Is It

I’m sensing a stereotype developing

Warriors haunted with PTSD

Strike fear into their charges’ hearts,

As though the shepherds would devour

Their own lambs

I’m driven to ask

If there is not a soldier

Holed up within himself

Now, now that the champagne is quiet

And the confetti lies dead,

Unwilling to crawl out of his skull to so much

As kill a fly,

Staring out of his cells,

Thinking that to unlearn

The war in his hands

And take up gentleness again

Is not an effort more worthy

Than a quick and quiet self-violence

That might come easier than

Flaring out at an oblivious psychological trigger.

I Laid Me Down {draft 3}

to sleep and did not know the wolf to fear.

I lay me down, and sleep comes no more, for

The light that glares within the wolf’s eye is

Too near and never will sleep.

I lay me down and sleep, for nearer still

The shepherd sees me this night and he sees

The wolf, who never will understand nor

Can ever overwhelm this other light

And will come not a step closer.

It was in vain to wake, rise early and

In vain to stay the wolf with darting, watching eyes,

In vain to eat my daily bread in snatches and fear.

I have laid me down

because He gave me, beloved, sleep.

{inspired by Psalm 4:8; 23; 91:5-6; 121:4; 127:2; John 1:5; 10:1-18; and personal experience}

Binding Tides

I feared the sea’s mercurial pull, stayed

Onshore, when I was small. But now

 I find

With some dismay the ocean is in me.

Moons pull and shove me, but beyond the dark

Blue moods I see a Star for me. So, go,

Rage, waves. See if you can blot out that high,

Eternal north star.

Your consolation

Prize? This. A faulty compass, cast aside.

Miranda by John William Waterhouse

 

Untitled [draft 1]

My thoughts sparkle today

I don’t know if I shall show them to you

just yet.

they want polishing

a trim or so

here

and there.

But—possess your soul with patience!

You shall see them soon.

I’ll dance them in the sun before your eyes

While we haggle over significance,

Weight,

Worth.

You shall take it with you when all’s said and done,

And I’m as richer and more as before.

You’re taking it shan’t take a smidgeon from me.

I—I draw my wonders from a bag

cut from the same cloth

as Peter Schlemiel's wondrous bag of gold—

Only, I, fortunate favorite 

or not so fortunate,

Did not sell my shadow

for the sack,

As did poor Peter—

The shadows gave me mine for free.

All

All 

A sparrow’s crumb—

Because a crumb to a sparrow

is a feast

but a sparrow’s crumb

is hardly

mentioning.

An unlabeled Seedling, dry and unsprouted for now

Just for the record--

To know what I did

To alienate you so

To know why you aren't you looking me in the eye

when other eyes are on you

Maybe I seem crazy

Too over the edge for your tastes

I stared too long--

my eye lingered too long outside your window

I'm sorry my admiration made you angry.