Arise questions for my soul
How the hell to get off of here?
I left a hole in my deepest thought
Condemned and forced
Into buckets swimming the sea
My Angel sang my song
So I sat down at the closest perch
Hold my hand and dark Mother Earth
I’m not alone, though I’m crying within
How could it be?
How could it be.
Too far away and I’m drowning again
Most of the time
And I love always my song
But it’s getting on
And my soul is still sullen and long
So I’m watching for my forest
To grow and save my demise
And stop reminding me of what went wrong.
Tag: hell
Night Air (day 1790)
I’ve got anger seeping into my blue blood veins
Letting animosity fuel this deep inside fire
This isn’t dragging me down, boy, hell no.
For the sky’s calling me higher then high.
This is a lesson of life with a cruel world twist,
But no man’s heart has ever been softer
Nor shall erosion get at it’s strength.
No, this is a quest in growth,
With a battle-cry ringing out in cooling night air.
Silence Be Thy Name (day 1782)
You’re the burden I’ve never heard
Uncontrolled in pity and I’m settling scores
Set down the heavy anvil
Clawing at gates of hell
I’m living inside your head
Dirty conscience a bloody shame
Your battle’s one sad estate
Closed up the shutters
And left dying; vegetate
Your demons be your tickling chin
Twisting and reeling
So shall silence forever be thy name.
An Ode to Sebastião Salgado (day 1651)
Your truth shall not lay untold,
A liberty demanded by your lens.
Spread far, to a billion souls!
And left them telling more.
This sacrifice you’ve made,
These injustices you’ve witnessed,
Have scarred you deeper then we know
And left you far from home.
Yet you have challenged yourself to be
A man to change the world!
A man who walked, sympathetic in thought,
To capture truth, indefinitely.
I know I’ve seen but little of what
It’s taken to make the view,
A tree or two, a holocaust,
Amazonians who eat the sloth.
I recognize the commitment required
To flap the shutter again,
I know desire that trumps all hells
To keep thy foot aloof.
For without your alert eye
Trained towards this land we all call home,
Surely we’d all have remained
Ignorant till the day we die.
So be thy grace as you continue,
Be the majesty we step into each day,
A glory we call on friendly terms:
Home, our land, our people, our soul.
Hell is My Political Agenda (day 1356)
Our political agendas are nauseating.
They’re stuffed so full of capital letters
That the underlying messages of our society –
Hell, even our cultures,
Are suffocated with exhaust stacks and bottom dollars.
If I could have dreamed up a Heathenistic Hell,
I’d put city roads and destruction for progress
Right at the top of that scorched list.
I’d decree land had suddenly become a commodity
We could sell simply because we had a gun that said we could.
Just like young adults unable to find their righteous paths,
Explicit lyrics contaminating the innocent minds,
My Hell would be a prescribed better way, mothers.
Did you feel my heart as it’s ripped out every single day
When land mines help fight swollen populations,
Planted in a war to help save lives?
War to not war! Fight fire with fire!
And in my Hell, in my political agenda I call my country,
I would give us hope, every.single.day.
We would wake up to the smell of progress
And desire to capture it in any way possible
So that it could be shared with anybody we knew.
We would mutually feel good about the loss of our trees,
Because our heads were buried so deep in our electricity
Where we were collectively dreaming about
Ways to continue our progress.
For my simple pleasure I’d have dandelions everywhere
As symbols of true health and prosperity.
I’d pull up my old lawn chair, warm beer in hand,
And watch as all the sinners pulled out their organic chemicals
To spray the evil yellow root to death.
On the cold days when there were no death machines
I’d read my botanical books and let the rain
Wash tears into my Hell.
For me this is the saddest thought of all,
Because in spite all my attempts to rectify ignorance,
I would be a black seed living in my own true Hell.
I would be a puppet, inspired to raise my voice
And told that I do mean something to this Hell.
There I’d be, red faced eating my poisoned earth,
Handed another blank Party card
And told why I should be excited.
Santa’s Merchant (day 1306)
Window shopping down an alley in Hell
The Keeper found one perfect device for all’s demise.
It spoke to him through double paned and tinted glass
Covered with festive snowflakes and cheer.
It sat beside the fat Santa and eight reindeer,
Each one much smaller than Santa himself.
And two cute little stuffed mice that squeaked as he stood there
Calculating and eyeballing the end of it all.
It wasn’t until the merchant smiled
And waved The Keeper on in
That he realized it hadn’t just been him watching in,
But destiny and patience had laid this plan many snowfall ago.
And all he had to do was smile
As the jolly merchant carefully wrapped
The perfect device into an old newspaper
And taped the loose ends together
Before he kindly asked: “Cash or credit, Keeper?”
Squinting (day 1195)
I lifted my eyes and squinted at the distance
Speculating on a mirage, intending to drift.
[Lost words have a tendency to echo
When moments find thee alone, lonely.]
I kick the dust. I follow an eagle trace a long line
About my imagination and wave at it motionless.
This is my breakout. This is my manhood.
I am the angel that washed out to Washington.
[I remember there was an arm that touched.
I looked and a few moments passed before I came to.]
Just like my whirlwind that had brought me to here
I sheltered the locals as I spread my arms and screamed like hell.
To arrows and sparks and roaring engines
Lifting an essence, an indescribable valor.
To sky that lifts my dream and spins my fear,
Pushing endless possibility into the cuff of my presence.
Into a distance that dances with a wavering expression,
Upon a transformation defined by these.
Beyond (day 1190)
The long lines on my calendar
Tell me there’s trouble on the rise,
A big storm from heaven to hell
Brewing, rumbling, shaking these windows.
Eyes in the darkness blink.
Hades and Cerberus
Between my thoughts and time
Scatter the answers to unknown questions.
Aggrieve, my letters of sound reasoning.
All suspicious thoughts and delicate fantasies
Shall surface uncontrollably
Rearing like the plunging thunderbird.
Yet here time’s lines keep stretching on,
In spite my tariff for illustrious Charon
Clutched deep to my hearth,
I, simple and meager, shoulder my armor.
They Have Got Me (day 1013)
I have got angels.
They dance around naked with long blonde locks
And sing amongst each other banging a drum.
Whenever I stand up to join the chorus
They stop and they wonder and stare at me lost;
It’s not a ‘what the hell is he doing’ stare,
But a ‘caught in the crossfire of beauty’ look.
They tell me my voice is why they stay
Dancing around here, naked as they play.
I have no reason to not believe my angels
For when I am lonely, they are my commitment.
They are what brushes past my face after tears flow,
They are what flickers in my early morning eyes,
They are the cinnamon spicing my sauce,
They are what smooths my sleepy brow out.
My angels cannot do me wrong.
No matter what song perches about their supple lips,
Their fingers dance nimbly through the air.
When they dream of things I cannot yet see,
Their drum echoes through my heart
And I imagine that I can indeed see their spells,
– Woven upon me so tight –
And I hear even in daylight they’re not far away.
When I begin dancing, when I share their dream,
I know I have got angels, and they have got me.
Crowd Sourcing (day 1004)
An eager atmosphere pushed the Devil to yell
He barked at the moon like he was rattling hell!
And out from the works came scuttling all
To exercise weeping; watch the blood fall
Leveraging our fathers (our mothers) with time
In a forceful toil-workers rhyme
Which consumed a brackishly concocted design
Of feathers and chicken bones and half frozen lime
We beat reason into apathetic institutions
Who spoiled magical innocence and intuitions.
We followed the Devil with dazzling premonitions
And were left alone; a severe lack of solutions
But whispers died slowly as the fog rolled away
Laughter could be heard above those who’d been slay
All in a night which reeked of delay
And the Devil returned home carrying his lay