Pale
Small
of height,
hirsute
of face,
lightly
complected beings,
a
puzzle for the ages.
They’d look you in the eye in the day,
but
it’s their bad light, they hardly saw
you,
a
lucky phase of the moon
gave
them the dark eyes of moon-glow
that
would help them see
well
enough to build
their
citadels upon tall hills.
Where
once stood their castles of stone,
there
is now only rubble.
Pale
hands/red hearts,
they
survived a thousand dawns
until
a fierce reaction to their presence
only
left their echo.
The air is still heavy with the rumor of their myth or reality.
Western Moon Substitute
A
feather sweetly sleeping at the bottom of a cliff.
Thunder
in arroyos
as
clouds roll past,
with
the promise of storms
coming
strong and fast,
followed
by an equally quick hint of blue.
Glory
seen in a red moon risen.
Lightning’s song telling of what we call creation.
Pinyons
framed by sunlight,
all
who view them, loving that happy glow.
I
heard a story once about
a
western moon substitute that exists,
but there’s no such thing.
The Lost Children of the God Mars
Finding
no family
because
tracing a bloodline is not an option.
Finding
no friends,
how
will we ever know their story?
We
know not where they began,
the
milestones of their life,
of
sin or those of innocence,
nor
where any but their last
milestone
occurred.
Their
biographies should be an absorbing account
written
upon a thousand cards,
with
words that tell their human aspirations
and
their callings.
Without
the ability to cast counter-clockwise back in time,
to
give them a third dimension,
we
can only wonder,
were
these sons of water or fire?
Whatever
glorious distant regions did they see?
All
we can ever know of them is that
each
of them holds their own tiny field alone,
under
flat plaques laid on the ground,
their
tales now rooted in the soil.
The
intimacies of their lives now only understood
by a company of angels.
In Between Worlds
I’m
immersed
in a
stream of unhindered fears
with
no escape.
Everything
I see in this panorama
has
more than a single flaw,
although
within each is what seems familiar enough.
There’s the wrong type of fire on the ground.
I
can never see any light in the night.
The
stars have withdrawn due to apathy.
The
dim outline of a charcoal moon hangs above.
I’ve
never seen such a satellite.
I
have a body
so
mythic in design
nothing
could be proved its equal.
The
loudest whispers
ricochet
like silly pop songs
off
walls in quite different ways
than
I am used to.
Interestingly
enough,
in
an alternate place
belongs every other creation.
Illumination Lessons from Diogenes
Diogenes
endured
the
long walk
for
the sake of
looking
for an honest man.
He
did so while carrying
one
of the most famous lamps of all.
We
should bear our own lamps,
in
service to his cause..
We
should seek truth before love,
and
give truth to get it.
We
are enduring plenty.
Human
suffering is constant
because
of a lack of respected truth,
a
shortage of truth both brave and fundamental.
So
many cities are being thrown down,
communities
vanquished,
empires
are being stretched
and
forced into corners,
because
we choose to ignore
what
truth would unfold.
Let’s
help each other see the light.
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