I hate the business of writing
the commerce of word craft
the tedium of publishing
the deadlines imposed
I hate the word count
the editing and proofing
the book signing travel
and agents exposed
I hate the promotion
each workshop and fair
the reviews and the podcasts
the bookstores that sell
But I love the writing
when the words come together
releasing my spirit
—my fortune to tell
(The New Room: January, 2022)
Does your writing lack power,
is it merely verbose,
as you labor line to line
Is the message red meat
or a vegan’s delight,
its essence so defined
Each word as an arrow
that strikes for the heart,
its tip to preordain
The strength of the meaning
abandoning all
—when destined to explain
(Dreamsleep: January, 2022)
It’s not about what’s right…
but about who has the power
to dictate what’s right
Somewhere West of where he was,
and East of where he’d been
The mountains called their distant cry,
a pleading heard within
The alpine air, the red-tailed hawk,
their spirits hail his name
To thence return, the past on fire
—his freedom to reclaim
(Chief Joseph Highway: September, 2021)
Oftentimes, what doesn’t get said
—makes the loudest sound
(Hotel Majestic Saigon, Vietnam: January, 2014)
Hear…
before speaking the words
unwritten
Speak…
after writing the words
unheard
(Hotel Majestic Saigon, Vietnam: January, 2014)
No people or culture
lack the knowledge of God,
no matter how tribal
or famed
A Buddhist, Swahili,
a Mayan or Jew,
His message embedded,
ingrained
Those willing to listen
and heed to His call,
a power within
drives them on
Until Armageddon
brings light to the dark,
our natures so given
—to Him will belong
(The First Book Of Prayers: January, 2022)
The ego of the atheist,
himself the standard bearer
Where power of a mortal mind,
inflates beyond repair
His facts he weds intensely,
dimension fencing in
What’s not explained, he must profane,
all emptiness within
Whose formulas and strictures,
his Rosary to proclaim
What can’t be solved, new facts resolve,
dismissive in his shame
The ending predetermined,
his choices lock the door
Alone, his dialectic dies
—naked to implore
(The First Book Of Prayers: January, 2022)
Water, ice, and steam,
the Trinity as seen
Three persons unto God,
whose will and spirit laud
In Holy contradiction,
their essence so defined
Divine interpretation,
eternity sublime
This moment of no matter,
nor past nor futures blamed
embedded in our deepest selves,
beyond forsaken claims
“All glory to the Father,
devotion to the Son
Open to the Holy Ghost,
proclaimed—our souls become”
(Beaupre: January, 2022)
What is the value
of faith without doubt
Love without hatred,
peace without routs
What is the meaning
of joy without pain
Words without silence,
sun without rain
Into the middle
both sides fall within
Dimension redundant,
all endings begin
The yin and the yang
the long and the short
When hands clasp together
—right left to import
(The New Room: December, 2021)
