in anger turning the knife on himself
seeking to cause others pain,
too late as the blood poured out
flowing down from his chest
gushing around the knife.....
in rage pushing it in to the hilt
spreading out in a pretty pattern over the floor,
the red on the white tile actually beautiful,
the pain greater than he thought,
not however as great as regret,
knowing there was no turning back,
the world fading into black,
They are everywhere, looking at us, asking, begging perhaps,
homeless, those without jobs; yes the mentally ill,
an unending flood of those less fortunate, isolated, outside.
Some survive by manipulation, con men or women, using others,
the generosity of others abused, used, so that they may not have to work.
Many more suffer the burden of begging because they have fallen far,
perhaps due to drugs, or some other addiction, perhaps just a lost job,
living from pay check to pay check
You have traveled far in your life, going from place to place,
often expelled because of simply how your are,
always thinking about some other environment, perfect, smooth,
you so want that place, yet each time you move it is the same.
For a while things go aright, then the replay starts over,
is it some kind of a nightmare for you,
the situation arising again and again, having to move on?
Or are you good at looking at others, leaving yourself in peace,
setting up hou
Not for isolation
He is a nice man, both gentle in some ways, rough in others.
A normal kind of man, with his share of burdens and anguish,
as well as joys and triumphs in his life.
I have known him for about twenty years,
Intelligent, insightful; which can lead to its own kind of suffering.
He has a dual diagnosis for mental illness,
a crushing burden for the one who has to carry it though life.
Some are defeated by just one; he carries two, and is doing well.
I won’t say he
also the eternal,
without beginning or end;
how can such a thing be grasped?
when thinking of divine mercy,
we can recreate God,
with serious consequences
in our own image.
God is like us just much better,
a projection of our best selves onto divinity,
if true then we are all in trouble,
which is what many feel when thinking about God.
the people hid in caves
saying let the mountains fall upon us,
in their desire to hide from eter
what is mercy?
does it have a certain feel to it,
is there a state in which one will seek it?
why is it often joyfully accepted,
yet seldom given out among peoples?
thankful for the gift,
often unable to pass it on to others….. why?
the fruit of mercy, when come to full bloom,
is like rain on the thirsty ground,
dry, parched, life dormant,
suddenly allowed to drink its fill,
allowing new life once again to come forth.
if one is deserving, then mercy is not n
The great illusion
a time warp is what life’s become,
hours can seem like days,
days pass as if they were minutes,
moments seem real, permanent,
soon becoming vague memories,
most sadly, or perhaps not, forgotten,
our days doomed to oblivion
remembering perhaps too great a burden,
stored perhaps in some dark back room,
some deep mostly forgotten basement of our minds,
stacked in boxes high,
like old papers wrinkled and forgotten,
waiting in vain to reenter into consc
Pushing her cart old and tired,
Muttering to herself, or others, who knows?
Alone in a crowd,
They flowed around her,
Both them and her and me,
I whispered a prayer
Embracing her the only way I could.
blooming in the morn
flowers bright causing wonder
sign of life’s fleeting
our ground not solid,
distant past, become our days,
our end sure, death will claim us
the dark door beckons
faith the key needed?
its dark light gives some comfort,
absurd for others
unfulfilled our days,
it seems we are far from home,
what for our longing?
clinging, desires die.
seeking that which is not owned,
just beyond our reach.
in a desert lost
much chaos in life
often the way hidden deep
void beneath the path
divine image dies
blinded by light presses on
groping true in faith
being led unknown
trust deeper, roots cling in faith
embracing the Lord
childish ways aside
each time deeper mystery
pain and joy the same
each passes cycles complete
clinging in true hope
despair held at bay
dark doubts faced with true courage
pressing on in joy
grace freely given
humility grows apace
Truth seems to be owned by everyone, or so it is lived out.
Something inward, subjective, ones own against all others.
What is thought…. is truth, or what is perceived, is obvious,
Ones religion, political party, or lack of, both are embraced tightly,
A fortress against all others who dare to think or believe otherwise.
God is like a spider living in the corner of one’s bedroom,
Small, figured out, books used to buttress ones position,
Holy writ, philosophers, men of science, used
Walking around the wall at night
Gentle light from church window illuming
Colors transformed into deeper muted colors
Changing how the simplest objects perceived.
Simple greens become deepest Jade
Leaves become different in their muted beauty
Darker, deeper, richer,
Gently swaying in the soft wind,
Leaves nodding as if affirming my discovery.
Well William is still with us. After we took him off some of his meds, he seemed to improve a bit, at least as far as his eating is concerned, which before was nil. He was slowly starving himself, so I am happy that we got that cleared up. Because of his age, he has not bounced back to the level he was at before; he is now pretty much chair bound. He has not been in his bed for months, he stays in his geriatric chair and it is what he prefers. When we try to put him into his
standing tall calling
mango tree filled with its fruit
come and play with me.
ripe repast giving
fruit juicy ripe, red, ready
for children to eat
large branches to climb
beneath its free cooling shade
with joy we consumed
juice filled with, so ripe
our naked torso’s covered
teeth with fiber filled
finished with the feast
we rush to the cool water
joyful jumping in
being a child happy
it was something that just was
looking back longing
now lost I s
I went into town today, had to see the eye doctor, also go by the Pharmacy to pick up some medications that were ordered. On the way there I spotted a restaurant called the “chow dawg”, a place that I have passed often but never went in. Since I am a lover of hot dawgs, and of all things not good for me, I decided to go in and totally do what my doctor as advised me not to do, pig out. I ordered two hot dawgs, with mustard on the bottom of the bun, topped with lots of onions; you ca
restlessness his life
fighting those who want to help
also calling out
confusion not accepting
he eats yes and smiles
his suffering decreasing
his disease matured
peace will perhaps come
when it reaches it’s true end
destruction of thought
rest will come at last
allowing life to flow by
confusion now gone
yes but true gift none the less
allowing life’s end
until the time comes
Risk not taken means no chance of loss,
Or of gain,
Safe one stays, untouched by life,
No wounds to heal,
Nor growth to attain,
It is pain that propels us not pleasure,
Struggle causes rebirth,
We must fight out of our shell
Like the young do in their nest,
To help only leads to death,
Our wounds are our glory
Each has their own invisible stigmata.
I often fool myself that I know the human heart, such conceit there is in me,
Deep, dark, filled also with light, perhaps at war, is what is found, when peeked,
Something is coiled deep with my own depths, something I wish was not there,
Still it is, resides, often at rest if not sleeping………waiting for its call, to uncoil and rampage forth.
How easy is hate to feel, seductive in its reasoning, contempt poured out on the despised,
It hits me suddenly when I am most unaware, slinking up
the child beautiful
simply by being itself
collected their smiles
dark hair beautiful
brown eyes filled with loving light
grace bestowed on all
freely given smiles
harvested laughter returned
hearts open again
power true is love
drawing forth the inner good
hidden behind fear
often lost with age
the child learns about our life
imprisoned by hurt
the child will return
freedom will blossom again
springtime of the soul
God is a true child
open loving all trul
Nothingness is what I at times swim in
Seeking to stay afloat with only void to sustain me
Moments float away and fade like smoke
Is there anything underneath?
Fatigue rises up and claims my limbs
Mind foggy my thoughts slow and shallow
Wanting oblivion for a time
Something deeper than sleep unresting
Blackness without dreams for a time I desire
Will I ever find true rest?
It passes, seconds, moments and hours like these
Like all else it dissipates replaced by something old
I have been reading the last of the Harry Potter books, and I must say it is a great read.
For those who do not think that they will be taken over by demonic forces when reading it; to them I highly recommend it, all of the books of course. They are much better than the movies, though they are good also.
Much of the time Harry has no idea what is going on, but he stays on course and in the end comes ahead of the evil forces he is fighting. Of course I have not finished the last book yet, b
the soul alone knelt
true knowledge of self humbling
nothing to defend
its darkness exposed
stripped away its pretensions
inner light focused
seeking loves healing
calling out for some surcease
on its face falling
swallowed in darkness
its own self hell creating
clawing with self hate
endless cycle repeating
holy name calling
mercy came swiftly
its joyful shout resounding
embracing the soul
the light surrounding
inner healing begi