Walking on Air Collection Vol. 2

1997 2010

Walking on Air Book 2 Poetry composed in the spaces of time during travel and upheavals‌

Daniel Wordsmith Praymore Royal Order of the House of David 199720102010

1

Index Page Poem 1

Soul Search

Page 3

Poem 2

Lewd Liability

Page 6

Poem 3

A Sestina on Holy Jihad

Page 7

Poem 4

Jonah and the Sunflower

Page 9

Poem 5

Ode to Pegasus

Page 15

Poem 6

Temple Time

Page 23

Poem 7

Tantalaus’ Muse

Page 25

Poem 8

Deliverance

Page 28

Poem 9

My Special Place

Page 27

Poem 10

JFK, Can You Hear Me?

Page 28

Poem 11

Misunderstand Me Right

Page 29

Poem 12

Squandered Spell

Page 30

Poem 13

Unrealized Potential

Page 31

Poem 14

The Lesson of Job

Page 32

Poem 15

Unrequited Conundrum

Page 40

Poem 16

Drained

Page 42

Poem 17

Cantankerous Copenhagen

Page 43

Poem 18

Ne’er the Twain Shall Meet

Page 44

Poem 19

How to Tell You?

Page 45

Poem 20

Sociopathic Ablutions

Page 46

Poem 21

Love Never Dies

Page 47

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#1 Soul-search

A child I saw in prayer kneeling by mortality’s deathbed; nothing was left to say or plead: no more layers of lies to peel off bygone times of old; can any future new sorrows hold?

Dashed hopes, childhood tears, broken swords, blood-dripping spears that never turned to pruning-hooks or ploughshares…

Do you wonder, promises of bible-books notwithstanding, how God’s creation a holy equation is faith demanding?

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God concerning his word is not slack as counting worldly slackness: void of Lovelight fallen souls taken aback are unable to measure Holy Bible Treasure: one day from eternity equals one thousand years of entropy!

On praise is God’s kingdom built, not just prayer-petition in religious tradition to escape guilt; unlike Lucifer who’s dashing and handsome, our kinsman God’s required ransom humbly came to pay, destroying all works of the Devil, defeating death and evil!

Jessie’s root like a computer-boot turned on God’s sacred vine connection for Holy Wedding Feast composing a straight line: direct access gem to mercy seat and New Jerusalem: obscurity unveiled!

Love never failed.

4

Before impoverished through Adam and Eve

by Satan’s deceiving arrow, Everydayman today now can fat things full of marrow obtain, divine destiny regain: water of bitterness into wine of rejoicing turns, like at Cana’s wedding our host praises earns: his body as bread of affliction sin absorbs and contradiction: resurrected bread of life: hidden manna, white diamond identity, the Lamb’s Book discloses Eden’s Truth River Life Tree!

While idolaters’ filthy tongues wag, their abject shame covered in menstrous rag, Holy Saints with patience inured, to active faith in Christ matured, pillars in God’s temple become: brothers – sisters they are of God’s brightly shining morning star; God in us: sweet Jesus!

Nov 24, 2007. © All rights reserved

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#2 Lewd Liability

Responsibility is an awesome dimension without any room for excuse: not allowing even hints of abuse or applied mental retention of any stray hitchhiking thought ambling about not as it ought...

Self-pity is lethal!

As I’m sure you know when our ego is fetal in self wound attitude our every thought becomes a platitude like some stillborn scarecrow...

Sound genital body-management seems a useful cure for lustful leprotic immorality instead of wishful help heavensent as sort of obscure prescription for instant immortality...

Jan 19, 2008. Š All rights reserved

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#3 A Sestina on "Holy Jihad"

In flowing robes and colorful turban a handsome Caliph with his scimitar rode upon an old, crotchety camel across self-delusion's hot crystal sand; a message carried he of the Prophet while he sang, "God is great and merciful!"

While he sang, "God is great and merciful!" a sudden wind-gust blew off his turban, and he swore, "By the Beard of the Prophet!

Any man I'd cut with my scimitar if he'd thus strike my turban to the sand; but, we're just three: God, me and my camel."

Thus spoke he and stopped, got off his camel.

"God it is not, for He is great and merciful; and yet, there lies my turban in the sand.

Besides, what could God want with my turban?"

Wondered the Caliph, hand on scimitar.

"Myself it cannot be, by the Prophet!

Then who!? By the Sandal of the Prophet!

Since only one remains, you my camel, is it you who must taste my scimitar?

For sure as God is great and merciful, I must revenge the fall of my turban that now lies defiled in the sand."

7

The camel burped and crouched low in the sand.

Exclaimed the Caliph, "Faith of the Prophet!

Is that your answer?" Then his turban was promptly eaten by the old camel.

"It's a sign: God is great and merciful!"

He drew from its scabbard his scimitar.

"Now, you infidel! Taste my scimitar and let your blood nourish the golden sand; as sure as God is great and merciful, you shall pay this insult, by the Prophet!" cried he and cut the head off his camel.

With his camel dead, no turban for head though God's merciful, sun and sand are cruel: using scimitar, prophets don't go far!

Feb 18, 2008. Š All rights reserved

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#4 Jonah and the Sunflower

The Disobedience

Aye yae, yae yahhh!

Truly, know we of what spirit we are?

Consuming fire should one from heaven call: Mosaic Law, Elijah’s wrath for all who simple truth of Jesus won’t receive as Christ’s example teaches to forgive?

Consider Jonah, son of Amittai, whom God had called to go to Nineveh the ancient city, Aram’s wickedness.

Instead Jonah fled by ship to Tarshish refusing God our father to obey: as a thief in the night stole he away.

But while the ship was sailing the Great Sea, a tempest God sent so fierce and mighty crew and captain feared they would break and sink; while Jonah slept others began to think: ‘of this evil someone on board is cause that into perdition all of us draws; we’d better cast lots to see who it is: from where and why we got into this mess.’

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So lot they cast. On Jonah it fell.

“Who and what are you?” they asked. “Pray do tell!”

“Hebrew am I,” Jonah said, “God I fear, but his will disobeyed and stand now here; mine is the fault that you are in danger, afflicted are you by sins of a stranger; take me up; cast me forth into the sea: the storm will then abate, be calm for thee.”

At first they declined, tried rowing ashore.

This they could not. The storm blew more and more until they cried out: “We beseech you God! Upon us lay not his innocent blood, for you have done as it pleased you.”

They then threw poor Jonah into the sea!

A fish to swallow him God had prepared: three days was he in its belly interred.

There Jonah prayed during hard affliction.

“My Lord! I repent now under conviction; over me are passed your billow and wave: my head in weeds wrapped, a watery grave in the belly of Hell under the sea, is there no hope for me?

Mother Earth with her bars ever round me, making excuses is not an option; O Lord! Bring my life up from corruption!

Should I trust in my lying vanity, I abandon all allotted mercy.

Let me thus sacrifice with thanksgiving: salvation is yours, Lord of the Living!

To Nineveh I’ll return: I obey: That, which I had vowed, will I also pay.”

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God then spoke to the fish concerning his man: “Vomit out Jonah upon dry land!”

God’s Warning A second time came God’s word unto Jonah saying: “Arise! Go speak what you heard from me while you were praying.

Nineveh, the great city, pride if idolaters’ empire, overthrown shall be by retribution’s fire!

My Holy Spirit so says: there remains but forty days!”

Jonah obeyed, stayed true to his vow made in God’s eternal now: he arose and went forth to preach to everyone within reach of three days walk of Nineveh.

“After forty days you’ll all be overthrown for your sins!” He cried, “Repent! Believe! God has never lied.”

Now there happened a most unusual thing: show of repentance King and men did bring!

Yes! All of them did God believe: they proclaimed a fast for great and small including all; from first to last sinners opened their hearts God’s warning to receive.

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In sackcloth and ashes both men and beasts touched neither water nor food; tears of Godly sorrow washes away indignation, brings out good, foreshadowing communion feast.

They from evil turned their ways, shed violence from their hands hoping to live beyond forty days; God might relent: mercy advance…

So came it to pass: God relented; when he saw Nineveh repent withheld he their punishment, did not destroy as intended; for though a God of justice forever is mercy his in love to dispense, to sinners making amends.

God’s Mercy God’s decision Jonah displeased.

Exceedingly was he angry!

Like a cur that’s mangy, with selfish indignation diseased he in prayer chided out loud; disclosing the fact he was proud he proceeded to forge a schism pouring out cynicism asking God his life to take, thus hoping God’s will to break.

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“To be angry doest thou well?” inquired the Lord.

Challenging God for a spell Jonah could ill afford; yet, he went out of the city thinking to be witty for on the east side to sit and watch in a homemade booth, his bruised ego to soothe wondering how God would judge…

While Jonah sat nursing his errant grief from noonday heat needing relief, soaking in sweat from time’s sunshower, a dark shadow suddenly up round his head began to grow: like a breezy cool meadow God had prepared him a sunflower.

Jonah was glad for the gourd, of God’s mercy it assured; his spirit soared thinking with God he’d come to term, but the Lord’s will remained firm; He the next day prepared a worm that to the gourd slithered and smote it so it withered.

A vehement east-wind at sunrise caught dear Jonah by surprise: the sun beat upon his head.

He fainted. He wished he was dead.

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“It is better I die than live!

How can you Nineveh forgive and leave them to reign with power while you destroy my sunflower?!”

Jonah did thus murmur, making God’s will all the firmer.

“Now you’re angry for the gourd?

Pity for such as you have not labored: is not this rather absurd?

Tell me then, if you know: who made the gourd to grow?

It was but a plant of the field that unto nature must yield.

Yet, Nineveh should I not spare, on which I bestowed much care?

Not for their buildings or property do I care inordinately, but six score thousand persons of whom between left and right not one discerns, and also very much cattle: they repented, surrendered!

Still you’d have me do battle?

Go now, my friend, and learn what is right in holy eyes: I, your Creator, do yearn for mercy, not sacrifice!”

Mar 19, 2008. © All rights reserved 09-10.06.1997

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#5 Ode to Pegasus on Mount Helicon

How so Pegasus dear: is youth not ashamed to sin or to repeat their transgressions?

Sensualists adhere to surges of adrenalin and lust orchestrates repression…

Repentance's sanity esteemed worthy as wisdom is considered anathema; you know the kind, where is it from in this world's enigma?

Pythagoras viewed life as minus and plus transfixed by reincarnation: angles and lines, circles and dots…

Aryan heresy plots: fabled spirit transmigration enslaving with Prometheus' chain as thieves of devotion's flame, ignoring Abel's plea to Cain: 'Please, my brother, please!

Murder me not in God's name…'

Love drowned in Acheron’s waters, spread-eagled on Ixion's wheel: vultures enlist as socialist supporters like starving pigs squeal in delight of democracy; holographic fantasy one must now refute or accept, atomic intelligence computer proves adept at destroying faith highly priced with lies of AntiChrist!

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Patriarchs? Oligarchs?

What is divine mandate to rule?

Wasn’t Jesus heaven-sent?

Birth to death: life embarks entropy's road going to school to learn one's own true self-intent…

Gladly Morpheus lends Hippocrene opiated tears better to see Euphrosyne's view; Medea's potion blends and illusion's nectar appears: Atlanta’s apple tough to chew.

Was Plato’s schizophrenic symposium merely tactical decorum obfuscating the rise of matriarchy, perhaps to justify inordinate sexuality?

Female dual reasoning as paradox of Earthly being destroys macho logic: Eve's tragic genius of circumvention denied Adam to defy her, she became an enticing liar beyond her own comprehension…

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Melancholy Pelops!

Helen’s lovetrack switched to Paris: vengeful envy steals peaceful dreams, travesty develops counterfeiting that which fair is; humankind lost in horror screams.

When deity's fickle hope like tossing waves froths with scum; theology’s doubledealing: Orpheus' sharp sickle has set a rigid rule of thumb making religion appealing.

Lycian frogs croaking in mythology's bogs awaiting kisses from mother Latonia’s daughter sat for centuries idle, while Themis taught her infants to sacrifice as fuel for empires!

Pretending to be good Hercules slays spouse and brood: gory tales of vain desires, burning children's cries drowned in clanging of cymbals, a sodomite Moloch nothing denies, for peace war-machines into perdition pulls…

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It's been said Saturn strove earth to rule yet, failed his own house: could not control his wanton sons; dethroned was by Jove, whose long strong passions would arouse ecstasy among Earth's faithless ones.

Cerberus' rabid snarls bullying sheep and herding goats with tunes of Pan's flute harmonize, entrapping lusty carles forcing curses from many throats as dead flesh fails to appetize.

Alpheus Arethusa: fountain sweet of lovers united who strive Olympus to conquer only to become divided; poor Hyacinthus, innocent lad, regrettable statistic fatality who's grave nurtures flowers copiously soaked by weeping showers, great Apollo encountered with finality in shrouds of insane music clad; or consider how, concealed in jealousy's vestibule mighty Vulcan enraged by ridicule, Venus his wife and Mars with some Cyclops trapped in bed making love to each other instead of regarding his farce.

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Adonis should have known his pearls not to cast before swine and right nearly lost his marbles; world-history has shown over-effects of Bacchus' wine end in shame and empty garbles.

Lemurs and Lars compete to oppress humanity's mind, lusting to once again afresh control our hands and feet, possess our hearts, our spirits bind for to wallow in blood and flesh.

Mead of immortals quaff!

Ever is there enough, or catch Medusa's eye and get stoned; is Atropo's sight invalid?

Typhon, who has telephoned?

Oread's dwelling is squalid, Aurora and Cephalous are placid and Cassiopeia is a bore; Hebe, we thirst! Hebe, bring more! strike a Lydian note: castor watches Pollux dance, Vesta brings on her soiled dove while never giving gorgon a chance in her line of sight to move; classic fables offer ignorance's sealed coffer to unlock: heady bottomless prattle for thoughtless stupid cattle; not for nothing did Jesus weep, his saints all the while calling his sheep.

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Those who swim the river Styx on flattery's miasmic flatulence float, Dirce chase in Charon's boat; strolling Rome’s chilled, cool colonnades or basking on Athens' balustrades they dream Greek romance: from late night they to early morn swill the amber John Barleycorn, think to catch the rainbow and sleep perhaps beneath a sycamore; lazing to watch good grain grow caring not a whit for what's in store, cavorting late in life's afternoon fallen souls play philosopher: but time is up far too soon and what they fear is oh so near, so near, so near, so near‌

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Horned dreams of ivory: did Achilles shield protect him?

Slaves, not Amphion build cities.

Tereus' allegory: did real life cruelly select him?

Cupid's gold turned lead envies‌ Narcissus' reflection

by Aeolus' breath is disturbed, hermaphrodite is self-contained; Priapus' erection leaves many an old prude perturbed as if naught of their hopes remained.

Golden showers for Dana impulsive Minerva wrought, envious lady Europa between Meshach and Memphis got caught, turned to Julian’s house in desperation: fatal aberration while Diana against Saint Paul and Jesus schemed so nothing was as it seemed; should women live as holy men's shadows?

Should they love or hate, caress or plague?

Bowstring-twangs warn of flying arrows in spite of impaired vision opaque; as flowers before they wilt must attract graveyard-sisterhoods ply their most ancient trade: savage matriarchs obsessed with pain, existing on the edge of a razor blade: is fiction fact, is loss gain?

What can true virtue undo: vapid zeal or sexappeal?

Who dares with Ben Johnson say, "Write then on abortion's womb: of the not born who buried lay, here's the tomb!"

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My dear, dear Pegasus!

This sharing of dirty laundry in praise of borrowed achievements delude most: we have thus cast the mould for idols' foundry imposing on love bereavements…

Hymen must be broken deep mystery to penetrate of Eros' addictive powers; God's prophets have spoken: agapé must communicate fellowship to human bowers!

In every saint homeward-bound from desolation's hawthornhedge foolish thought should not be found to bolster lawborn Mosaic wedge: Jesus’ bloodfountainflow guilt-stained souls like mountain-snow cleanses for posterity with merciful severity and absolves from vain prescription invalid: selfish thought to save the soul!

Saints may be winebibbers at times for stomach's sake, but surely never daytrippers celebrating envy's bitter gall, coveting and defiling all; who has much forgiven loves much, never needing religion's crutch… dare we love our enemy emerge we from obscurity god's highest love to attend: laying down our life for a friend.

May 24, 2008. © all rights reserved

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#6 Temple Time

Bound one to another cords of crystal gold link and lock us together in heart and spirit: forever joined as one, nothing can quench our love.

Your voice as many waters gives wisdom, surcease from pain, joy in battle, strength in sickness, help for evermore.

No one is unimportant to you, Jesus, no one is too tall or too short, too slow or too clumsy; no one is ugly in your eyes, no one is boring; no one is too bad for you.

I can be anything I want!

I’m never, never, never beyond the reach of your love: freedom is to be with you: you set me free.

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To break the chains of conformity I rebel against the Devil and his lies; wouldn't want to cry in front of anyone, but I never feel that way with you…

Each time I trust you, you give a little more of your love and peace; I now know what it is like to be loved immeasurably.

I walk away from our daily temple time, Jesus, much better than before…

Dec 2, 2009. © All rights reserved

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#7 Tantalus’ Muse

Billows opaque, misted azure scantily hides her Muse demure; yet, just on the verge words hang on her tongue tip only to evade a kiss of lip.

Is she a harlot? No, I think not.

Perhaps one of the Seraphim that fell to Hell?

Vacuous waste is not her disease; smithing words with sparkling ease she teases, she cavorts, zealous in her sports silently creeping back to her host; when needed the most she will not fail: she’s only pretending to be a snail…

Jul 30, 2008. © All rights reserved

25

#8 Deliverance

Who lays down his life cannot but for friends by grace make amends; nor is love but once must die that which gives life sprouting in rebirth my hope of glory‌ Let's follow our hope than which no other nectar is fit to tope in faith's crucible: how say ye compunction has date expired when redemption's function has sin retired?

Dec 14, 2009. Š All rights reserved

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#9 My Special Place

Here am I, Lord, Emmanuel Ben David of Bethlehem, all ready to be close to you: thank you for this quiet place where I can sit and rest at your feet; I love to sit here and learn from you, I love to gaze upon your face so warm, so tender...…

Thank you for this priceless privilege of sitting here and partaking of your words, of hearing straight from you: I love your words: I drink them in, I need your soothing waters to quench my thirst and wash me clean; there's such good reception here in my favorite place where I can tune in and fill up with your ever-loving Holy Spirit, your Elixir of Love!

I look back now, and it's hard to imagine when I didn't have this special place, I wonder how I ever made it through the days.

The funny thing is, you were right here all the time: my special place was just waiting for me, but I was too busy to notice; but now, I'm going to keep sitting right here in my special, favorite quiet place, in sweet, still devotion to you…

Dec 19, 2009. © All rights reserved 27

#10 JFK, Can You Hear Me?

Obscurity undefeated, diffusion entreated, assertion forever stunted, vocal utterance punted; opaque political veils refuse to reveal uprightness: first casualty of insatiable voracity rebounds on the seemingly innocent, though no such thing is real; tiny tufts of grass bedeck ravenous appetite for royal blood whence to take the fatal shot unsuspecting of eminent death as instant karma backlashes stark reality: dig a grave for oneself by murderous intent killer-focus is Hell bent: Who listens? Who cares? Who dares defy fate?

Feelings of insecurity arrive late, late, late‌ A lone dog urinates on a knoll of history, a wino urinates himself on the same knoll; life goes on towards death as usual: children play incessantly, blessedly ignorant of worldly reality‌

Dec 21, 2009. Š All rights reserved

28

#11 Misunderstand Me Right

He who dies with the most toys is still dead regardless of much music and fanfare, avarice brings only leanness instead of joy: oh! To be season birthday-aware of Jesus as God's only life-giving bread who came with love and forgiveness to care for all us lost, fallen, hopeless sinners changed by his blood into endless soul-winners‌ God wants spirit fruit, not religious nuts!

There's no key to happiness; doors unlocked: forgetting Jesus on his birthday shuts blessings out of life like a priest defrocked whose shallow faith was filled with ifs and buts, whose lip-service prayers and praises just mocked God for wanting Jesus his bride to marry: a grudge is a heavy thing to carry...

Dec 22, 2009. Š All rights reserved

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#12 Squandered Spell

Phew!

Your eyes foggy dim tear-wells brim as unspeakable pain stabs our forgotten dreams devoured by reality's ugly underbelly unraveling at the seams; surreal peals of forced laughter belies the curriculum vitae of your astrological classification as being too shallow for to dip my feeling of exploratory admiration, (or say, uninhibitedly wallow), risking to stub my tender toes of lost direction on shoals of defective coordinates misplaced by emanating affection brazenly plagiarized to avoid detection just in case the mutual infection spreads beyond control.

Ugh! Lord forbid such idiosyncrasy, we extrapolate to be exempt from stillborn creativity; this is fleshly rot: but then again, why not?

Dec 24, 2009. Š All rights reserved

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#13 Unrealized Potential

Infinitesimal reticent ripples on a pearl pond: a drop of liquid love instigates kaleidoscopic motion.

Life becomes a universal nerve, emotions a compelling verve.

I must know whence you are, before settings change undoing everything my hope neatly compartmentalizes in virtual sequence as were it methodically constructed nonsense.

Yet...

Just feeling you near becomes unfathomable ecstasy: incomprehensible, indefensible.

Where is the escape hatch?

What is the emergency number?

When did this happen?

Why me? Why me?

Could someone bring me a sensual first aid kit in case my heart breaks and makes a mess of it?

Apr 18, 2010. Š All rights reserved

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#14 The Lesson of Job

Part 1 There was a man in the land of Uz whose name of old is Job; he proudly prospered in upright cause, which filled his heart with hope.

But Satan the fallen cherub came: he stood before the lord, accused dear Job then pressed on to blame God self for playing sport.

The Lord in full wisdom spoke: "All his is in your hand; yet, touch him not: leave his wife, his cloak and let him keep the land."

All wealth destroyed, his children now dead, Job mourned worshiping God: "Naked came I into the world," he said, "naked to leave I ought.

The Lord gave and the Lord took away, blessed be the Lord's name."

Job though in sorrow sinned not that day, his faith remained the same.

Enviously the Devil besought to take this just man's life: once again he came, stood before God as fountainhead of strife.

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"What will you? Integrity is his," God said, "Why should I scathe?"

"Because," replied Lucifer, "of this the truth in tears will bathe: skin for skin, man sells his soul for life!

Your hand put forth now, touch Job's flesh 'n bone, his pride and his wife; so will he curse you much."

"Do as you design but let him live," the Almighty agreed; for he knew only true love can give the strength, which faith will need.

Hence went Satan forth to smite 'n lie with boils from foot to crown; Job's wife mocked him, said, "Curse God and die, in calamity drown!"

"What?! Shall we receive good at God's hand and not evil as well?

Foolishness you speak, which breaks the band that keeps us safe from hell."

This Job said and sat among ashes, scraped his sores like a thief; his wife's treason with knouting lashes increased his arrant grief.

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Part 2 Wailing with loud lament was now heard, three friends of job arrived; seven days and nights sat they: no word no idea contrived.

Job then cursed his birth, longed dead to be.

"All small and great are there," said he, "servants from their masters free; why has it come that I fear?"

Eliphaz Temanite then did laud such things his eyes had seen: "Shall mortal man be more just than God, purer than god has been?

Afflictions come not forth of the dust or troubles of the ground; yet sparks fly upward, indeed they must, mankind's blight is profound.

In daylight darkness and evil meet, grope in noonday as night; save love, faith and truth them both defeat!

Rejoice! In God delight!

Happy are they whom God chastises, despise not his virtue, purging are all his enterprises: teach yourself to subdue."

"My sins are like spirits in bottles bound with a hangman's rope: our days swifter than weavers' shuttles pass on without a hope.

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Wherein I have erred I cannot tell; teach me, my tongue I hold; my righteousness is by all known well, should I not then be bold?"

These things inquired Job of his friend searching to justify a life he had religiously spent seeking an alibi.

Bildad Shuhite took word, spoke his piece.

"Does God judgment pervert?

Without mire rushes grow in ease?

Length of speech is absurd.

Roots of the wicked wither away, their memory fades out; men born of woman every day like worms wiggle about."

"Truth! How shall a man be just with God?" Readily job agreed.

"As parched flowers in some burning sod he disappears un-freed!"

Zophar Namathite then came to word.

"How is it you speak lies?

Smooth 'n free your talk glides like the bird unashamedly flies.

Your bones are full of the sins of youth, wicked triumph is short; it is as vinegar to a tooth: a joy which must abort!

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Would God speak from his lips against you!

What can you do or know?

Without spot lift up your face, be true lest your vanity show."

"How long with words will you vex my soul?

Ten times have you reproached," replied job and said, "I would be whole, albeit death encroached.

Nathless I know my redeemer lives: yea, one day shall take birth; I shall see the salvation God gives stand the last day on earth.

Have I erred? It with myself remains: righteousness I hold fast; my soul will not carry shameful stains.

Were I as in times past‌ God preserved me then, his candle shone, by his light did I walk.

Woe! Now they younger than I intone: with derision they talk!

My harp is tuned to mourning, my voice and organs weep; God's precepts I’ve kept, heeded warning, yet with death must I sleep."

The three guides thus ceased to answer Job with nothing more to say: self-righteousness was Job's wine to tope till come his judgment-day.

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Part 3 A young boy, Elihu bar Achel of the kindred of Ram, with rage flowed over: a surging well to drown this mundane sham; come he had to hear the sages bless but found them to condemn: no real answers, solutions a mess, his new wine would them stem.

"My peace I’ve held for still I am young, elders are you to me; afraid I was to loosen my tongue, let my own view flow free.

Days should speak and years should wisdom teach, though the spirit in man inspired understanding may reach consulting God's right hand.

Judgment not all aged comprehend, great men aren't always wise; lest I burst with new bottle intent: allow no compromise!

Let there be no respect of persons, nor hold to flattery, self-justice be met with aversion: it's god damned heresy!

God speaks once, twice, men perceive it not: through dreams in night visions while in deep slumber upon the cot God seals his decisions.

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He opens up the ears of mankind to give forth his instruction; evil aim mayhap is left behind with pride and seduction?

What man is like Job who drinks up scorn as if were it water?

Who holds no delight to have been born, gives God's grace no quarter?

Surely our Lord God of old is just, shows no iniquity; yet Job rebels, refuses to trust in God's sincerity.

'Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him‌' claims Job with confidence, but he'll keep his own way in each limb constructing self-defense.

Why despise cleansing of hidden sin?

Where are thoughts to repent?

Job’s religious, pious pride within spurs his heart to resent.

Hear this, O Job! Consider God's work: the Almighty is great, his promises to mankind he'll not shirk or his mercy abate!"

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Part 4 Then from a whirlwind answered the Lord all contentions of Job. In fear were all silent while God poured questions beyond men's scope‌ "Behold, I am vile!" Job cried, "Lord, what?

You have made me to see I uttered that I understood not; I repent: forgive me!"

Wroth God was with Job's three friends indeed, their folly he rebuked.

"Let Job pray for you," God said, "there's need for evil to be puked!"

And so God turned Job's captivity when he prayed for his friends: restored him in the end twice fully, in mercy made amends.

Apr 25, 2010. Š All rights reserved

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#15 Unrequited Conundrum

Unforgiving snow-blasted rock-faces; crevasses piercing deeply into forbidden mass; a helter-skelter stairway to heaven without binding hope.

Echoes of excruciatingly painful bygones: yesteryear's failed ascent attempts, swirl in cacophonous ghostly screams mingling with twister gusts of powder-snow. Frostbite served as hors d'oeuvre underscores the main menu specialty of our climb; Yetis notwithstanding, how could we know to survive overwhelming avalanches of doubt and fear? Cleats, rope, picks, and whatever else as excess baggage obscured forlorn bravado commandeered from self-induced pride steeped in superiority complexities easy to find at base camp shitters and canteens, yet more or less extinct as altitude is gained...

So now what?

Here we are dangling dangerously in limbo-land somewhere between up and down, posthumous accolades and derogatory snide comments of phantasmal irrelevancy.

To be or not to be is out of the question: quasi-dermatological rashes of total recall recreates Mother's favorite pocket philosophy; ‘Be careful, my boy.’ Ha!

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Was I carefree or careless or simply careworn?

Getting to the top is obsession, under-achievement is depression: rollercoaster oppression in nano muon particle possession emulating entropic finality destined to arrive nowhere near the peak in summer, rather becoming stale leftover slated for my twilight-time in autumnal multicolored brush strokes of banal reality: do or die? No, die anyhow in orgasmic cadence of never say die as the rope breaks, the cleats slip, my grip loosens, and my body free-falls into oblivion cartwheeling round, and round, and round absorbing the infinite void of life's abyss...

Apr 25, 2010. Š All rights reserved

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#16 Drained

She wanted to devour me but maybe I'm indigestible and disgusting to her palate of convention; so spew me out like stale tobacco void of juice‌

May 6, 2010. Š All rights reserved

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#17 Cantankerous Copenhagen

Cantankerous, cantankerous Copenhagen!

Cobblestone promenades flirt unashamedly with modern escapades: I float on odoriferous sin and fake remorse, action-packed fun and, of course, enjoy secret tales from hidden back-lanes where myriad sensations lead to ecstasy insanely wrapped in shrouds of cornucopia gluttony; mental fornications galore in all simplicity implore as founding members of the local graveyard sisterhood, historic footprints be embedded in real-time-warp: self-sufficient succinct mind imprint of Hans Christian Anderson little mermaids one cannot erase or further debase; classical monuments haphazardly scattered ‘mongst playhouse habitat boxes convention recommends with a paragraph-rider that condescends juxtaposition in contrast to lovely beaches supersaturated with misplaced tourists ever milling about in some vain attempt to discover pain relief and self-cure, albeit wrecking on shoals of chocolate coated bagels betrothed to percolator coffee worship obscure, practiced religiously in a fantasia of sidewalk cafĂŠs where over-organized enterprises dot the city as chickenpox plaguing my beleaguered sensibilities.

Ah, Copenhagen! Royal City of Centuries feeds the oldest line of Kings among other things: should you a tryst wish to sample come hither at once without preamble...

May 19, 2010. Š All rights reserved 43

#18 Ne'er the Twain Shall Meet

Initially I view co-inordinately, nevertheless, mirror imagery skewers perception: do I have an evil twin in some other dimension or am I it?

Homophobia or heterophobia: can such coexist socially?

Thievery transposed into political correctness we vote for otherwise democratically consistent, is that it?

The Twilight Zone becomes Sci-Fi hodgepodge some yearn for, albeit many onion peels makeup belies any vain superannuated attempt to discover black holes with light bending effects: not that I myself don’t bend at times, but who walks beside me?

“In the multitude of words there lacks not sin,” said he and kept on talking incomprehensibly with himself, realizing he could never meet his alter-ego, ever, ever, ever...

Excuse me?

The split personality is on line four, seven and ten...

May 25, 2010. © All rights reserved

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#19 How to Tell You?

Pebbles crunch beneath my soles: "Scrunch, crunch, scrunch, crunch, scrunch‌" sound direction leading to a secret place where I can unload some pent up affection reserved for you my love, who never ask for return on investment.

Love, just like pearls, like constant touches of caressing flesh on flesh: skin to skin metamorphoses into words of meaning in streams of electrifying poesy: convulsing orgasmic centered intent.

Where else can battered souls blemished by knaves of moronic banality define their inner beauty otherwise hidden in deepest chambers of eruption get relief floating on brilliant stardust?

If that doesn't say I love you: what does?

Oct 25, 2010. Š All rights reserved

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#20 Sociopathic Ablutions

Who would've dared to surmise anything could possibly be amiss there, down the old half-cellar on our potholed sidewalk in the old 'hood?

After all, how many shoe soles might have been worn down passing by is anyone’s guess an' who'd give more than a fiddlers fart deducing why?

Ah! Gory tales, crimes of yore committed behind a cellar door!

May 26, 2010. Š All rights reserved

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#21 Love Never Dies

Well here you are your spirit safe and sound, but your body's in trouble this time around: yet we do not really know what or when will be the will of God in Jesus to see.

He is in your heart he'll never leave, mind you I don't want to deceive; Jesus might just need you to come and stay with him there rather than being sick down here.

Sure he can heal you if that is the best; still, maybe to others you are his test: do they believe, do they trust?

Much can be done from Heaven by the just...

Allow me to suggest a simple prayer, deliver it directly from where you lie on your back looking at him; simply say: 'Dear Jesus, you want me?

I'm here for you to take; please do it swiftly so hearts don't break.

Should my time not be for to depart, kindly heal me; I'll do my part to shine your love to all around to comfort and let truth abound.

Whatever happens, help me to trust in you, let my friends and loved ones in on it too: then all together we'll find the peace that brings us power to make pain cease. Amen...'

Jun 13, 2010. Š All rights reserved 47