Saturday, April 4, 2015

Post

There's a torch under the blanket,
A totem in the wild,
Where the dunes do part
And spares open a picket.

There on the post,
Tied with red ribbon,
A love with my name on it,
Singing in the wind.

The desert air beats it,
It's calling my name,
I need to preserve it
And take it away.

Far, far away
From this harsh and dry place.
I begin walking toward it,
The sand in my face

This scarlett wave,
In this ocean of sand,
A respite for the eyes,
The only color in the land.

So simple, I need it.
I reach out my hand.
Almost there, I can feel it,
As I sink in the sand.

The clouds start to lower,
The ground begins to move,
Is this what it's like
To be so in love?

As I touch the ribbon,
So silky and soft,
The sun gleaming on it,
From high and aloft.

I'm blinded, I'm dazed,
I'm gone from that place.
I look up and see,
The ribbon, fluttering away.

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

The Host

The prophet, dumbfounded,
Struggled to boast
Words proper to quantify
The foreign host

Two circuits like fire
Four faced men
Stiff and yet flying
Skin peppered with eyes

Their twisted appearances
Oft humbled the pen,
at a loss for words
Struggled to understand

Moving volumes
Flesh couldn't see
Looked like fire, or lions
Talking horns and dragons

The Seraph, burning one,
The serpent, winged man
Six winged and hidden
A tangle of limbs

Whom christened many prophets
Appeared in the World
To confuse and terrify
Men of faith and Word

Yet, with features occult
And forms indiscernable
They can't even look at
The Father they sleep before

Archangels and demons
Humans cannot describe
But Whom they dare not look upon
Loves you and I

The elders before Him
Hung heads while they worship
The four beasts before Him
Stand guard with backs turned

The mystery of man,
The angels and host,
Dreads the figure of God
In whose embrace do we boast

The holy ark of God
A touch or a look
Obliterates souls
And sears flesh as venom

This burning presence
Holy place and fire
Angels can't bear to behold
Lives.in my heart

Saturday, August 30, 2014

Bump In The Night

Fumbling in darkness,
Moon in the glass,
Peering through candles
With dark flickering wicks

No fire, yet burning,
The heat but no light,
A trip and it's over,
A domino inferno.

No fire, but smoke;
A nighstand of tar,
A bump on the way out,
Means "hold still forever"

but the candles like towers
a forest of blackness
singing my hair
and prickling my skin

then Someone moves,
not alone in this room,
and a candle falls over
The carpet is dark

And it burns without glowing,
No beauty in this fire,
Only ashes and dust,
Geting close, climbing higher

No escape, from this fire,
The burning that's dark,
It blends with the void
And ceases for no-one.

If I could see it, I'd know
The violent thrashing that nears
Yet it has no form, nor shape,
As it shakes and walks

The carpet under my bed
Licked at the frame
And the black fire crept
Under my sheets

The Someone stands there
Not a hand held out
No gesture of care
As my body lay there

But the candles cried out
Asking for my submission.
Reaching our with ten thousand hands
That stung and stifled

Then Someone pushed more down
Cat eyes in the space
And the invisible flame
Took me all at once

Sunday, August 3, 2014

Crayons

Crayons
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A painter owned a fridge, and He had two kids,
And He gave them crayons, that they'd draw Him pictures.
"Go be like Daddy, and make something nice,
It makes me happy to see what you write!"

They sat in the corner for a good day or two,
They wrote up a garden, all littered with fruit.
They gave Him their picture, and He so liked their art,
He put it on the fridge and said "What a nice start!

"Now go be like Daddy," He patted our heads,
"and rest for a night and go lay in your beds."
So He put them in bed, and told them great tales
about giants and Israelites, and ships without sails.

The sun rose in the sky, and they woke up once more,
and He handed them crayons as He knocked on their door.
"Now go be like Daddy, which I know you love to do,
and make some more pictures, beautiful and new!"

They returned to their corner, and thought in their heads,
'What else can we do, what should we draw next?'
They drew up a river, with a tree in the center.
He loved it, loved them, and hung it on the refrigerator.

He sent them to bed, and told them more stories,
about sea beasts and kings with much gold and much glory.
"Goodnight, Son and Daughter, and don't you forget,
school starts tomorrow, and you need to do your best.

"I've taught you to draw well, but it is apparent
there are some kids out there with less loving parents.
Now they're kids just like you, it's important to be nice,
but when they show you their pictures, don't you dare look twice."

The next morning came, and He them their lunches,
led them to the bus, said he He loved them bunches.
An exciting new world, to show off our skills!
Other children who color, like us? The thought gave them thrills.

They came back home, a little past noon,
He said "Alright, guys, let's see what you do.
Be just like daddy, and show me how it went,
by drawing the best picture youve made yet!"

He gave them their crayons, and they drew till it was late,
when they returned, they had drawn up some snakes.
"That's odd," thought Daddy, "look at those fangs,
I surely didn't teach them such sinister things.

"Son," said He, "Daughter, I'm sorry,
I simply can't hang up something this scary.
Go right to bed, Ill see you in the morning.
I still love you, let's see how you do tomorrow."

Daddy is acting strange, we did what He wanted,
is He sick of our art, Sister, of what we've been drawing?
But drawing is fun, Brother, it's all we know how to do,
we can still draw, just me and you.

You're right, Sister, said Brother, drawing feels so right,
We will pick up tomorrow. But for now, goodnight!
Then the sun rose again, the bus pulled up to the road,
"Alright, kids," He said, "Let's have another go."

But when the kids came back home, each day it got worse.
In place of sweet poems, they learned to write curses.
Instead of two smiling figures holding Daddy's hands,
they'd taken to depicting a big, angry man.

The gardens got dusty, the rivers were dry,
We don't have to draw daddy, just you and I.
The honey was grease, the horses were dragons,
Lollipops became swords, Eden, the badlands.

Daddy was wrong, making us draw those hard things.
Sister, these pictures are much more entertaining!
Brother you're right, and even better, too,
they're so much easier, and quicker to do.

Instead of one hard thing, we just made twenty!
And to think Daddy doesnt like them. Isn't that funny?
It's not funny at all, Sister, He doesn't like them at all.
Let's just not show Him our drawings. We don't need His approval.

So the kids came home each day, and to Daddy's distress,
not so much as a "hey," or a twirl of the dress.
The Son and the Daughter took the crayons to their room,
And they didn't leave till the bus came, they just drew, and drew.

But like all loving fathers, Daddy did what he needs,
He spanked them when He caught them drawing atrocities.
Their punishment was just, but the kids didn't care.
Daddy is the enemy, none of this is fair.

"What's going on with my beautiful children,
oh how the world has twisted and hurt them!
And they like what they're drawing, it just isn't right.
Their upsides are down, and downsides are right."

Then He had an idea, Daddy got clever,
He sat down and drew outlines of things that were better.
He spent all His energy, hours on end,
To carefully outline every curve and bend.

He drew black and white oceans, savannas and sunsets,
rivers and waterfalls, stars and some planets.
He drew good tasting food, intricate trees,
what's more, he made thousands and thousands of these.

One day after school, before the kids hid away,
"Come here, Son and Daughter, I have something to say.
For years now you've ignored and despised what I gave,
and your skills with the crayon are utterly depraved.

"You've drawn horrible things, and brought down disgrace.
I should have thrown you two out of this place.
You hate what I taught you, and all that I made,
and to you two I have one thing to say-"

No more, Daddy! Be quiet! They cried long and hard.
We don't want to get hurt, we don't want it at all!
We just do what you taught us, and you hate what we make!
It isn't fair to disown us and toss us away!

Just do what you will, if you must, but hear this:
Daddy, we hate you, and don't care if you hit us.
Go on, hit us and send us down the hall,
But we won't feel sorry, we wont care at all!

"Oh children, my kids, you have it all wrong.
I love you too much to hate you at all.
I may give you spankings, but it's for your own good,
but this problem of ours requires something new.

"Look, you spend all this time coloring your own things,
You can't tell right from wrong, you're lost, and you're losing.
I miss the old days, when you put things on my fridge,
when you pleased me with all of your beautiful images,

"Things aren't the same, so I've made you some templates,
I've drawn up plenty of beautiful, good things.
You can color them in, no more drafting required!
All the hard work of making new pictures is over!

"All I ask of you now is to color in the lines,
just give it a shot, just like old times."
The Son and the Daughter, amazed at this gesture,
Could do nothing more than stare at the pictures.

Daddy actually loves us, Sister, look at these things!
They're so beautiful, Brother, and there are so many!
This is far better, Sister, we were doing it all wrong,
a new way to color, and we can color for so long!

So the kids threw out their ugly and hateful typography,
the selfish and crude, all their horrid calligraphy,
they were made to color in lines, all bright and lovely,
"One more thing, kids," said He, "Could you do something for me?

"Take all of these pictures, the ones you'll color in,
And take them to school to show all the children.
You've seen what they draw, they're so lost with bad parents.
So no more refrigerator, give the pictures to them."

So the Son and the Daughter colored this new way forever,
they would no longer wonder if they could do better.
Assured their Daddy loves them, they shared all their pictures,
and changed the lives of millions of children.

E.D.D.

Saturday, January 11, 2014

Seams

The sound of tearing below
My feet, the fabric of a veil,
It would not slow, no matter how
Hard I prayed.

Who knew this little notch, the little
Snag upon the rocks
Of my clothing, warmth, comfort, riddled
With love could dissolve so quick?

The fraying turned to river deltas,
The fabric to red clay, and
The void between the binding garbs
A canyon now.

My moon had split, I clenched my God
In one hand, my idols in my other.
I couldn't bear to hear the shifting winds
But it whipped against me.

She says it hurts, she says it
Was pain for her, she cried three tears.
But turmoil, greater than she could
Forsee, was building.

And moons evolved and changed
Their nature, a new start assured.
But I, can hardly fight, this torment
To hate her.

Spite is knocking "open! Free me
unto the earth. Havoc is coming."
It may bring me gray hair, but still
I bleed to forgive.

It was easy for her, I don't discern
How she came to drop the knot?
So easily, it slipped off her heart and
Strengthened her.

I am not, however, as she wished. I'm
Not yet done shaking and trembling.
Witness, man, I long for her, but
She has lost heart for me.

Life before was a mountain, so still
And strong, sturdy and sure. So high,
Bountiful, fruit bearing, brought joy
To all around us.

A promise to return unkept, a hope
Dead. That shriveled contract stained
In my breath remains, I cannot
Forget the emptiness of it.

A fear, now, to continue seeing her face
In crowds, on strangers. To hear her
Laughter in the voice of children,
In the smile of a future wife.

But now in turmoil I lay, I grasp
My idol and my God in fear.
My idol, I look down to, and the fog is
Thick. I blow it away.

My Baal is beautiful, I held it all
Throughout the journey. I did not sense
The burden and weight on my soul
Is her. Help me, God.

I stood on the rock, the lamb
In confidence, but I did not know
She was with me there, under me,
As my foothold.

To loathe my love for idols, the depravity
Of man knows no end. Idol factory,
Veil tearer, poison breather, shame,
Are names for us.

But she was my beauty, fault line,
a canyon between God and I. And
The penalty is mine. There is longing
In my sides for her.

My idol is lovely, she is hard to let go,
Someday it will come to be, but not today.
Guilt eats my bones, regret is my blood. But my God is cleansing.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Embracing Error

Once the video art project "Embrace the error" was announced, I immediately had absolutely no clue what to do. My brain froze up. I went though a total of three ideas that I followed-through with, but none of them were fruitful. I hated all of them as soon as I had finished them.

Finals week approached, I had lots of dinners to go to, plans to sort out, projects to finish, things to study, and my freezer had turned into an ice cube. A lot was taking over my mind.

And nothing was coming to me. What sort of errors could I use? Sound? No, that was too difficult. Video processing? No, I didn't have any software equipment on hand.

As I was frantically trying to force out an idea, I realized something: I couldn't think of anything. My brain refused to function. It was frozen. FROZEN, just like my freezer, which was also an error. Instead of worrying about cleaning out my freezer... Why not make it art, first? Why not illustrate my inactive brain on finals week?

Sunday, December 1, 2013

Happy Birthday!

Happy birthday to the extraordinarily talented, extremely sassy, late Maria Callas, the original diva!