Faith – A Musing

Faith must begin on a personal level in order for it to develop and grow in any meaningful and productive external manner, whether it be with a friend, a spouse, a child, a pet, or a god. And we must be lovingly honest in our approach to an inner faith. A willingness to embrace our own beauty and ugliness. Angels and demons are not external manifestations of supernatural planes of existence, malignantly and beneficially influencing our world, but mirrored windows of our inner selves, of our own capacities for good and evil. And we will find ourselves crushed by joy and sorrow, by laughter and tears, as we come to understand, see, and feel faith blossom in our subconscious and spread its roots and send its seed out into the external world.

I wrote that my writings are stories, mainly. And while this is true, I have also realized the more that I have written how they are a continuing quest to recognition of personal faith. They are reflections of reflections, characters of my mind exploring the vast wonder and horror of it and the world. Though them I have been able to build an inner faith, sending them out to unexplored regions. And I have found in writing, in life, that one must know their own limits, and by extension the limitations of society, and ever seek ways to transcend them.

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This was just a thought, a general rambling really, that I wrote out pretty much free style. Something I thought about this morning and wanted to write it down.

Shattered Glass – A Poem

Shattered Glass

I walk on shattered glass to remember
the bottles that were broken.

Jagged edges
slice compassion.

A screech owl woke me last night.
His profile rolling
under the clouds

speaking through an analog signal
about a cow’s tongue
cut off for spreading heresy

among the herd.
Bovine justice.

Knight’s Dilemma – A Poem

 

Knight’s Dilemma

Searching for a weakness
a chink in the armor
morning traffic
trying to switch lanes.

Pork Chops – A Poem

Pork Chops

I can tell by the way you burnt the pork chops
that it’s over
and how you roll your glazed eyes
as I tell you right now
that you know I hate legumes in my salad
the acrid smell of your cheap wine
still lingers
in your plastic cup
you poured my beer in
all head
and hops
under the light of Cuban music rolling
into the cavity left in the wall
where I tried to install
a big screen TV and said it was
to see in HD the wrinkled aggression
of the players when I watched football
and silent films
but it was really because you said you hate
television
and liked to read in peace
while war invaded your shower
and took the soap
okay that was me
where are my keys
yes the ones to the Cherokee
I will be taking it but
I’ll leave a note at the door
to let the mattress know how much I will miss its company
when I leave.

Pelican Jar Condo – A Poem

 

Pelican Jar Condo

He lives in a pelican jar condo
with one hand brushing the waves
painting formaldehyde dirges
top hatted turtles bid him good day.

Sharp notes from a victrola downstairs
where shirts are all freshly pressed
the girl next door dances the rhumba
feet flying dangerously close to the cliffs.

He thinks of brewing some melons,
head resting against brittle walls,
and inviting her over by for dinner
his heart in a matryoshka doll.

San Antonio Slim – A Poem

This poem was originally posted under “Desire – A Poetic Trilogy”, but I have decided to break up the poems so that each will stand alone instead. The original post has been re-titled “Echo – A Poem” and now only contains that piece.

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San Antonio Slim

I want to take you to a hotel. Play solitaire
in our room, with the local news
passing unnoticed on the television. You would
have paid cash at the register, using
the name Mrs. Baker.
I would be San Antonio Slim.

Playing Ghosts – A Poem

This poem was originally posted under “Desire – A Poetic Trilogy”, but I have decided to break up the poems so that each will stand alone instead. The original post has been re-titled “Echo – A Poem” and now only contains that piece.

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Playing Ghosts

I lost my shoes in a telephone booth
when I was calling the florist to tell them to never
mind. My cell phone was shut off, you see.

A song came on and I turned up the radio, the children asked me
to, and it drowned out the engine noise nicely. I had
never heard the song before. It sounded like raking leaves.

Half Life – A Poem

My oil pressure reads 50
as I think of you
in a lab coat
and remember

the days the three of
us would wander
free in the
canyons.

What is the half-life of radium?

Chalice Blue – A Poem

and in the distance
chalice blue

a time keeper
paradox

smolders

A Sack Full of Dreams – A Poem

A Sack Full of Dreams

I went out to the backyard
before today’s sunrise
to get a shovel
so I could bury a sack full of dreams.
And also Jamie’s broken watch.
Not my dreams,
well maybe a couple,
like my parent’s picture,
and a ring,
but the rest
are leftovers
of various lives
clinging like cobwebs
and misplaced gumdrops
stuck in the dark corners or under the bed
for far too long.