Let By-Gones Be.

The even' sure has waned,
and morning waxes more profane
with every minute ticking by
the clock goes tick tick tick
and I
am left to reminisce
on days gone by,
friends gone on,
loves unknown,
and beards gone
unceremoniously
down the
drain.

Art Baby.

His voice breaks forth,
strong as a spring peeper.
compelling as a swathe of gauze.
And I think to myself, this
must be what art sounds like
when she dies.

But then I think
maybe this is the sound
of art being born.

Actually, I know it is.

Love for Sale!

Finder:

Love for Sale!
For what it's worth-
I dug it up out of the earth.
That's right, it holds its value still.
Who'll pay a hundred dollar bill?

A hundred?  There, the man in blue.
Bid up, if you know what's good for you.
A thousand?  Yes, you've got it, miss!
A life-time full of joy and bliss.

Ten thousand from this gentleman!
going once, going twice,
sold!  Come sir, and shake my hand.

Take this love, it met my need.
This money satisfies my greed.
I took what I received for free
and pawned it off, quite happily.
Do what you wish with love, good sir,
I want not what I can not earn.

Buyer:

Love for free!
I paid in full.
I bought it off some sorry soul.
He said he did not care for it.
Come one, come all!  It is a gift.

In the Valley of Decision

Low, down low
where the grass don't grow
in the Valley of the Bones
in the pit, in the snow.
Where the cold wind blows,
where the lions go.
Put your face in the dust
don't rise, don't rise

Kings rise from their thrones
to greet you at your coming
dead kings rise up
"You are just like us
made low, made low in the dust".

In the Valley of Decision
stand up, stand up
heed not the derision
blackened souls, no contrition
pull you down to your face
gnash their teeth, condemnation
heed not, heed not
open eyes to the vision
in the Valley of Decision
stand up, stand tall on the Rock.

Cause For Rejoicing, Whether I Feel It, Or Not.

Shame.  a sooty shroud enveloping
the letter in my chest.
engraved upon the heart
within my breast;
engraved on stone.

The stone immovable.
this rock will crush you.
It is Mount Sinai.

This shame never fails
to point to that letter,
that eternal stone.
It will never pass into oblivion.
It remains, and taunts me now.

But I will not succumb!
Though it wills me drown
in despair, I will crush it.
In the name of the Lord,
I cut it off.

For there is now no
condemnation.
Not for those in our Lord.
For there was a lamb, who
was offered up for this,
this shame.
And he took upon himself the blame
for my sin he was slain!
And I look upon this lamb
as my rescuer.
He has redeemed my life
from the pit.

Of The Moderns

I come into the coffee house, searching for
someone, but embarrassed to be doing so.
So I keep my eyes on the floor, and on the
chalkboard menus, but I let my peripherals
rove, like little eyes on big eyes.
Invisi-eyes.  She would never see them stare.
But she's not here, I ascertain.
So I let my big eyes take a big gulp
of the hipsters scattered around the room,
their lanky bodies draped on chairs like
their swanky threads are draped on them.
Finally my gaze settles on bookshelves
where magazines and other strange publications
are sold.  "Please Pay Before Reading", the sign says.
Honestly, I wouldn't pay a nickle to read
some of the garbage up there,
but I think to myself
perhaps there can be
found a small
book of
poetry.
I find
a publication
for three-seventy five.
I purchase the book, and a cup
of coffee, medium roast; it's late.  I open the book
hoping to find beautiful, rhyming verse, couplet and
quatrain, but it's filled with the stuff of the moderns.
I am disappointed, but I read it anyway.
And I begin, or rather progress, to understand
why it is the way it is, and I can like it.  I do not
love it, but I find I almost-love it, as I find a love for
the poets who composed it.

Halfway House

Halfway house
half-a-house
half a man
half a louse
have a care
help a mouse
trust a hope,
halfway house.

Halfway house
half-a-house
half a woman
half a grouse
have a heart
help a blouse
trust a hope,
halfway house.