The Whole Hole

The whole hole, a doom laden pit; the weight of which bent our backs until we crawled about following blindly the buttocks in front. In saving ourselves we carved and sliced and chopped; doling the whole in wholly unique holes.  Holes forming groves and dents and hidden dips. Containers for puddles and ponds and murky pools. Some yet carried the weight and bent double, toppled; threw themselves in. Only you can’t become the inside only the out. And you just cannot will yourself around a hole you’re in.  My whole is tied in string, meshed in wire and pearled in knitted wool; carved into shutters, nailed under floors and bound in the words of my holy book. In the beginning I religiously cupped my hands to my face and drank it in. On dark nights, as the outside of a quart of shine, naked in my old boots, with the wind in my toes and the dirt firmly under my right heal, those little holes inside, together, grow whole old memories and push out joyous tears of our past hollow.

A Sonnet for Johnny Taliban

Reflect O good Mistress of light and moon,
not dark of soul nor burdensome hardship,
but warmly over my love in distant lands.
Shine well and long lift golden hearts aloft.
See hear nor taste the shadowy stench of death;
illuminate senses in touching fingers
as soft tips deftly hold our fallen at safe
Bastion’s walls and shut the gateway to heaven.
I pray you would shine so full and clear
you blind the Hawk and Owl, and hold Eagle still;
yet most I wish your might hides bright happiness
in sweet fair Robins breast, beneath the bushel laid.
My love, home soon together, staying silent
not two minutes for jolly Johnny Taliban.

Hugging the Devil

It’s funny how you can become that which you hate the most.

Sit with a murderer all day long and you’ll want to kill them.

This can happen only if you are the object of their hate.

Then, of course, it is not murder but only  self-defence.

Love works in the same way; powerfully yet  slow.

This is why a good priest will at first sit outside the cage,

watching carefully, waiting for the bars to bend in his favour.

For only then may he enter and safely hug the devil.

Webzietgeist

The mighty walk amongst us
looking just as we do but
seeing only themselves in
everything they do or say.
I see nothing of them.

The righteous sit above us
looking down as we do but
reflecting our choices in
anything we do or say.
I get nothing from them.

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Silent Waters

Silent ripples
mimic deep undercurrent –
fish swim still

Alone

Alone,
me and you,
us against them,
grouping together
then falling apart.
How hard can it be?
me verses me.
Alone.

Chosen Pebble

I am but a steady pebble,
faceless in the company
of many similar fellows.

My uniqueness formed in
the constant crushing
contact as we are shifted.

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