The Tired Man's Song

I got to the cabin today.
Watched the snow on my boots melt away.
I started a fire in the old blackened stove;
watched the paper, then the wood burn as it  growed.

I picked up an old magazine.
I flipped through the pages and I seen
an ad for some coffee-fifteen cents for a pound.
Not whole-bean, it was already ground.

I sat in my chair for a while
when a mem'ry of you made me smile.
It's been nine years to the day since I laid you in your grave
and I still can't find nothin' to say.

I got up and made me a brew.
The can was from Easter, that I knew.
I reckoned if Jesus could raise from the dead
Easter coffee could help lift my head.

::Inter::

I stretched myself out on my cot.
I'd drank all the coffee in the pot.
The embers in the fire hours ago had gone cold;
I began to feel tired and old.

I came by to see you today.
Easter coffee and cold embers sped my way.
I waited nine years to the day, and you sure do look fine,
like the beauty that I once called mine.

C G C
F C G
Em F C Am
C G C

::Inter::
C G C
C G C
F C C Am
C G C

The Warrior's Song

Come near to me
and I will tell
of the things I have done and seen.

I have taken hold of rams
and brought them to the ground.
When a ram confronted me,
I chased him; I ran
and took hold of his horns
and threw him to the ground.

I have sat astride a horse-
a male horse, and been thrown
from his back.
He threw me to the ground,
and I struck him.
I struck him, and straddled him
once more.

I stood in a field naked
in a snowstorm,
utterly exposed.  I stood exposed
in the snow without any clothes
and did not succumb.

I am a wolf
I am an eagle
I am a bear in the cold wind.

I am man,
and I will not submit
to the oxgoad.
I will not be harnessed
to a plow.

I have climbed a mountain,
and drank from a mountain spring,
and I will not be broken.

The Mountain Bride

On a peak 'cross the bay
ten miles or more
on a mile-high peak
the snow drifts la-zi-ly

In a sheer, shimmery sheet,
lifted up off the peak
where it lay;
lifted high on the wind,
filling up like a sail-
on the high lofty wind
in a vapor, a veil-

It's the veil of a bride on her
high wedding day,
on the day she is wed,
mountain bride, to the sky.

And the world shudders

And the bride standeth still
and her groom, noble sky
waits stiller yet, still.
And the other high mountains
bring gifts as they will--

The mountain bride's mother
Volcano; she vents.
She vents up on high in a shivering sigh,
for her daughter is wed on this day
to the sky-
the high royal sky with a shimmering eye
full-uncovered-

And the eye looketh out o'er
the bay dressed in mist,
the bay at the feet of the
high mountain bride.

And the mist, now discovered,
is soon pulled away.
And it shines in the sky's eye,
glittering white
on this high, holy day...
the mountain brides life-

precious jewels, hammered silver-
her gift to the high king, the Sky.

Ode to a Woman yet Un-met

Find for me a wild woman
Catch for me a fiery star.
Bring to me a giving woman-
Tho she be a world apart.
Bring her softly, sweetly, kindly
Bring her unto me unbroken
Like the mustang's untamed heart;
Being a wholly-purposed jar.

A Wedding Song.

Take a deep breath.  Close your eyes now, and be at rest.

Hear the organ rise, as down the aisle treads your bride.

You're miles and miles away-how could the wedding bells be playing today?

It's true, they ring for you.  As true as birds will fly, and sky is blue.

Sing for the day she gave her heart away to you.

I believe that love can conquer any devil.

A cord of three is not easily broken

'cause the Father loves his children.

You two will become one.  No going back now, you've just begun

to see a greater plan.  Go forth and spread your love throughout the land.

Love will find a way, be joined together now, 'til night is day.

Take a deep breath.  Close your eyes now, and be at rest.


C F/C C F/C C Gadd1 C:|

Chorus:
Em F C Gadd1
Am F Dm G7

Music Box Dancer

For ev'ryone when first conceived
Inside the womb they each received

A tool of brass; a tiny key.

These keys were wrought for one design-
That when a man's heart so inclined
Him toward a happy thing he found,
He needn't leave it to the ground.

But rather place the key inside,
Turning-making fully-wound
Himself.

Whereupon wound, he might then dance,
And sing and laugh and cry and prance
And put on such a marvelous show
That all would see his face! Not know
That deep inside his heart, the springs
Were slowly winding down.

Spring

Stride out to open places
snowy ground warmed by the sun.
Throw wide the heavy curtain!
Release the captives-Spring is come.

Comes the Light

I went room to room
with a torch.

Not for light.

Not for light, but
for burning.

I burned all the curtains.

The End

I swore that it would never be
again,
the thoughts, the cares, the
lack-there-of,
all piled high in sleepy burdened blossoms,
nightshade
And thousands of bodies.

And when I awoke,
Strewn about in bags the parts
of all the mother's sons I'd died awaking...
And I clung to the windshield, clung to life.

But if this is the end,
I would make such an end,
as not like the tow, ember glowing,
but as a rage,
a furnace,
a city on a hill.

Try

It is hard to imagine going on living

if I mean nothing to everyone

I want to mean something to-

But I must try.

Winter Haikus

Stupid truck won't start.
I hate you, stupid old truck.
Stupid stupid truck.

Now I'm at Starbucks.
I think Audrey Hepburn's here.
Or her look-a-like.

I hate everyone.
Everyone who's car started.
Look at them driving.

Just drink your Mocha,
I say to my cranky self.
You still have your health.

Break

I have to hope
That when I finally break,
It will be as an egg.
New life will emerge,
and be satisfied.

Every Winter is a Time Machine

And I ran out into the field,
some field I found on my way to grief.
I stood on the edge of that field,
the woods at my back,
and the cold air blew snowflakes in circles around the numb
head on my shoulders.

And I threw off my winter clothes;
my pants and my coat.
I pulled the shirt off my back and
stood in the cold,
stood in nothing but long johns, and boots.

I spread my arms wide,
not in strength like the eagle.
Not in peace like the dove-
but in utter surrender, every bond broken
 between my heart and humanity,
and the strings of my little heart
wavered and fluttered in the frigid wind.

I hoped that there was no repair,
but I knew I was lying, my hope
was not thus.

A trust was that day broken.
An innocence was stolen.

All loyalty was naked, shown
for what it really was-misguided,
selfish, empty, then self-less songs.
A dirge was danced by broken pawns,
and lawns were drenched in blood.
A flood of tears washed alters bronze,
and throngs of spirits crushed
beneath the weight of wasted years
appeared to mourn the loss of life,
or what we thought life was,
and when I found my fingertips
and core had froze
I fell, and became like them.

Worth The Weight.

But
To Him
Who knew the reward
The reward for His pain,
To him the reward
Was worth the weight
Of His pain.

Whisper

And if I have to ask
"How much longer will it last?"
And if you doth reply
"What is future once was past"

And if I have to know
"Are their places I must go?"
And if you testify
"For a task that I will show"

And even if I scream
"Will it be the end of me?"
And is just another word
"And I will help you see"

And if I came to you to say
"I give it all away today"
Then you will take me in your hand
And give it back
And grains of sand
Will be the faithful mark
Of truth
And I will go to you to stay.

Walls

Look beyond these walls.
Are they so high?
Are you hemmed in on every side?

Have these walls served their purpose yet?
Look how high!
You could not climb over if you tried;
no matter how badly you wanted to-
It is no use, you are stuck inside.

But there is a lesson here.

Freedom and slavery kiss.
Each fears the other,
Because we fear what we do not understand.
When a leaf is freed, it dies.
When a seed dies, it is born.
And so it would seem that in this life,
All things go on
And go through
And go on again
Inside these high walls.

But one day the gate will be opened.
We will not find freedom.
We will become it.

The Small Things.

I tried to write a poem, but the fact of the matter is, sometimes it is better to say something succinctly. The fact is, I want the big things in life, but the big things don't deliver. Trying to get the big things are like trying to box a bear. Take that analogy as far as you want to. But the small things are the most valuable. The smallest things are the greatest treasures, because what is small is what is unseen, and what is unseen is eternal. So in the end, when all the big is gone, the smallest will be the biggest after all, and they will have been given as a blessing, and not as the result of a fruitless fight.

A Perfect Rain.

I released him-
an action which may have been loathsome
at a separate time.
For I found him, my prize
and I would not have ever surrendered,
were it not for the soft-spoken
rain in the darkness
gently washing the trees huddled
across the midnight landscape.

And this perfect rain,
in the dark of the night spoke straight
to my heart
with words incomprehensible
from a tongue, but comprehensible
from the heart of the Heavens to mine,
and the words of the perfect rain,
by subtle invocation,
demanded action and
by a simple act of compassion,
I released him.

I believe in You.

They scrawled across the concrete wall
"I believe in you" and "to yourself, be true".
They wrote in chalk,
the chalk was blue.

They wrote upon the river wall
"believe in yourself", "from your friends at the Society for Emotional Health"
They told me "You are beautiful"
O, they were stealthy.

But how shall I believe in me,
when I've no power o'er my soul,
that soul will last eternity,
but I can't tell it where to go.

And how in me could you believe,
when I can't even save my own,
think you I'll grant you some reprieve
for words that make a heart grow hollow?

Your sentiments will wash away with rain,
as just your chalk shall, too
but I have found a savior, Yes,
and he fails not to think of you.

But his words shall endure some more
and longer than the threads of chalk.
Such permanence and constancy
amount to more than just mere talk.

So trust in him, believe in him,
and you shall have your hearts desire,
for isn't what you want, indeed,
to lift yourself up from the mire?
But you can not, and chalk can not,
and pasty, broken sayings will fail.
But he extends his staff to you
to pull you up upon his trail
and he will light the way by night,
and grant you shade by day,
and he will give you life at last
when flesh is dead, and self is pale.

House of Mirrors.

"Trust me", she said as she led
me down a padded path,
padded by moss, and loamy oak leaves,
down to the river side.

Down to a clearing, a circle of saplings,
ivy spiraling up their smooth trunks
leaves touching leaves of separate kinds,
looking like love, but only Time
knows that such closeness is poison.
It is not the closeness that is poison itself,
but the sort
of closeness which Time has beheld
which wraps itself around the tree,
leaves touching leaves,
choking the life from her, shading her canopy
until no sun can reach
the leaves of the tree.

Past the trees she leads me, closer to the river
the bank of which is up and black from silt
and old oak leaves, from rot
and there upon the river's edge a
Fairy Circle
as some call it, a ring of wild mushrooms there
how strange that they should form a ring...
What cause have mushrooms to display such humane
characteristic.  Why the ring, of course, certainly must be thus,
that some poor creature perished there, and the mushrooms
gathered round its corpse to mourn, and mourners these remind the
Fenn of that which it has lost.

She has no care for discourse-her only recourse this:  "Trust me".
And there from out of nowhere
or perhaps there all along, my senses being stealed away
by moss and trees and other natural things,
caused me to miss this erection of shimmering glass,
a circle of mirrors.
I am surrounded on all sides, save for the side of the river,
this cold, brown slug of a river.
She says to me, "Trust me". 
But I say, "Let me out".

"They only way out, dear one, is the River".

This I see clearly.  "You have had me, you temptress!  I know
this river's name, it is not Jordan as one might suppose,
no, it is Styx".

"There is no other way out, dear one.  Trust me, therefore, and come to me".

I despair, even unto life.  For her charm is deceptive, her beauty is fleeting.
I know this.  But compared to death, and with her my only choice, her
beauty begins to overcome me. 

But I look up.  There, above, is the branch of an oak tree,
a tall tree, rising to the sky, unhampered by the winding ivy
of the glen outside this Ring of Tricks, this
House of Mirrors.

And so I leap, and the branch catches in my hand, and the rough bark scrapes,

and she screams.

But the branch cracks, and breaks, and I fall hard to the ground! 
And the branch lands square on my shoulder, crack, breaking it,
I know.

and she laughs.

Then I laugh, and through the pain, I lift the branch, and swing wide,
smashing one of the mirrors
and I step out into the clearing,

And I run.