Minions of Truth

In the early hours
I told my pillow
Secrets locked within
For seasons and years.

They tumbled from my lips
Pooled in the twists
Of my bedding
Staining the still night air.

Once released
Secrets refuse a return
To the former confines
Of their lonely cells.

They scurry along the floor
Hiding within folds of drapery
Within my empty shoes
Behind the dresser
Everywhere.

They work toward the hallway
Making for the front door
To flagrantly display
My petty ways
My bold assertions
My unskilled machinations
My ugly avarice
My tawdry desires.

I regret giving them voice.

Since it is impossible to arrest them
I busily construct excuses
Manufacture reasons their assertions
Are without merit.
I must deny the authenticity
Of their claims.
I will laugh them off
As though their accusations are silly.

Clearly
The worst thing a man
May do to himself
Is give voice
Albeit quietly
To the shadows of his soul.

They never go away.
They simply become irrepressible
Minions of truth
From which their is no escape.

Anam Cara*

My love for her is ancient
Anchored in time distant.
Before the face of daughter moon
Blushed with mars across
Her virgin terrain
I loved her.

I recognized her instantly
Upon our introduction.
I have always known her.

I know her the way
Sunlight knows shadow
Rain knows fragrance
And the rainbow knows color
Vibrant and strong.

I love her
Not in the confusion of emotion
But in enduring steel
Forged by time
Creating the machine
Of transformation.

I love her the way
Flesh craves touch
The throat begs voice
Hands need creative labor
And feet require stance.

My love for her
Is deathless
Surviving separation
Spanning sequences time defines.

She is friend of my soul
My Anam Cara
And I will wait for her
At the torn veil of time and place
When we will love evermore
Me and my Anam Cara.

*Ancient Celtic, meaning "Soul Friend"

The Return*

The wolf has returned.
His tracks in the snow
Circle my dwelling.
It’s the same one as before.
I can tell by peculiarities
In his gait.

The wolf is always silent.
Predatory.
He is stalking me.
Learning my rhythm
The pattern of my days.

I never see him.
But I know he sees me.
He blends with the wood line
Camouflaged against
Shadows and snows.

He is preparing his strike.
He knows the attack
Must be swift
Precise
Deadly.

But he cannot know
I am stalking him.
He cannot know
I am as deadly as he.
He cannot know
I may not be as swift
But I don’t have to be.
I just have to be exact
In the measure of distance
Elevation
And wind.

The wolf cannot know
He also wears a target.
The wolf cannot know
He is already dead.

*Poetry is wonderfully allegorical. A "wolf"
may be other than a wolf. We all are stalked
by a "wolf" of one kind or another. The only
commonality is that they all must go.

Time and Place

She is just beyond the horizon
I tell myself.
We see the same sunset.
The moon’s soft glow
Gentles both our slumber.
The train for which I must stop
Tomorrow
May also interrupt her transit.

But this is illusion.

She dwells in another time.
Her days appear
On a different calendar.
We are no more on the same plain
Than this moment
And that just passed.

I need to believe
She is still approachable
But time and place
Brutalize my hope.
They drop a veil
Between lovers
And although mighty effort
May be taken
To bring reunion
Time and place forbid
Such happy conclusion.

Time and place
Change bodies
Wearing at the edges
The former aspect
Dulling the heart and mind
Forever altering the memory
Of what was
And forbidding any hope
Of what may be.

I knew her once.
Once, she knew me.
But time and place
Seeped between the bonds
And all that remains will be
A dim copy of the original.

Tell me I am mistaken
Won’t you, please?
Give a little hope
To this fearful man.

Shame upon
Time and place
Until what was
Becomes what is
And what is
Remains what will forever be.

Words to Stir

I cannot touch you
With gentle words.
Rhyme will not beckon
Nor emotions rekindle
The passion that lit us
Like fires in the night.

I have reasoned
With stars
Implored the moon
To whisper in your heart
And return you to me.

Nights
Frosted with sorrow
Pass as bits
Of shattered infinity.

I beg God for words
Words
To unlock your heart.

You are beyond sonnets
Beyond the reason of poets
Deaf to the lure of love
And the song of angels.

Yet
I must not cease
I must not surrender
I must not forsake
The potion that words stir
In hearts as tender as yours.

Tune your heart
Again to me
Again to me
To me
My love
To me.

More Than Flesh

I cannot love you
In the bedroom
And not love you
In every room.

There is no authentic
Intimacy
Apart from love.

More than flesh
Joins us
More than biology
Compels us.

Oh, your shinning eyes
Draw me
Your tender form
Excites me
Your sweet breath
Lures me
But there is first
The intangible fabric
Of ardor
Binding with mighty cables.

And so
Dear one
Allow unfettered
Entrance
To mind and body
Soul and spirit.

Let us explore
The terrain opening
In our mysterious trek.

The Old Man

He stepped from the shadows
His hat in his hand
Looking so desperate
Trying hard just to stand.

You got some spare change?
Was what he said to me.
There were patches on his coat
And rips at his knees.

When did you eat last?
Was the question I asked
As I spied from a pocket
The top of a flask.

Let’s get us some dinner
I said as I took his arm.
But his body went stiff
Tensed with alarm.

Don’t hit me mister!
He flinched as he begged
With his arms covering
The top of his head.

It’s okay old man
I said in calm voice
Pick what dinner you like
Tonight it’s your choice.

We walked around the corner
To an old greasy spoon
Where he ordered some soup
That came out hot and soon.

We talked to each other
For most of an hour
He had some more soup
Which he quickly devoured.

I offered a lift to the Mission
And gave him a few bills
Adding sleeping outside
Could make him terribly ill.

Shaking his head sadly
He mumbled under his breath
The best that could happen
Was meeting his death.

I shook his gnarled old hand
Told him he’d be in my prayers
And walked outside
In the chill evening air.

I knew I’d not see him again
At least in this life.
There’s pain beyond pain
That cuts like a knife.

Maybe somewhere in heaven
An angels’ reporting to the Lord
Saying a kind man fed him
Offering him money and board.

So, yeah, I may see him again
This time with halo and wings
And I’ll be his guest
As I eat while he sings!

Far From the Core

Steel threads connect horizons
As highways for beasts
Thundering
Once in steam
Now by diesel
Giving the ground
To tremor
At their mighty transit.

Walking the rails
I am part
Of their collective memory.

Here ascended the smolder
Billowing
In great exhalations of vapor
And spark
Gulped by the sky
In the fullness
Of its black and silver stream.

The frontier seemed to melt
At the progress
Of the Iron Horse
And to either side
Towns were rooted
And the untamed
Wild things
Were consigned to story
And fable.

Between the rails
Rode adventurers
Speculators
Prospectors
Merchants
Soldiers
And finally families
With a ticket and a hope.

America swallows its sons
And daughters
Until nothing remains
But memory
And then memory, too
Recedes
And vanishes
Along with the great
Mechanical beasts.

What remains are not even
Reasonable copies
Of what was.

Riders glide from coast to coast
In air conditioned decadence
All the while becoming
Lost
In the glow of digital screens
Lost
Like the Iron Horse
Lost
Like all is
Lost
The further we recede
From the core
Of what we were.

The Patron

Stand in the light.
Do nothing.
Let the morning sun
Bathe you
In flashing brilliance.

I orbit you
Enraptured by your art.

Michelangelo could not capture
Your loveliness
Nor Monet
Your soft beauty.
Raphael would marvel
At your countenance.

Yet only I
Am privileged
To behold your charm.

Your rose-washed hue
The soft hair at the nape
Of your neck
Your tresses falling
Like a shinning waterfall
Spills across your round breasts
And I cannot turn away.

Shadows merge with shadow
Along the pike ways
Of your graceful hips and legs.

Let the morning sun sculpt you
And I alone remain
The patron
Of your art.