Tag Archives: Ethereal purpose

Of What Men Know

What stands before the path of man that to his conscious calls?
What errant spun devices cast a doubt where shadows fall?
What is the fleeting last regret that spins a temporal web of lies?
What casts a haunting second breath before the mournful cries?

Tis locked in deep regression, where only courage can transcend.
Tis in the danced illusion that wraps his mortal soul in sin.
Tis nothing less than innocence engaged in dreams beyond.
Tis only shied experience ‘till age can take it on.

For here upon the precipice of aging mortal waves,
is seen a lifetime’s counter call in triumphed moments saved.
Here recall the history that to these feet has blessed,
that what’s before in mystery has once or twice been second guessed.

To grey and tattered countenance upon the head and cheeks.
To moment’s hope impaled in hate forever left beneath white peaks.
To kindest wrinkles manifest by laughter stolen in a sleep.
To every living texture’s thread so stitched within the soul so deep.

Raise a glass to history! Call a toast to life!
Sing a song of mystery that courage grows from human strife!
Bless the living innocents that by their lacking wisdom go,
to fall and muster strength to rise and come to this of what men know.


Filed under Growth, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Earth’s Delight

Stand within the failing light of summer’s dusk demarked in time,
suspended ‘twixt the poles of night, stretched thin in whispered rhyme
whose lengthened shadows softly bow these moments held sublime.

These moments captured in between the poles of birth and death,
feed the fleeting flurries’ scenes, in gentle grasp that bends each step
to cull the most you’d hoped to know and all you’ve come to find.

Yet evening follows dawning,
death descends on life,
moments lose their passage gained
as days in task become the wife…

Time remains immortal,
your simple work somehow transcends,
until the mirror folds the lines
around your smiling eyes and skin.

Then to the fleeting moments call your patience born on anxious wings,
with dreams renewed in hastened steps, on bucket lists of greater things
that kept the working day at bay,
that held your time immortal,
that granted strength to iron will,
that stayed the threat of life’s last portal.

Now stand within this failing light, summer’s dusk disrobed and bare,
for evening stretches long her hand and loosens long her darkened hair.

That as you wait for dawn to rise and grant the peace now held in shadow,
do count the many steps surmised, the blessed memories gifted, hallow.

Softly sings the whispered rhyme stretched kind between the poles of night
for souls enrapt in dreams sublime and lullabies of earth’s delight.


Filed under Dreams, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Of Passing…

Ashes drift across the page,
smudged in ink that lies in rage
left loosened by these blotted stains,
so holds the moment thick.

I sit with silenced, emptied mind
denying few the words I find,
yet nothing blunts the pain
that bends these lays in pages sick.

There is no hope in honesty,
when to the last, emotions fail.
There is but lucid clarity,
that paints the final moments pale.

Flesh deprives the man behind.
Sickness ebbs the soul in kind,
but still the eagled spirit shines,
so baits us to the end.

Moments pass as prayers drift
until the spirits seeking, lift
his deity’s smoky lines,
that in our presence mend.

All life is left in moments played
between the poles of death and birth,
yet left perplexed in passing’s sum
we stand here heavy on this earth…
Waiting our return.


Filed under Family, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

The Fade – Reprise

At edge of evening’s solitude I pause to seek the fade,
stretched through every molecule and every breath I trade.
It clings to shadows, soften edged. It claims the ether, still.
It thieves the color from the room and blinds the window sill.

My patience feels eternal, midst the smoke that laps my furrowed brow.
Yet here I’ll hold my vigil, calm, redressed in wine, birthed in now.

Not a single trace belies the beating of my heart,
just the gentle padding rain that balances my part.
My part, that is, that here I play in quiet room and pause;
one conscience wandering twixt the thoughts of night and evening’s cause.

Oh gracious time eternal, hold the calm from beating fast,
that by this time suspended draws the fade to drift at last.
At last between the rings of smoke lapped in tongue of fire’s sum,
o’er the luscious nectar’s poise that starts my dreaming heart to run.

Stem my patience fatter than distraction’s playful tugs do pull,
past this moment’s whispered laughter to greet the quiet, kiss the lull.

To the day my reverence, my thanks and gracious praise,
that now the fade has drawn me in, has wicked the ink to pages’ lays.

Quiet, oh, my heart repeats the love of life in patience known,
that grants elixir’s solitude amongst the fade and smoke rings grown.

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Filed under Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Lost Words


Ink on ink, stacks of words, lines bent from my mind in haste,
well in wretched motion’s scent within the pile of blotter’s waste.
Denied the spark of light to find a useful purpose where they lay,
lepers of my orphans, renounced to shelves of dim decay.
The dust of ages crack their binds, fermented time lends ochre’s brand
infusing dim their history upon neglected pages, tanned.

Why do they still remain there?
What purpose can they ever fill?
Whose eyes will ever read them?
What holds them in my ebbing will?

My orphans calmly line the shelf, at peace in holding nodding thoughts
that stem form frozen moments summed when grand solutions aptly caught
the hope to bend an errant mind, the rush to solve the world’s woes,
the drive to change, create such love that ecstasy would roll in throes…
Science, math, and cultures gripped. Politics of hatred delved.
Invention, story, fiction, truth all gathered through the ink, there shelved.

In some I rarely venture a visit through their ashen sparks.
Others, I’ve not the courage yet to reach or touch their pages, dark.
But yet they are my orphans, my hopeful babes, my lepers scarred.
For by my hand became here, and by my hand stay safely barred.

I pity those who find them beyond the last of breath in me.
I pray they’ll not destroy them, yet maybe let just some fly free.


Filed under Perspective, Photography, Poetry, Universal Soul

Follow Your Dream!

What stands against our perseverance unfolding from a hoped success?
What calls a man to hesitate in second glance and second guess?
What drives the winds of challenge to bend us back onto ourselves?
What hearkens to the failures stacking dreams on dusty shelves?

Is there such that keeps from us the dreams we strive to dream?
Are there really fateful blows rending fault within the scheme?
Can it be that such denies God’s purpose within us rent?
Must a life placated be to only walk the path that’s sent?

Hearken not to such blind passion that pulls the grave so ever near!
Follow not the empty echoes that call you home when most you fear!
Stand to face the triumph waiting beyond the hell that you must pay!
Step beyond the trepidation that pulls you, tugs you, scars your way!

For ne’er a lie, nor hope’s descent would be from God in purpose lent.
Ne’er denied a dream applied that from His will came our intent.

Steady long the weary hand that draws the dream from burden’s lading!
Gather strength in spirit steeped upon the path in trials’ trading.
Lash the beam onto the dream that pulls from deep within you.
Follow fast in courage clasped within the heart of soul that’s true.

Follow your dream!

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Filed under Growth, Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

A Poet’s Wish (a Madman’s Dream!)

Along this fading line of time, along this simple thread of life
that speaks so strong to what I write,
that calls to me, that calls to me…
Here my purpose pulled in rhyme, here my pen becomes my wife
that beckons lays to what is right,
that sings of me, that sings of me…

For I know no other reason in answer to the “wheres” and “whys”…
I know no time of season that stills or strokes the errant tries!
I know that only tempests call within my soul to write it all!

As every dew drop glistens in every moment’s pause, I listen,
‘til sweet the strong confusion reigns, until my thoughts, and pen, sustain
some moment captured, acquiesced beyond the simple thoughts confessed.

Here, in time’s sweet undulation, here in moments caught from you,
I do that which was meant to be,
to sing of thee, to sing of thee…
As moments ebb in transformation, poised through life yet fading, true,
I write of what you let me see,
and raise to thee, and raise to thee…

For life is living’s reason in answer to the “wheres” and “whys”…
Life is born of treason, for in the end we all must die!
But by the tempest’s raging call, it’s life that stakes the stays to all!

The dew upon the rose’s crest defines the truth of living’s best!
In honey sweet of summer’s rain my lays will live beyond my gain
to leave a blessing’s hope for all, as whispered from your kindest call.

To hope, to dream, … to pen it all!

(note – if anybody asks, the “you” in reference is life!)


Filed under Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Where Nothing Has Gone Wrong!

As blood of soul there spilt upon the page where nothing has gone wrong but to absorb the fits of scribe that flies a pestilent horse that tried to capture all the woes of life, leech the pain from blood and bone, storm the memories castle wall to leave a wake of dead unknown… it is the ink that screams its thoughts when freed from nib where once was caught, yet ‘neath the guide of trembling hand is whipped to what is right or damned!

Its purpose rent for petty cash to columns bound to rags of trash, its heart of blackened knightly steel denied the point to fight and feel, to wake the living thoughts of men, to dare the sword to come again!

Alas, it is this ink’s last wish that if it has to live like this, can’t an innuendo gleam between the printed column’s seam? Can’t it bring some special prose that burns the rag in eyes deposed to only study long enough to only see vanilla thought, that through a few swift strokes of pen will render what is greatest wrought of poet’s pen and lash of ink, by eyes that see and minds that think, by what imagined, real or dead comes forth through pen and ink that bled its soul upon the page where nothing has gone wrong, and nothing ever pays the bills but hearts of men, real men, who long… who long to feel and pray and fight, to stand in purpose, stand with right and herald truths there brought from them, enflamed in passion by the pen and by the screaming heart of ink, that brings our souls to write and think!


Filed under History, Perspective, Poetry


How do the fleeting moments slide beyond this desperate errant grasp?
How does this waning life of rhyme find a single point to clasp
within the hopes of purpose lain, within the humble want
that dreams of words in echo there
among the flaxen hopes, that haunt
the fabric of every day?

They dance in ether’s lacquered musk,
seduced by what the poet knows,
drunken in their wanton lust
that to the world, designed to show
that every day is bread and wine,
every day mundane,
repeated work in value’s void
is stiff and slanted highway rain.

But there the motivation comes
in anger of such wasted schemes,
that force eventuality paused,
suspended near the hopes and dreams
that greater purpose pricks the poet,
greater purpose pulls his soul,
greater meaning meant for others,
posthumous drifts ‘tween the poles
of temporal lines in lingering,
gestalt wrapped cross the evening sun
that folds a sinner’s dusk in death,
that drives the length toward when it’s done.

Are there points reflected in the mirror of what is God?
Are hints divine across the fabric strong in even, weak in odd?

Is it just too much to dream that sacrifice and duty’s truth will open doors while living?
Or is it just that what is blessed, is best when long since gone, it’s giving?

Oh! How my aching heart decries the hateful mourn of working day!
Oh! How the empty echoes pain the tasks that for tomorrow stay!

How can the soul in living form adjust to less than spirit,
when robbed of moments fleeting points, that ears left passed are few to hear it?

Sad the poet’s recompense that draws the bitter coins to purse,
leaving only two for crossing’s price and dues to pay the hearse.

Yet there upon the rippled Styx the faintest whispers heard,
repeating every lay and rhyme, repeating poet’s every word…



Filed under Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul

Eyes of Soul

What do I see behind these eyes,
enrapt in living’s echoed timber?
What source in strength of spirit, I,
that burns the questions from mere ember?

What of these eyes that come to me,
in passing daily actions bent
to find their own known mal-affection
that from their living purpose rent?

See do they? See do I?
or do we think we see?
When yet our soul’s sweet purpose rings
in spirituality.

Unknown to me each presence.
Unknown, the purpose each heart seeks.
Unknown, each soul’s sweet resilience.
Unknown, each journey’s triumphed peaks.

Yet to their eyes I look each day
and try to bring approval,
or maybe just a passing smile
for souls behind each pair’s perusal.

I feel the great connection,
the fabric spun from God in life,
in which we bend reflections to
the solving of each other’s strife.

I know sincere inflections stand
in spirit, soul, and human hand.
I know we blend to form the truth
of what is truth, of what we can.

Here now my day light passes,
that from my walking presence lay
a spirit down to sleep in me,
and through my lips in conscious pray,

“Blessed I am through kindness given
and that which I return.
Thankful, as I am in living
for what’s been granted, and what’s been learned.”


Filed under Perspective, Poetry, Universal Soul