Enter the Dragon

Lord, have mercy! Hands like palms have risen.

The lowest has ascended to the highest,

Riding in on a humble horse again,

Falling down, lifting up the catalyst.

Welcomed by a celebratory shout,

Embraced with burdened, hospitable arms,

Harnessed hope again, removing the doubt,

Deafened, selective hearing the alarms.

Stumbling blocks, the house’s new foundation,

The path not taken, inhabitable,

Ideas manifest, imagination,

Last supper poisoned, indigestible.

The parade route, designed for the dragon,

Highway for man, whose travels are common.

Taut with Ten

Framed a certain way, the doorpost is the key,
Blamed a certain way, the blood is the key,
Damaged by the destiny of the destroyer’s spree.

Thinking like a victim, freedom is out of reach,
Pondering like a prey, escape is out of reach,
Vivisection the best, purification with bleach.

Troubadours taut with ten intentions,
Predilections possessed by ten intentions,
Serfdom surfeited by sinister suspensions.

Liberation comes, Passover with red décor,
Passover comes, liberation with red décor.
Read after morning, tearing up no more.

Saying Goodbye to My Seniors

(a poem composed in the final year of grad school, 2017)

Holding farewells in a sieve, drain on that final day
Stressful farewells written that eve, drain on that final day
A pregnant year to record the last words to say

A snapshot of each day has a puzzle piece fit
A letter written each day transliterates a puzzle piece fit
The lecture delivered in an auditorium dimly lit

Melodies over months swoon in perpetual dwell
Melodies hover as moonlight in a Beethoven sonata dwell
An infant invocation crying out in an instrumental yell

We embrace one another, conjoined twins, only to depart
We embrace one another, in the classroom’s womb, only to depart
Our knitted lives undone, thread by thread at the heart

Storge musings, nourishing, in the final weeks of a third trimester
Agape fusing’s, unconditional, in the final weeks of a third trimester
Final words, harvested, the fall in their spring semester.

D & C

(a poem composed in the final year of grad school, 2017)

I’ve taken him to a better place
this child of God
who wandered
like the children of Israel
to a forbidden space

You look at me like Uzzah
but I’m just a Kohathite
transporting the holy things
from your tent of meeting
to the ark of Jehovah

I’ve marched through the Red Sea
parted for the dearly departed
flesh and bone and skin and blood
collected and stacked
an altar of remembrance for thee

You approached the burning bush
how could there be fire
when we see no smoke?
You ask like I have a voice
I’m just the messenger’s hush

We approached sacred ground together
this womb in the desert
look closely—the wilderness
fingerprints of His righteous hand
ready to hold you forever.

Jesse Jackson’s Objectives

(A poem I wrote in 2014 after attending one of the many faculty meetings I’ve been blessed to be a part of over the years).

 
Analyze
Justify
Hypothesize
Scrutinize
Hyperbolize
Institutionalized
Aggrandized
Super-sized
Cracker Jack prize
An owl’s wise
Birthday surprise
Heisenberg’s demise
Sunset, sunrise
Sunny blue skies
Soft hazel eyes
I hate goodbyes
Healthy, wealthy, and wise
Everyone dies
Pillars for thighs
Pumpkin pies
Fruit flies
Everybody lies
Soviet spies
A baby’s cries
Dolls and guys
Five hi’s
Rapper Plies
Me, myself, and I’s
The spirit is nigh
T.P. double plies
Deep breath sighs
Bow-ties
God bless ‘em he tries
Who, what, when, where, whys
Stupefies.

Wrestling with Red Lights

Slow down? Not in my vocabulary.
I long for instant gratification.
Patience waits in wings of ancillary,
Patients seeking help from recreation.
Staring at my watch—being left behind,
Gazing at stars—envious of their rise,
Climbing the stairs—a one-step frame of mind,
Faith with glassy stares, joy that is despised.
The minutiae requires monitoring,
The minutes tick, time scrolling on a line,
Hourglass sand drip, monikering,
Our fast hands scatter the beach’s shoreline.
Senses heightened, aware of gross mistakes,
Losing my nerve since the first, red headache.

The Same

Each time I blink my eyes, I’m bored.
Begrudge the plate that’s full—disdain!
Forgive me for worshipping the same old Lord.

World turns upside down—I’m floored!
Blue skies get in the way of gray—the pain!
Each time I blink my eyes, I’m bored.

I like collecting baggage—I hoard!
Even when I’m ready to let go—I wain!
Forgive me for worshipping the same old Lord.

My cup doesn’t overflow—it’s poured!
I don’t mind being stirred—not shaken!
Each time I blink my eyes, I’m bored.

When I sought out peace—a sword!
What good is clean armor—no stain?
Forgive me for worshipping the same old Lord.

But, when I was most asleep—You roared!
The ringing in my ears—You reign!
Each time I blink my eyes, I’m bored,
Forgive me for how I worship the same old Lord.

We Have a Problem

When I’m uncertain, I call it Houston.
Petty problems indicate corruption.
Gravity leaves the room; a failed mission.
Shuttled to the edge of space and reason.
Meteor might and solar system thumb,
Universal truths and wormhole vision,
When I ask for space, I pray for reason,
Tethered to a station that’s forbidden.
But, minuscule malaise matters little,
Mission Control maintains my gray matter.
Each day is a rebirth, countdown to launch,
Oxygen is strong, my breath not brittle.
Constellations connect stars that scatter,
Heaven is a highway to God’s response.

Therefore, Leave

l(a doesn’t break, but the end is near
Sooner or later we’ll fall from a tree
Three days transform into three lifetimes, dear
Every departure comes with cost, but we’ll be free.
Branching out requires letting go to begin,
A foundation without roots rustles the leaves
The weather speaks, whispering with the wind
Nakedness covers more than winter achieves.
The rings that matter are measured from inside,
They multiply aside from year to year,
The bark hardens as the covenant stretches wide,
Today, the barren forest, makes it clear.
Therefore, the vows are rooted in arbored glee,
Cleaving is a verb fulfilled with thee.

From Crown to Sole, the Soul Needs a Crown

I looked up
And my eyes were pierced
I saw no more and I perceived even less
My junk has been littered
And my filth is a mess
My vision wasn’t much to begin with
I have trouble following directions
The vertical sight is full of ups and downs
And the horizontal Kingdom slays the east,
Sacrifices the West.

I listened up
And my ears were death
Or was it deaf? I can’t hear myself think
My harmonious sound is drowned by a fountain of truth
My youth has gone by in a blink
The sounds of life are remotely mute
I’m fooled by the pseudonumb voice
From what I know, the nose and throat connect
The beat of another drummer reverberates my skull
And disrupts the Trinity link.

I stood up
And my head hurts.
I’m dark, dumb, and weak.
The vertigo of my will makes my soul bleak
The God of my head gives strength to my feet.