Thirst

Love is the hardest patience

Too often tugged by deserts yearning

I stumble over myself

with the desire to care

Crude, school boy fumblings

That bruise, instead of healing

Real love is not perturbed by

A lack of connection with its beloved

Love is prepared to wait

Alone, in the dark if necessary

For the right course to take

Real love is wize

But not I.

I cast about furtively

like an addict, not really loving

Anyone, but only hurting

in the attempt to quench my thirst
My desert yearning

Truer words were never spoken;

Real love is not self seeking

It sounds trite, cliched, anachronistic,

To say, "God is Love"

But imagine if you will

Ponder in your heart the true nature of love

and you will find peace

All the furtive desert fumblings will cease

Ghost in the Machine

We reject truth without evidence
As hot iron blasphemies applied to
The neural highways of our enlightened minds
While the pathetic and uninformed continue to pray
We worship our cortex idols
And the sea remains unknown and intimate
To idiot souls who know
That we create our own destinies
Not as masters, but as subjects

Faith of a Dog

I seek your face, your loving gaze
The touch that can make me free
With grubby hands and mout h I call,
"Have mercy, have mercy on me!"

You can see what I've been eating
Its no use, I cant clean up my act
My hands are grubby, and the
corners of my mouth are stained
With the evidence of who I am

But even dogs eat the crumbs from
Their masters table, dont they?
Dogs are not ashamed of need
With grubby hands and mouth, I call
"Have mercy, have mercy on me!"

The Kings Troubles

The king became sick
The prophet said,
"you are surely about to die, O King!"
The king turned his face to the wall
And wept like a child
Later the King said,
"it seems it was good for me to go
through all these troubles.
You never let me tumble over the edge into nothing."

Each heart gropes in the shadows
Along the path to loves union
Made soft by the beatings it recieves
In the search for love
The battered heart is prepared for home

Everything on the hearts journey must be stripped away
What was a gift
Became addiction
What was devotion
Became idolatry
What was once a humble ear
Became a lie
And all the Kings troubles led him home

Surface Touching

Our eyes only met for a moment
As the kingdom of this world rushed by
she was lying in a doorway
Vacant
Staring
Unseen by passing eyes
Beneath her barricades
Her Faded plastic bags
full of relics
salvaged
from lifes war
Beneath her Icons
venerated
against the cold assault
Of city neon
On her soul

I ventured a weak smile
Powerless
Shy
Ancient wisdom welled
In my imagination like vapour
It is we that pass by who are lacking
Lost in our cold aversions
We that are driven
To find peace in consuming
The temporal ghosts
Of our empty yearning

The Apricot Tree

My heart is the roots of an Apricot tree
People like me when the fruit
is right and the leaves are green
But when the days grow short,
the nights long and cold
And the moons white silence
rides high above earths mourning souls
My limbs can appear sickly and grotesque
To people wandering past my fence
Chilled by the rooftops barren glow
White eyes
Now awake to darkness close
to keep at bay some nameless thing
That the fingers of the moon arouse within
My heart is the roots of an apricot tree
People think I'm dead when
they see no fruit and the leaves arent green
But alone in silence, buried deep
In loves mysterious darkness my heart still beats

The Restless Heart

Home is where the heart is
Thats what people say
Does this imply
That anywhere a heart may find itself
Is a good place to remain?

Hearts are restless creatures though
Chasing this and that
Leaving rooms empty, cupboards bare
and boxes unpacked

the belongings of the moving heart
Are labelled no fixed address
Although a permanent home is what they seek
they take up any room for rent

A true home for the heart
Exists, its true, we know
For without origins of rest
For the soul and the heart
Why would so many roam?

Road to Recovery

Sometimes home
Seems a long way off
Like a glinting on the far horizon
fooling me into travelling on
i put one foot in front of the other
On the road to recovery
Past houses with many rooms
That resemble the mansions
Ive been searching for
Their emptiness seems pregnant
With the promise of life
Maybe I am welcome there?
But peering in their unwashed windows
I can see that their pallid walls
And musty rooms
Are just unoccupied shells
Of other places I have been
Empty scenes
Waiting to be filled with the wounds
and noise of broken lives
Visible
But to most unseen
Their 'for rent' signs
Crudely stapled to the front fence
Are not inviting me into my Fathers house
Only advertising a place to rent
Somewhere to put my baggage down at a price
So, I continue walking, enquiring
Looking for my rightful home
A patch of blue sky
Is revealed by parting clouds
Filling me with hope