Whispering tall,
whispering far,
whispers tell it all.
I cannot foresee the future
though there are
deep dark secrets
locked inside my crystal ball.
All is shrouded,
captured in the prism wall.
Dusty caverns,
sleepy hollows,
tocking of the clock unwind.
Mystic fog,
uncertain travel,
Fear has drawn
the curtain
of my mind.

The mendicant squats
with a cold, blank stare,
leaving her fumes
in the rancid air.

Man and woman lie
beneath the azure sky.
No need for shame.
No need for blame.

“But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that
the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.”
2 Corinthians 4:7-9

Shades of night and day,
ensconced in jars of clay.
Dance in the dew of the dawn,
rejoice in sight reborn.

Liam

On the wings of a dove
was the babe ferried down,
cherished gift from above
on the tiniest sound.

Sleep evasive, my retreat;
how can anything so sweet
be fugitive,
neglect my dreams.
Thoughts wound taut-
tight as a drum,
parade before me
one by one.
Staring at white ceiling,
losing all feeling,
save anger and despair –
who strut their stuff in
the still of the night.
Not a care, whatsoever,
for me and my plight.
Chasing the wind.
Chasing the fog.
Chasing a dream
like the tail of a dog.

Depression.
With its craggy tooth and gaping mouth –
threatens to swallow me whole,
as the Great Fish consumed Jonah.
I am simultaneously
repulsed and paralyzed
by the slimy midnight
of its mouth.
Ever attempting to capture me.
Ever stalking my sanity.
God help me
to take up the sword,
as Saint George
slayed the dragon of old.
God, illuminate for me
the Lantern of Light
to slay the beast of
this nefarious night.
Never to gaze at its jaws again.
Never to enter its cavernous den.

You are my mirage,
flesh and blood
mere flecks of color
on my brush;
to pour my painted lips on yours,
your visage I should crush.

January, beat it!
February, heed it.
March, don’t need it.

A shadow as grey gauze
rests near the rill,
transient profile still-
finely textured of the day,
disparate in its grey.