Why Such Accolades?

Why heap upon me such undeserved accolades in shades of praise,

When this man is but man, and just as imperfect in all his ways?

Does this human deserve such high appraisal at the heavenly table?

His life is not stable enough to enable him to live to such standards,

And when you truly know him he will show you how he panders

To the pantheon like a prawn drawn from brackish waters unadorned,

Then he will be what he really, truly is as no more than flesh and blood.

Leave the Door Cracked

Steeple piercing sky, you left the cathedral door cracked for the hunched-back,

For people like me, too feeble to turn handle, never nimble, none-too-quick,

And here there is an altar at which to pray, night and day, whatever one has to say,

And God must be listening from vaulted heaven, ne’er assaulted by cries from below

In tragic humanity’s last great show, throwing caution to the wind at every bend,

So does this poor man kneel and whisper, hushed tone echoing across stone floor

Before rising like incense to throne of truth and justice, with soul-deep moans,

Thank you for leaving cathedral door cracked neath steeple grand and imposing

From Where Does Evil Come?

From where does evil come, to lurk so deep in the human heart?

From where or whom was born the dark art, this diabolic part?

Why does humanity so suffer, and where is the heavenly buffer?

Why so much sin that begins again and again with no end in sight?

And how do we fight our depraved nature, light our own dark path?

Why so many white-washed sepulchers in endless rows in sight?

And who hears the newborn cries of life as another aged dies alone?

Mark an appeal to the God of mercy amid the controversy of existence

In persistent chase after an answer without resistance, but assistance,

But how shall we know that holy quiesce never having tasted peace?

So comes the Prince of Peace to grant us lease on an eternity of serenity,

And joy without tears, fear, spears of war and battle gear for earthen drear

Cry from the Dark Maze

Slice me and dice me anyway you like and I’ll still bleed!
For however distorted now, nevertheless, I am still man;
Yes, I am still a man, though running through this maze
Like some rat – lab fed and fat – less than what is human;
See me and hear me as I try to climb these walls and cry,
But don’t stand and stare; rather, help me repair my life
So rife with pain and seemingly no gain; let mercy reign!
After all, I am none other than your brother, not another!
. . .
Dominus eleison! Dominus eleison! Dominus eleison! 

In Elder Days

In the elder days
They abandoned better ways
And entered hell’s maze

No one entered in
To ask forgiveness for sin
To again begin

All good forsaking
Memories were left standing
And children weeping

In our own blind way
Do we do better today?
And what do we say?


Note: This poem is comprised of four haikus running along one theme . . . Hope you enjoy. Blessings to one and all!

What Do We Do With Our Days?

From morning to night our plight remains the same:
We hurry up to worry and scurry to fight and to bite
Over seemingly significant insignificants of this life 
We have been given to live instead of giving our self
To selfless ways in the rather few days we do exist,
But we persist in insisting on small details in retail,
Social media, movies and video games; it’s the same
And what a shame in living such a sham life
When the world is rife with pain and no gain
For so many of our brothers and sisters upon earth,
Place of our common birth, and what is it all worth?
Endless snickering and bickering over no-nothings?
. . .
And the rain falls as painful tears of God are shed
As we remain so much the same until we are dead,
Always encouraging the better way of life instead

Hope Is . . .

Hope is a little word but strong;
Hope is a bird that brings song
Into our heart and only departs
When we stop singing
And no longer cling to her,
But hope is ever ready to return
To light fire in our souls to burn
Away the dross of despondency;
Hope is what keeps us all afloat;
Hope is a well-built, sturdy boat;
In the symphony of all life itself,
Hope is the key note . . .
Hope is a little word but strong

The Long Road Ahead

There is a long road ahead of you with no dead end,
And you’re walking it with not a lot of time to spend

Some people travel lightly while others carry heavy loads;
Some folks make the trek alone while others with a hoard;
And some cry in the dirt without trying to make their way,
While others smile at the day and stay straight the course

There is a long road ahead of you with no dead end,
And you’re walking it with not a lot of time to spend

You may meet and greet people walking slowly and lowly;
You may meet and greet people sweet with lots of treats;
And you just might run into some rash and brash types, too,
But there are also those who are always steadfast and true

There is a long road ahead of you with no dead end,
And you’re walking it with not a lot of time to spend

Face this long road stretched ahead
Be careful where you make your bed
Remember only what good was said
Be humble but surely keep your head

Some folk will stop along the way in the middle of the day,
While others forge on with a song and a pep in their step;
Some people will recognize that it’s no good to agonize,
While others fraternize with complainers and naysayers

There is a long road ahead of you with no dead end,
And you’re walking it with not a lot of time to spend

So, how will you spend the journey with so many trends,
On this long ‘n winding road ahead that has no dead end?

There is a long road ahead of you with no dead end,
And you’re walking it with not a lot of time to spend

Sometimes These Shadows

Shadows walk with us, sometimes numerous
And often unnoticed, sometimes very clearly,
Sometimes barely visible, sometimes friendly,
Sometimes quite ominous, but always present

Sometimes these shadows come from the past,
Sometimes these shadows forebode the future,
Sometimes these shadows are merely our own,
Sometimes these shadows come from another

Shadows can haunt us and taunt our very souls,
And sometimes strike a cautionary note to us,
But oftentimes they come to call us to recollect
Something long forgotten, before we were born

Yes, the very Ages themselves cast long shadows
That walk with and talk to us, if we see and hear,
And they bespeak the imperfect story of humans,
And they bespeak the imperfect story of our own

Sometimes these shadows come from hell’s pit,
Sometimes these shadows come from heaven,
Sometimes these shadows invoke much terror,
Sometimes these shadows provoke much peace

But always these shadows in our shadow land;
Shadows walk with us . . . yes, ever the shadows


Note: I would like to dedicate this poem especially to my fellow-blogger and friend, Tony Single who, like all artisans (including yours truly), must be a bit of a shadow-walker. Blessings to one and all!