A Far Too Brief Caution in the Battle for the Mind

Can you imagine the weight of such time?
The crushing inertia of thousands of years?
Like Atlas's burden, the words and the rhymes
Of numberless forebears will not disappear.

The stone has been deeply and boldly engraved,
Far harder to change than the stroke of a pen,
For centuries' poets did not write enslaved
By paper; their pad was the fabric of men!

And now, in an age with a dwindling mind
That scatters by hours of flickering lights,
A Bic-pen swirls patterns so true to their kind,
But empty of hearers, they silently fight.

For battle this is, for a much greater cause
Than that championed chiefly by medial fears.
Their world is without, thus they only find loss
In external misfortune and hope in their peers.

I tell you the struggle cannot be en masse!
Each soul must establish dominion within,
And then can the Kingdom of wisdom surpass
And be built here, with peace flowing forth from all men!

A Warm Welcome

Like Abraham stands fate with thee,
Atop a mount with unheard plea,
No beast to give, resistance down,
Abandoned but with sober crown.

"How easy now," forked tongue inquires,
"To live with cain 'til breath expires?"
Red plastic bounds each week to next,
Its hemlock dew the mind perplexed.
Great oil of speech, grave action's soap,
With basic grip it coats the slope.
An acid will, the taught core's bane,
Is equal cause of heady pain.
For matters grey dissolve, erased,
And brightest minds take mundane's place.

A lonely aisle presents itself
To one sealed jar upon the shelf.
While shards of neighbors grace floor tiles,
Spoiled, ferment, traitors defiled.

But at the head the trail is mine;
I've room to yield to one devine.
Good luck, warm welcome to the right,
And keep my love within your sight.

Mice click (6-28-07)

Mice click, keys patter.
Metal hums its favorite song.
This is not the realm of nature.
This is a man-u-fractured world,
Charged with a busy lust
For material material,
And earning sixteen
Comforts each hour,
(Money is comfort
And comfort is priceless—
Because the pricetag is hidden.)
That suit-clad, mad “me”-er
Short-circuits the world
Cells ring.
Wheels glide.
Cogs jam.
Mice click.

Rhubarb and Strawberry Love

Rhubarb is a lot like celery.
Rhubarb is stringy, not refined.
The reason raw rhubarb is
Scorned by even the most
Cullinarily confident of cooks
Is readily clear--
Readily crunchy and chewy
And readily, rabbley, raunchily
Not so good-tasting.

Strawberry is a lot like heaven.
Strawberry is luscious and refined.
The reason ruby strawberries are
Used to top wedding cakes for
The most powerful of unions
Is readily clear--
Readily succulent and sweet
And readily, regally, righteously
Wonderful-tasting.

I am rhubarb.
She is strawberry.

From atop her throne in my world,
She gazes up towards that one greater power.
I acknowledge that One,
But am compelled to ascribe
To my second athrone
Such wonderful love that
Only my one Savior knows.

She should look long down
On this little old rhubarb
And sneer at his feeble attempts
At respect.
The strawberry in the sky
Descends to sit by me,
And stunned yet again,
(As each time I see her),
This rhubarb feels fit, perhaps,
For a pie.

For that is the beauty of 'berries and rhubarb
Combined in a glorious dance of the senses.
The rhubarb is brought to a sky higher platform
The strawberry tempered with less-sweet bouquets.

The oven of love melts
That mismatched raw simple
And mixes the spirits
Of grins, hugs, and dimples.

I.
Love.
You.

More.

There is simply something there,
Like a vibrant, buzzing electric current.
I sense that connection
As much as I take in your
Beautiful, innocent green eyes;
The flowing brown hair, which frames
The curve of your cheek--
The face of a highness
Of fantasy novels--
The clouds of your mouth,
Parted so slightly
In a happy exchange;

That current drives me, compels me
To pull you to me,
Hold you tighter than life;

Huck-finning in person,
I know every hill, every valley--
All those hours outside

Of our comfort, pushing
Pushing
The border of losing ourselves
In the wilderness.

A summer shower
Casts no doubt,
Casting the closet's
Uncertainty through
The window.
This magical rhubarb and strawberry love
Will never be left on the side of the road.

No matter the cook,
A strawberry like you
Will always delight.

Darwin's Annotation

The cool-cave dark assuaged the sting
Of hours beneath a vengeful sun.
All the beasts of paw and wing
Cried of hard fights and were undone.

Two kinds arose that bested all,
Emerged to conquer every land.
And one had power of mind and gall,
The other will and strength of hand.

These two odd beasts were one in form,
Compressed inside a single mind,
And wracked the bodies with raw harm
They aimed, each at the other kind.

The struggle over rule of man
Was waged not by a march of drums
But rather fought to guard the van
That in ones deepest center hums.

Charcoal paintings lining caves
Reveal the ancient conflict's base.
The rags of time-lost souls that wave
And flap, illumine man's old race.

So who has won this tattered war
Of right verse instinct here engrained?
It's up to you, lest you ignore,
And watch poor kindness start to wane.