When he’s here,
I’ll not be there.
Everyone knows I’m a coward
who’ll refuse his foot-in-the-door.
I’ll pull the shades
turn off the light
throw the chain-bolt.
I will be sneaky
as he is punctual.
I doubt not God’s my messenger and oft
I see him in the whirling colors there.
His message is a gentle love, aloft
and all his voice remembered everywhere.
He is the author of the spider’s way
whose mystic journey often spins astray
unless that force and guide is heard.
He is our stamen stretching for the sun;
He is the unknown spark hid in hadrons.
Wordle #193 (sign,arrival, scar, stray, ingest, alone, silent, holy, plain, pale, laughing, chime)
Another HOLY day he sits ALONE
As SIGN of God’s ARRIVAL CHIMES the door.
His SCARRED, STRAY heart LAUGHING at the love
he will INGEST: a pat upon his PLAIN and simple head.
He waits, PALE and SILENT…
Faint amber glow remains to haunt
their fiery past.
Her slumber stirs. His candle cast
and with its burn, her snuffer there again to taunt
but not to trim his light.
His wick still wild with passion’s flight.
dreams emboldened; reckless delight.
“What Is the Time, Please?”
We’re here so our time is Now.
Our dreams, fleet-footed as the stars,
race across the universal swirl
and form a figure-eight, return to open space
where there’s no future nor a past.
We’re left in sacred pause
to whirling, endless
“Dead Man’s Hand”
Until the day I die,
I’ll never forget
those glassy, un-blinkin’ eyes.
Old Bill, he stared;
no devil denied.
Across the table,
I saw them eyes.
Surprised , he glared
at the cards in his hand.
Oh, the Queen of Spades
was his low-in-the-hole
‘neath Aces and Eights.
Yeah , Aces and Eights
now drip, drip, drip
in a dead man’s grip.
Left a drop of blood
on Bill’s Queen of Spades.
Left his business card
name of one called “Krel”;
(Some say from Hell)
but a Devil with his