Saturday, September 15, 2007

On the run up . . .

to rapture, things're too quiet,
more clamor+ than ever,
the world much ado about nothing.
Heaven's clarion call unheeded,

they fall, unburied, a thousand years+
passing in oblivion, awaiting destruction,
when the Universe's most beautiful one+
leads them to take the untakable city.+

Sodom and Gomorrha remembered then,
final rain of brimstone, laying waste
to those who will never see new life+
on new Earth with new heavens above.+,+

No telling them, they won't believe,+,+
preferring a fanciverse and no Creator,+
when all nature knows Him well,+
which they destroyed as a canker worm+

. . . when they pretended to care,+
with intentionally late Kyoto Protocol+ to CYA.


Friday, September 14, 2007

Faces . . .

"They say," the end is near.
Even the Moody Blues sung,
"One more time to live and
           I have made it mine."
When they hadn't made anything at all . . .

except "music" almost no one really heard
that transcended all before or since
in first six albums, almost touching heaven,
. . . while I climbed Jacob's Ladder, deep within.

Didn't want to be an Andy Warhol guru+,
just heard. Still found only few who listen,
somehow knowing it's true, and not false,
while I wait and hope to see faces lit of heaven . . .

         . . . not far off now . . .


Saturday, September 8, 2007

Snoopy to the rescue

I want her close enough to kiss,
close enough to hold, close enough to caress,
close enough to softly touch her cheek,
close enough for tears to fall on her shoulder,

near enough to kiss me & lay her head on my shoulder,
near enough to hold me, near to caress me,
near to softly touch my cheek and
near enough for her tears to fall on my shoulder,

closer than across the Caribbean pond
she said would be a short swim.
Told her I'd be waiting with beach towel
and, though still in hope for my dearest friend,

. . . I walk away now from breakers on quartz,
dragging her towel behind me like sad Linus.
Charlie Brown shouts from the shore, "Good grief!,"
and Snoopy trots along to the rescue to pick up the other end.

            Thanks guys. - *smile*


The inside corner . . .

What not to do can't not be done.
As hard as I've tried,
my agreement stands in my denial,
while white-capped breakers turn languid, clear & slide away.

Languishing through the decades,
aloneness set harder than stone,
I reach out, still believing
she's out there somewhere.

Gave up on "American Woman,"+
but can't get past its borders.
Though millions come this way
and prosper more than many here.

Sorry, I strayed from the point.
I'm sure you see why now.
Even a flint napper+ would walk away
while I keep eyes on horizon below the moon,

. . . with pain of languish like pain inured.

Friday, September 7, 2007

No-petaled flower

She loves me, she loves me not,
she loves me not, she loves me,
she loves me, she loves me not,
she loves me not, she loves me.

There, there, now, sigh, she loves me.
Sent me a good night hug, she did, she did.
Broke my heart she did, in the best way.
Sent my new friend tears with gentle hug, I did.

Soft touch of virtual cheeks then
with a light kiss, retiring with a smile.
Up early next morning thinking of her,
writing a few more lines, softly sighing.

. . . then no-petaled flower slowly fell
to softest carpet of forest floor.
Now set again to search for lost petals
stopping only to quietly weep against a tree

somewhere near lost glen found so long ago . . .