of will

The tunnel conundrum of hormones and fears

Reverberates and pulsates.

A spindly string of knots in the gut.

Throbbing disgrace.

She will stand bitter and wedged between the blows

Not to waver.

Bless those who persecute... ringing in her ears.

Furrowed brow a slim grin

Knowing she has done all she could

Not her turn

Anothers

Waiting on the departure

And when it will return

Arms open to the prodigal lies.

Someday

A  soft embrace

A fluttering of the winds of change

A rustling whisper

"Well Done"...


Someday

Charlie

Why is it we like to watch a man when he is down?...

Dripping tiger's blood

Sweating the dry palate

A man's glories lie down in the dust before him

And we pass by our sallow selves  to stare

To ruminate

Mocking his downfall

The bottom of a rock

Shall cry out or go plunging forth

To another destination

The yearlings snatched from his wretched hands

Unable to grasp his forlorn

Instead housed in a realm of bathing beauties

To the demise of his fruit

Spouting arrogance and narcissistic stature

Crashing wildly and profanely

Blinded by his own shadow and light

Where is the support?

Press falling in for each bitter word

Each denial

The loved ones captured from afar

To "What shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world, yet lose his own soul?"

Calling forth angels before another tread.

Not to let him gash his foot upon the rocks.

Rescue him from his spiral

The genius craving  mind... his worst enemy.