Blood Ink

     “I am used to
      making ink from my own blood.” - Abdulla Pashew

I sighed with relief when evil passed by
unaware of its existence while mechanisms
for bringing goodness began to turn with the 
first bird call of the morning to raise the sun.

Remaining anonymous carries ferocity yet
dancing unknown steps for something 
calls the poets to liberate pens and letters
onto pages stained with the marks of history.

“When you come into the land that the LORD your God is giving you…” – Deuteronomy 18:9

Giver of Life and Land,
Who demands our obedience
Against the evil ways of destruction
Of the prior inhabitants, we wonder
If the land and what we own 
Is really ours, or perhaps our very
Thinking that it is becomes the
Path to our own destruction
And folly which you warned us
Against.  Make us mindful and
Aware so as to give.
Amen.

Today’s reading includes life’s most difficult verses.

The Golden Rule presents itself first followed 
by all those things, yes, things, that create human division
between sects and castes and classes and circles.

Discourses on inequality and the tricks played by those 
who attempt to make us believe in the banality of wealth
divert those already ignorant of Divine ways.

Everyone searches for their hidden motives of sacrifice
preparing for a moving day to Easy Street which never
arrives on individual demand.

Legends fall into trouble once again barely able to keep
us awake through the drip of words leaking from books
read in one sitting of possibility madness.

Peaceful creation waits for the hubbub to waste away
into convention and tradition before appearing and  
glowing like the sliver of the month's new moon.

The Lost Ages

Between hope and sorrow
found in spirituals played
in minor keys dwells a note
releasing the captives into
a sweet place of freedom.

The doe keeps her head down
eating the sweet and desired 
delicacies from neighborhood
flower beds while the owners
sleep the sleep of the dead.

A return to correct ways of living
postponed by a prodigal display
of fragile members demanding
an accounting of the lost ages
lives only in the dreams of beggars.

For What?

Proximity to power in unlikely places calls
on Lady Luck to provide Get Out of Jail Free
Cards to those who believe that with enough
faith the healing of the nations can occur
along dusty red dirt roads & people who feel
the power of the heel can empty themselves
of the piss & shit created by ingesting the mess
from above in the hope that the powerlessness
of broken-winged butterflies transforms
the small narratives and pig stories & call upon
God to become bigger & more possible thus
liberating rich fools & poor diggers of soil into
the question: Who is fighting for what?

Spring Reminders

Spring flowers do not fear stepping out;
unfolding to include all of the arrayed light.
Yes, it is okay to extend the covenant of living
to reach folks carrying the heavy stuff placed
in their arms by the hopers of the gospel of help.
A good conversation where words do surgery
teaches me to prepare my inner child's voice 
to expand the prophetic imagination.  Channeled
anger resists truth-telling accountable to no one
in a responsible position with any power over
who is more exceptional in providing charity
to those who know no justice.  All people 
color when leading the march to eliminate
silence as a standard of perfection.  So pick 
your own assortment of phrases that will help you
resist isolation from the practice of calling out
and bringing nothing in except another challenge
to hope that others will take care of the self
while delivering gifts of care to the community.