Who Will Wake These Bones (Recast)

Dark valley, shadow of death, haunt of jackals, rugged stones;
Skeletal remains of a battle fought, cursed soldiers slain;
Pilgrim of the underworld, prophet of God, who will wake these bones?
Journey through the night into heavenly light, and will they breathe again?

And here we lie to say goodbye to earthen treasure, diabolic pleasure,
To rise again, to begin again without chain and the only pain to live

Bone to bone, sinew and flesh, and restless sleep in sand;
Bodies on bodies, row upon row, fallen damned on desert plain;
Sightless eyes, no life in blood, no peace of soul for the warrior band;
Who will wake these dead men now and let them breathe again?

And here we lie to say goodbye to earthen treasure, diabolic pleasure,
To rise again, to begin again without chain and the only pain to live

Thunder claps and lightning bolts, swift wind moves across the plain;
Eyes open and bosoms heave, fair faces in the light of day;
Life rushes in, the Spirit flies, and Death holds her broken chain;
Here now an army stands where before only dead, dry bones did lay.

And here we lie to say goodbye to earthen treasure, diabolic pleasure,
To rise again, to begin again without chain and the only pain to live

We Live…

Note: Based on the story of the Valley of Dry Bones found in the Book of Ezekiel (of the Hebrew scriptures) 37. 1-14



Now you have come full circle to vernal passion
In high fashion, leaving behind ashen dreams,
So walk your talk on the wild side of the sun
Where dreams abide, where none can chide you
For who you are and will become some bright day

. . .

Don’t stray
Or enter the fray
But seize the new day
With no suffocating dismay
And enjoy a life in this new way
Here in Evergreen there is no decay

. . .

You are the star ignited from afar, shining brightly
In nightly sky;
You are the stream that flows below radiant heaven
To leaven earth;
You are the key for eyes to see the life-giving tree
Standing so free;



How fortunate ~ no, blessed ~ I am to be able to post my third (has it only been three???) collaboration with Nandita (Manan Unleashed)! This joined effort was as sweet and free-flowing and effortless as our previous works.  Thank you, Nans, for the privilege!

Hands are sometimes heavy, sometimes light and strive with all their might;
Bitter and better lesson, different hands touch you for a reason

Hands are sometimes ugly, sometimes pretty and, yes, at times even petty;
Just like tongues that hurt or heal, inner beauty or the lack thereof, shall reveal

Hands are sometimes hurtful, sometimes helpful like an heavenly vessel;
Folded hands versus helping hands, choose one Sunday or every sunny day?

Ah! There is one hand that reaches out without demand storms to command;
Yes, this hand only gives endlessly, never anticipates, seldom receives

And that one right hand is steady, even when not seen behind the screen…
When you falter and you stumble, it is this hand that lifts you from the rubble

Even when some hands are lean and others are mean and demeaning, too
This one steady hand enriches your journey, should you choose to hold it


Wipe those teardrops from your eyes;
Keep those sighs inside your heart;
Take the best part like a man…

What? Do men not sigh and cry?
What? Do men not say ‘goodbye?’
What? Do men not weep and fly?

And am I to be ashamed and blamed and tamed and then renamed?
Can my heart not quake and break for the sake of another lonely soul?

Yes, I am man with wingspan enough to fly high and low,
Above and below the far horizon,

And I wept when I saw the tomb … yeah, I wept.


Thoughts fly like the wind and bend my mind;
To and fro they go, criss-crossing my brain,
Attacking with no lacking of restless energy,
Centrally located, breathing an elegy for me
Before my time … and they chime midnight
In my mournful soul, filling the vacant hole
That leaves me shaking, sweating and betting
That dawn awakes too late; I’ve taken the bait
Again and lie in pain with no spiritual gain;
Only haunting and demonic taunting over me,
Tossing and turning, burning and churning
With the night with all my might, love out
Of sight, waiting for the light to shine bright
When the sun reaches his height and I shout
And cry for comfort before I sing me good bye,
Yeah … before I die … but then opens the sky,
And I wait no longer to satiate appetite for joy;
Yes, the thoughts are stopped by one thought
Brought from heavenly realms, bought by blood,
And my heart is torn apart yet mended
On bended knee … this battle is done
One more battle is done!

The Third Dawning

3648044_origQuiet evening on the plateau with glow of setting sun;
Chill of Tennessee winter, thrill of Christmas coming;
Slightly white lawn, and yawn of another work day done;
My bed said “come,” so very gladly my head I laid down.
I was young, life barely begun, my destiny yet unspun.

One unknown crept in as I slept, warmly kept by cover;
Without threat, she didn’t upset, yet whet my appetite
For more than dreams with celestial beams in a stream
Of vision, new theme, with gleam in her eyes I spied;
And my room changed with bloom of some new reality.

Midnight came, nothing seemed the same except my name;
Room window was brightly lit, unsightly light at night;
And so I peered out and greatly feared change so weird:
All was day without sun; I could not stay but made way
To front lawn to see the nightly dawn with others drawn.

We walked on hail-covered ground with sounds of wonder;
We talked in awe to behold the sight, but it wasn’t cold;
One voice came near me and clearly spoke:

“This is the Third Dawning.”


Note: Whether dream, vision, or reality this did, in fact, occur. This was an experience of the like I’d never had before nor have had since that night so many years ago. Also, picture from http://www.ronniebiccardartist.weebly.com

World Soul: Memories Long Lost, Forgotten

A word spoken, perhaps; broken image, a sound,
Or sweet incense smell unbound on softest wind
Unbend mind and soul to remember some memory
Long lost and forgotten, but of what we know not;
Feeling rises deep-hot in mind and soul fraught
With truth of another kind ~ primordial, unsought,
Untamed, wild, ne’er mild ~ when earth was child;
We know with an unknowing knowledge unbeguiled,
In inner chamber of the heart, in part, not all
That there is more and has been and will be…
It’s an inescapable inner feeling, peeling away
Layer upon layer of time’s encrustation, frustration
And without hesitation spirit recalls first day
Of dawn, in the beginning, no apprehending of ending
In garden of life, no heart to harden, crime to pardon…


He stepped off onto the ancient Gerasene shore ~
Land of Alexander’s aged ~ where demoniac before
Nazarene cowered and in legion begged, but more
In rage ‘gainst divine sage on time-worn stage
Where played æons of battle seen, unseen
By naked eye, but why was he there that day?
Not to stay nor play, but called perhaps?
Yet so brief to bring relief to man possessed;
Nothing more, then, upon that ancient shore?
Ah! But there is always more to mystic lore,
Left shrouded in mystery, beclouded by history.


Powerful sensation from an eternal relation
Shared by humanity, though called insanity,
On the edge of reality; we know we’ve hidden
And show not any indication of recognition
Of memories we share in dream or nightmare;
Yet there is no escape from spiritual shape
Of ancestors gone before, who into us pour
From open heavenly door what divine likeness
We adore and abhor, as we rape God’s creation,
And drape funeral shawl over soul in denial
Of her own reality, in shuttered mentality;
But we cannot escape word spoken, broken image,
Sound, or incense smell unbound on soft wind
To remember memories long lost and forgotten.



Latin_image_1Rising in the night, my light, but how did I know,
Bright sight, Çynthίa, illumining my path to show
You were she, two reflections on the same one sea
Of immortal deity, incarnate in radiant beauty,
Sélená… mysterious attraction, mystic abstraction,
Yet flesh and blood, veiled immortality, plurality
Of Moon, of black and white, of lack and wax;
In earthen acts divine ~ fine wine ~ you shine
Around the world, hurled thru the heavens sublime,
Marking time ~ Sol mime ~ thru stars you climb,
Yet also are you sister, friend, who to us attend,
And mend broken hearts with light thread; portend
Brighter days without end, and send love shot
Through nocturnal laden-heavy, what souls sought
But ne’er could find in looking, nor sold and bought
In marketplace of disgrace, so base and soiled
By those who toiled humanity to fell and destroy
By devilish ploy, but like a toy you played them
And hemmed ’em in with smile what could beguile
Legions of demons, freemen and seamen, and you
Only laugh, turn away and play your soft, sweet tune
As you rest thru the noon, under brother sun
Shining brightly till nightly journey begins again…
Ah! Now I know deep down below, tis not a show,
But falling at your very feet, remain they in complete
Ignorance; like sheep, they bleat ever so replete,
Being fed by what you bled from soil in endless toil;
But do they know whom they so love from above? No…


Image from iMythology

I Know You Know

I know you know, and see what others do not see,
That I ran not away from you but rather from me;
I know you know, and hear what others do not hear,
That I’ve cried a thousand tears in shameful fear;
I know you know, and feel what others do not feel,
That when I bend and kneel to pray, I need to heal;
I know you know, and sense what others do not sense,
That I make no pretense as I lower my heart’s defense;
I know you know, and taste what others do not taste,
That I spice kiss with honesty and never make haste;
I know you know, and smell what others do not smell;
That as I skirt the very edges of hell, you will tell
What you know you know, and ring loud the wedding bell.

I Am … Still

This is one poem from years ago, actually, and one with an entire page dedicated to it and to it alone … because it expressed the depths of my soul then. It still does today… And so I just wanted to share this with my readers and fellow-bloggers — my web family.


I am the pusher, the user, the drunkard laid upon the floor;
I am the whore, the prostitute, the refuse knockin’ at your door;
I am the working man, poor man, the child starving in the night;
I am the sick, the diseased, the dying from an unknown plight…

I am the albatross around your neck,
The nightmare that will never go away;
I am the life of promise become a wreck,
The horror of creation, ever here to stay.

I am the rapist, heartless killer, the thief in the dark;
I am the demon, the beast, stamped with the mark;
I am the singer, the binger, the beloved movie star;
I am the doctor, lawyer, the friendless man at the bar;

I am your brightest dream that faded away,
All of your hopes and prayers for a better day;
I am the inescapable truth of life in this world,
The vilest evil, what makes the blood run cold.

And what will you do with me, saddled as you are ~
Such a troublesome burden, and creation’s scar?
Will you throw me away and simply let me be,
When you realize that I am you and you are me?

(Note on Art: Dark Angel by SenRyuji)