Poetry Monday |12| In the Valley

Through the San Joaquin
blanketed in the rain of night

Incandescent light, casting an amber glow
Way high, above the fields, on the clouds
It shows that grey quilt in all its glory

Lazy mist settles at my feet, on my head
Lowering itself like a sheet of silver to
Cover and warm the sacred Earth beneath

On my way across the plains, at night
Mighty stars and brighter disks go unseen
Even Luna herself cannot shine through

Baked in the furnace of California sun
All but ninety million miles away
Clouds of Ocean drape the sky in stead
Kindly cooling the Earth again

Poetry Monday |11| continued...

Elisha
and the Bears

Another perfect example, so pristine
Not without a hint of condoned insanity
Distressed? Disturbed?
On this point of view, thousands of years distant
No, I can't tell so clearly

Lost, your faith shaken
Your leader has forsaken
You and everything you do for Him
Outside, you feel outside
Unappreciated, remember all He's taken

Friday of the Poem

Move Along
How we lose ourselves, even at the slowest pace of time.

Time's a slow moving beast
Originating somewhere, long forgot
Move along
Escape the gravity of everything

I yearn for that era
Long ago, when the world was just, simpler
Only as complicated as we would let it be
Virgin, innocent

Each day we move away
Yesteryear, tomorrow, time begins to blur;
Or,
Undone, we all fall down.

Poetry Monday |10|

The Board
Survival is not an option; fear is a fading commodity.

Jest at night with my Brothers,
Untried, convicted, tortured -- together.
Survival is our one true intent.

To the plank we go, one by one.
Lie back, take the sock, whatever it is,
Ingest the simplest vitriol, water.

Stand trial like the man I once was;
Tearing misconceptions from the walls.
Every one of my Brothers is here.
Not one of us shall survive, but all.

Poetry Monday |9| Imagine the Sheer Amount of Acid

Gliding High Below Me
My soul is separate; it leads the way. Transcend the bullshit.

Where mere mortals crawl, I've come to fly.
How these silvery sheets of foam chill my skin,
Yet I cannot find a way to purify.
Why can't I forget where I've been?

Onward I glide, holding pace with time;
Nearing a boundary that should ne'er be crossed.
To the edge where the dead men lie,
Yearning to find those Li(v)es that were lost.

Outside of the presence of all Mankind,
Underneath the realm of all we can find.

Poetry Monday |8| Begin the Code

Paradox of the Just
From the dust we came, to the dust shall we return.

Justice. Achieved only in isolation, which
Even the best of our laws cannot abide.

Not without God is Justice brought;
Nor has it or will it ever been done.

In divine isolation, it must be wrought.
For in sight of man, it's prone to greed.
Even those Laws are flawed with time;
Rendering Justice unreal, merely sought.

Poetry Monday |7| My Blue

Caeruleas Mea
The one I chose, amongst many.

As the last light of day drained westward,
Westward with the masters of innovation,
I cast my unwavering sight duly North.
There and to the East, a jewel of time caught my eye.

A distant diamond in the infinite rough;
Vibrant with life of a celestial kind.

There, a million million miles, lightyears, or lifetimes
Distant; a glistening heart, gliding with grace.
Its pale glow so immense, beckoning me
Like the beacon it is, to a safer shore.

Its own shallow harbor, cast blue with its shine,
Must be a place of unimaginable wonder.

Its journey through the night, the eons, I follow.
For an infinite time it lives; apart, together,
Like night or far brighter than day.
As endless bridges of dust or orb of power.
My star is, always has, and always will be.

Christened by me on the tenth night,
My star is my guiding force. Caeruleas Mea.
A month since, I still follow her.
A month since, I still yearn to be cast, alone,
Onto her azure shores.

I yearn to follow that ever-glowing beacon,
The one that beckons me so.
So that I may be warm in her radiation;
So that I no longer feel so lost, adrift, in time.

Poetry Monday | 5 | This one's derp.

Music Vitae
There isn't a song we haven't yet sung.

How do we capture the moment when it's made of air

It slips through our fingers without resistance

I think we've lost a bit of ourselves, it seems we no longer care

It feels right when the sound of life is wrong

When the music in the room is that of your life

Forget, forget, forget.

Sometimes a song matches just right

The frequency is that of the universe around it

Sometimes it seems like we just don't give shit.

How do we know when the time is just right or wrong

To hit play or pause some other odd command

I think we've been without the music of life for too long.

If I could get it right, yes, I would dare

When the music in the room is that of your life

Forget, forget, forget it.

Poetry Monday | 4 | An Old Collaboration

The Greatest Good
co-written by my good friend Tom.

Greenery and pastures brush my leg,

grass grown with my very hands.

I feed the cattle with vodka.

I learned the ways from our fathers,

who taught to me the greatest good.

It did not take long, only thirty years or so,

but in that time I have grown old.

Now, too late, I have taken up my father's ways.

Sow the seed, grow the hops,

torch the families mark on bovinian skin.

Children rhymes, playing games in the road,

turn to endless study, for a number never more than four;

then to the old ways. I'm torn apart like paper.

I feed the cattle with vodka.

I rest my head on the gate,

staring across acres, growing with every generation.

A night passes, a woman passes.

Despite the laws of my fathers, I leave my bed, for another.

I feed the cattle with vodka.

Vodka pouring down, every night, a new bosom, I caress.

My father looks down and cries purple darkness,

the sun sets upon his land, looking east, I see

greenery and pastures, that brush my leg.

Here, as said by law, must be the greatest good.

What is it? What is this good?

I feed the cattle with vodka.

I look to the drink and watch the flies buzz,

drunk, the sun sets on their backs, too drunk.

What is it? What is this good?

Fire! The feild of my lover is ablaze.

I race against the river,

too late, my lover gone, I have only my love. I cannot cry.

The words of my father, "One" echo.

His law, the greatest good. One bosom at night.

The cattle go hungry this night.

The green pasture yellows, as a new acre is sprung,

grass, grown with my very hands.

Sun rises on one end of the family farm, near me, dusk.

I dig a hole in the ground and bury my troubles.

Is this it? Is this the greatest good?

The words of my father sound different today.

The cattle are dead, my pasture is brown, a last bit of light.

I pack my bags and walk away.

Against the law, I turn west, the sun no longer moves.

A dandelion catches my heel, I stare and think of

my love, my kin, my cattle, my pasture. I look back, smile,

and realize what is the greatest good.

Poetry Monday | Another Old One

We Lie Dieing On the Battlefield
(Yet the Cavalry Never Arrives)

We lie dieing on the battlefield
Yet the Cavalry never arrives.
One would assume that measures,
(as rare as they normally may be)
Would be deliberately taken,
To assure the survival of our Cavalry.

The hills are now immortal forts,
The smoking plains, so deep, entrenched,

The valleys run thick with Europe's blood,

The battle is lost, as God can see.

Yet, unknown to the men of this war,

Are the whereabouts of our Cavalry

O, where are they, our flaming scouts,
Who ride, so gallant, with rapiers drawn,

Upon the noblest steeds of line,

To cause even the Huns to flee.

Where are they, those proud lion-hearts

Who call themselves the Cavalry.

Perhaps this mud of mechanical war
Has slowly drowned our splendid last resort,

Perhaps they fell and choked on death,

Those men who ride so valiantly.

O, where are they, our warrior gods,

The ones we call the Cavalry.

Poetry Monday.

Fight (For) You
A poem I wrote, I think it's an explanation.

When I feel I’m falling from warmer climes,

The ones you made out of loving words.
It’s all I can do to keep myself afloat
When I feel like I’m about to go insane.

I can’t see you like I did,
I can’t feel your beating heart,
I can’t see your glowing eyes,
I think I left a bit of me behind.

When we are bolder than a minute ago,
I swear your voice comes alive in my...
This is all I can do to stay afloat.
I just can’t feel anymore.

I can’t see you anymore,
I don’t feel your beating heart,
I don’t remember your glowing eyes,
I think I left it all behind.

I can’t help but hit the keys a little harder.
The words that form are all for you
And every time you come back it’s so cold,
But cold is better than to be without you.

When we go louder than the hour before,
I feed on anger as though it were a drug.
At least I can hear you once again my dear.
At least it feels like you are here.

I want to see you again,
I want to feel your breaking heart,
I miss those lovely morning eyes,
I wish I had come along for the ride.

Now I’m stuck holding on by a thread,
A suicidal serpent - eating its own tail.
I feel closer when I’m fighting with you.