Whirlwind

 

“Ezekiel’s Whirlwind” by Patricia Kimsey Bollinger

 

the wind and the whirlwind
the sand and the sandstorm
blow through my spaces
the places inside where I
fought all the good fights of
autoimmune heart and mind
vice and virtue engaged in
their life and death struggles
to clinch final judgment

empty chambers now sapped
howling voids all the fight
long gone out of me never
achieving conclusion just
wartorn and weary arenas
where standards of sinners and
saints snap like windsocks
in gales of abandonment death
when it comes mere formality

 

 

From my book Bullets from Bones

Maps of Mind

 

Painting by Antonio Dias

 

his sins made his map

vivid stains like so many

unlovely small continents

upthrust impertinent

blots upon blessed

blue oceans of grace

mental landmasses

shaped by intemperate

memories marked by

impetuous footprints

his telltale of days

as a prisoner of

personal credos

caught up in the

secular worship of self

egocentric religion

exposed disavowed

by the wisdom of time

all those ill-conceived

places abandoned

in late-rising shame

when a touch from his

newly lit elderly torch

put his map to the flame

all those badly made

journeys consigned to

a past best forgotten

no need to revisit

re-find nor remind

those locations befouled

by such utter contempt

from an ignorant heart

maps of mind

seek and serve

to guide souls unaware

of the virtuous path

no small irony that

it’s within the gray smoke

of this burned

graybeard conscience

in willful destruction

in guilt-driven

self-immolation

inside of that map-smoke

lay the path to the truth

God’s conviction for man

now plainly revealed

Frail Virtue

“Lady in a Green Jacket” by August Macke

 

(This expressionist painting has always fascinated me and gave rise to my following poem.)

 

what more can be said
when apologies cannot suffice
when all charity drains
from mean wounds to the heart
the aggrieved turn away
leaving evident guilt
unrelieved unforgiven
alone with the sin of itself

a contemptible factor of loss
now condemned to sustain
psychic pain of abandonment
punishment served
without pretense of piety
grace all too frail of a virtue
untenable so it would seem
for the most of humanity

Backbone

 

This Norman Rockwell painting appeared in Look magazine in 1968.
                                    It is titled “The Right to Know.”  Here is the caption:                                                                                   
We are the governed, but we govern too.  Assume our love of country, for it is only the simplest of self-love.  Worry little about our strength, for we have our history to show for it.
And because we are strong, there are others who have hope.  But watch closely from now on, for those of us who stand here mean to watch those we put in the seats of power.
And listen to us, you who lead, for we are listening harder for the truth that you have not always offered us.
Your voice must be ours, and ours speaks of cities that are not safe, and of wars we do not want, of poor in a land of plenty, and of a world that will not take the shape our arms would give it.
We are not fierce, and the truth will not frighten us.  Trust us, for we have given you our trust.  We are the governed, remember, but we govern too.

 

 

 

where’s the parade
for the regular Joes
the everyday Janes
solid citizens
leading their lives
without drama
pursuing the dream
not illusions
seeking modestly
quiet contentment
respecting the rules
stoically struggling
to hurdle the obstacles
wantonly thrown
with ruling class glee
in their paths by a
government grown
to an insular bloat
disconnected from
people who bear
all the weight
of a civilized upright
exceptional nation
for they are the
spine of republic

 

 

(originally posted November 2013)

Sweet Darkness

 

“Nightfall” by Trevor Jessop

 

some nights roll in

grab the ground

and refuse to let go

cop an attitude

daylight be damned

fuck the fiction of sunshine

its central conceit

that illusion of blue

when the truth is

the sky has no color at all

the bright light of the day

so pretty with pretense

serves only to show

ugly patterns of scars

the grim record of wounds

men inflict upon time

stark behaviors revealed

in the skin of their sin

worst of all is the cruelty

inherent in sunrise

its sharp yellow edges

with wanton abandon

decapitate dreams

murder sleep in its beds

night would never

give showcase to shame

never sully the lull

of a satiny moonglow

a softer world cast

in more delicate deep

chiaroscuro existence

a filtered reality set up

as time and as place

in which even the

artists of war take their rest

some nights roll in

in full rigor

of righteousness

make valiant stand

hold horizons as prisoners

intending that soul-weary

damaged mankind

sleep the sleep of the dead

for as long as it needs

to gain ethical healing

awake and emerge

all the better ingrained

with a newborn nobility

ah but alas in the end

notwithstanding the

strength of its virtue

sweet darkness of nightfall

must too soon and always

succumb to the blaze

of a merciless dawn

Leaning Tower

 

“Behind the Leaning Tower of Pisa” by Richard Neuman

 

feet set upon faults

of a barren dark age

a Romanesque tower

arising from torpor

leans into an aura

of renaissance light

seven bells seven tiers

in precarious symmetry

lost of their plumb

arches flourished in

circular marble arcades

Galileo employed to

refute and invalidate

Aristotelean gravity

tall sacred portals

affording the

common and curious

prospect and perch

overlooking the cycles

of conquest and failure

by sovereign city-states

sorely afflicted

with habits of war

seven tiers seven bells

octave intervals

tuned to the scales

that awaken devotion

a calling to prayer for

the day and the morrow

a song of the future

a clarified music of hope

ringing high in the air

over desolate valleys

and unhappy hills

across torrents of time

undiminished its echoes

reach down through

the indifferent silence

of secular centuries

drowning the violent din

of fanatical heresies

echoes that live

just as long as the

evident beat of

one virtuous heart

Unicorn

 

“Lady and Unicorn” by Laura Bifano

 

 

hunted by virgins
whose untorn virtue becalms
rampant wildness
beguiling the elegant beast
yearning to harvest its horn

 

 

(originally posted December 2013)

It’s Never Too Late

 

“Evening Sun” by Lucinda Parker

 

I can wait for the moon

a lifetime in coming

the end of this

long day of living

the lowering sun

remains generous

wealthy with moments

allowing me yet

its good leave to

acquire the character

I would admire

still time to become

that much better man

who would now and then

animate turns

of my conscience

that man of the mist

content in his dreams

sound and safe

through the imminent

infinite night

Blood Sweat and Tears

“Entry to Your Dream” by Mirek Bialy

(originally posted June 2013)

 

blood sweat and tears
are within me
unsweet ingredients
resolving my essence
but they’re not fully mine
till I give them away
expend vital fluids
decant my poor vessel
on behalf of another
some one or some thing
set deeper with purpose
who filled by my gifts
allows my becoming
partner to providence
and in the becoming
I reach a more perfect
expression of me

Cognitive Dissonance

 

“Political Dissonance” by Casey Kotas

 

it’s hard spiritless work

delving deep seeking

some shred of decency

any vestigial virtue

to help one identify

which is the lesser of evils

hard work causing even

the mind of the seeker

to question its own

settled values embittered

embarrassed by conflict

that first tears the brain

then the family the nation

and finally the world