Great Expectations

foliage

 

The seeds of Great Expectations rooted deep,

but she tasted their fruits not in the fair soil of trinkets

fashioned from sturdy stems,

cabinetry of beauty and elegance

displaying the wares of Kings,

nor in the expression of the printed page,

pouring forth speech from pulpy loins.

Less still the warmth of a billion fires,

songs of a billion kettles

as her fuel gave Man comfort from the endless darkness.

It came, not in the power and might

of the straight-rimmed arrow’s shaft

or the machinations of the torture room,

but in the beautiful irony of Life –

the abandonment of her burdens,

 bouquet of ultimate surrender.

Here, where she came to terms with her brokenness,

her truest beauty harvested

Great Expectations.

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Deforestation

pineshine.jpg

 

Can’t see the forest

for the family

trees, these black and blue

recessive genes; if I

fall in the shadows,

will anyone hear?

Charades

crooked.jpg

 

You wear the bark,

but the charade

bites, xylem and

phloem corked with

pseudo-sap. Leaves

wilt, dejected

heralds marking

your soul wormwood,

galled by blighted

moral compass, limbs

sold to do evil

where, rooted to

inferior soil,

your destruction

is imminent.

Outside the Lines

purple smokebush autumn

 

O bloodied branch, femoral

artery feeding lusty

lies, if self is emptied out

(radical transfusion), might

your stump become a tree of

Life for me? Might skin, peeling,

bare veins which would bleed, not for

egocentric comforts or

satisfaction in single

dose, but multiplied networks,

capillaries of comfort

and compassion? Let leeches

drain decomposition, let

radical revolution

leak Love radically spilled,

in living outside the lines.

The Tailor

Looking up

 

Scurrying,

hurrying,

frantic to-do-worrying,

blind-eyed,

soul-dried,

blinkers block the view.

Slowing,

knowing,

intake of the blowing,

raising,

gazing,

comprehending blue.

Standing,

landing,

soul-to-sky expanding,

seeing,

freeing,

seeking golden dreams.

Stretching,

fetching,

drinking in the etching,

reclining,

aligning,

repairing at the seams.

Treasure

pot of gold

 

Pots of gold mark the places

where trees, undaunted

by their world’s enmity,

choose to bury the hatchet.

Stripped of their wares,

pirated and split into

planks which dead men walk,

they lay their treasures

at our feet, bowing

to our superiority.

 

Life Has Carved Her Callouses

bark.jpg

Life has carved her callouses

upon my tender heart,

my response was toughening

the epidermis part –

so soften me, oh Holy Son,

with springtime’s timely rays,

that roughened edges would not keep

my soul from grasping grace.