begging belief

it begs then, to reinvent.
to begin again. not being
what was. it gathers
those rain clouds. sunny
elsewhere. we want to shine.
and way too long have we
missed, out of sight. hindsight
disappears in reared views
mirrored by this
tortured culture. we
look for hope, but, like
where?

we beggar our beliefs, lie
in a child’s face. what
world is this? it that is
born. infancies, toddles,
falls decades headlong
downhill until death do its part.
where do you find this
life along the way?
discounted, taxed, lotteried,
tuitioned, or miracled, or maybe
in the trash? this world.
which one is this?

billions of them. under threat.
imposing. at war over the way
you want to die. with life
somewhere between the lies.

these beliefs. we the beggars.
and it begs reinvention.
or something.
backwards vision of some
redemption.
or we die, lying
to the children.

unnecessity

unnecessity, in
essence
escaping, scraped
bottom churned golden
dust, must
needs wanted
mustn’t coincide, with
in l/imitations.
imagine: miraging
mirrors meant for no
one but me.

there are things.
they are perhaps un
true. or miss
lead. weights
upon a mind.

once,
upon a time
less
like these, but
f/rooted in
abundance, once
upon a wonder
ful life. and it is
inward. in
word.
and deed.

this history reads
like novel
concepts, except
it is off the
page, staged
in outer --

     space.

it’s
what’s needed, if
I must.

fall feelings

these days, air sharpens
the crystalline
light bronzed
against the autumned
leaves departing
for winter’s burial ground.
geese flock south, seeking
their summered spring boarding
in warmer pastures.

light is longingly drawn
out, stretched
beyond horizons
topped with reflective
mountains.

all things still, stilled
like distilled thoughts,
a season
fraught with naught
but potential for future
rebirth.

waves of placidness punctuate
these
moments, monuments
to planetary motion;
autumn is an emotion
and leaves
falling are feelings, crisp
with sweetness
as if
apples were really
eyes, beholding
this otherness,
this togetherness.

we all sink, suns
set and we rise
to meet this
new day.
always.

questions

who
what
where
when
why
and how:
so many questions
with infinite answers.

they soak up the world
with brown eyes
curiously searching,
seeking sense
in a world of sensation.

with eager ears
they take in what’s told,
repeating with rapt
attention, making connections
with constant questions.

spring is eternal
in the heart of children,
growing and reaching,
clamoring for potential,
rising toward the sun,
raising their youthful banner.

it’s a mystery to be unlocked,
everything is a puzzle
riddled with possibilities,
life goes on living
and they lead the way, unafraid.

solid fire

they took their form from
solid earth
and forged their flame through
a river of blood.

it is no mistake
that their essence
is a deep fire
rooted in bedrock.

they maintain balance
in burrowing yet growing,
playing with fire
even while digging.

one for each half,
one for each other,
one for the whole,
for father, brother and mother

after thought

an afterthought,
as if
after thinking
back, retreating
in time to previous
being, seeing
things in other lights,
in a difference, a
diffuse dark retracted,
retracing steps,
retreading paths paved
to this present past
future tenses yet perceived
by these senses.

it makes no sense.

to think, things are
as they need to be.
wants and needs
dissimilar and unfamiliar.
to have left a path
for a different one.
never look back.

black magic

at times, as now,
there is no
magic. only black?
orange glows of sky
in long drawn
out light, slow
as if turning a season,
falling.

some
multitudes, faces,
tits and ass, pass
beyond, yonder
or farther
away, distant
like this
apparent apparition.
some
partitioned mission
to occupy another
space, or time.
but this is not
either of those.

merely
me, or who this
is really is.
possibly, it wasn’t
who you thought,
yet various remains
stain glass houses,
so i throw
stones of forgetfulness.

not remembering
why i try.