No Romero, Not Here! Not Here!

Dearest Romero, you cannot come here out of fear;
You see, we don’t know you and only a few want to;
You have made your pilgrimage at such a young age,
But all for not for we have bought this wall
As a clarion call that we’re surely not for all,
Even the weak and small like you, O Romero!
Say, can you see the torch held high up into the sky?
Fire once burned there to light the night sky
As a bright beacon of hope for those who cry;
But now we must say ‘good bye’ and just let you die,
For we have no place for your face ‘n no more grace;
O Romero, what are you thinking as you’re blinking?
Skies here are not blue for you,
And your skin is the wrong hue!
From sea to sea shall we be ever so discriminatory?
Dearest Romero, you cannot come here out of fear!
Not here, lad, not here . . . for we are filled with fear!


Note: Romero is both a Spanish and an Italian surname meaning: A person on a religious journey or pilgrimage . . . (also) an herb of rosemary symbolizing remembrance and fidelity.

Adventure While You Can!

Up and expand your heart and demand fresh experience;
Turn away from the spurious, embrace the glorious
In variance with the world around you and you are bound
To reach new heights far above the highest flying kites!
And be done with the trouble of overly safe bubbles,
But instead move forward toward numinous golden goals!
Travel from pole to pole, see this earth, place of your birth!
You only have so much time and the clock ever chimes . . .
So, up and expand your heart, demanding new starts
Before you grow old ‘n weary and your days long ‘n dreary

Walking Low in Spiritual Youth

You walk tall in the sanctuary and talk of sanctimony;
You raise your hands and praise the heavens in glory,
Sure of your own wisdom, vision and charisma so fine,
But you balk at all authority, at the age of the sage,
Who’d guide and direct, lead and protect you from folly;
Of course, in your youth you already know the truth,
Spirit-filled as you are, so of course you bar any advice
Twice given, resorting to devices devised so concisely
In your own misguided heart, never taking part in start
Of disciplined learning, churning instead in your soul
With false enthusiasm, letting flow cutting sarcasm,
Shaming the ones who love you with love from above,
Dishonoring the honorable with vile bile of the tongue;
And do you expect God to bless and caress you in this?
And imagine yourself an angel in such spiritual famine?
You have an awful lot to learn and the lessons’ll burn!

Laugh

Your joy just grows and it shows;
It’s like a whiplash of happiness,
No gaseous flashiness in an uptown
Explosion of giddiness as you drown
In laughter at the coming hereafter;
And youth is renewed when viewed
From behind ~ how kind ~ so smile
One mile wide ~ don’t hide or chide;
You’ve got the right dress to press
On to success and bless yourself
As the world goes to hell
And the bell tolls twelve
As you sell your mockery
For six pence as genuine gleefulness;
Yeah, take it out on the town, girl
And unfurl your flag while you hurl
Your skin-sag bag to the north wind

Laugh.

Folly of the Young in the Maze of Haze

You scurry around in a dark maze in a thick haze,
Not knowing where you’ve been, what you’ve seen,
And blind as a bat as you wind your way, confined
To an unkind world within the World into which
You’ve been hurled, and so now you’re curled up
Behind dæmonic brick and mortar, defined by what
You cannot see or hear, but Someone wants to steer
Your course by force of Love, and She can be trusted;
But you’ve lusted after liberty to stay in the maze
And make your own way, though there is no way out
On your own, but there are many steady hands ready
To help you, including mine as a sign of affection;
Upon reflection you should see the Spirit wants you
To be free, and so do we… So why do you out shout
So many who care and would help bear your burden?
You are young, your life not yet sung by the stars;
Will you simply bear your scars, running after fools,
Who drool for excitement, strident in advisement
Of what they do not know? They show their own folly;
Ah! If only you could understand that the old and
Wise are not here to reprimand or demand or even
To command, but merely plead to lead you out of the
Stark dark of the maze of thick haze into better ways.

Mid-Life Appraisal

No, I am not old and cold and stale,
But I am not young, my life just begun;
Age is creeping in, yet I’m no sage,
Just one man with heart broken into
Too many parts to piece back together,
But not for lack of trying with crying;
Too much has come-n-gone, some good,
Much not, and I’ve sought redemption,
Sanctification and glorification, too,
But I’m left in mortification of life
So rife with pain with no gain, and I
Wonder if I’m going insane; yet there
Is also some joy in more than mere toys;
Real life peels back layer after layer
And I begin to find my true self without
Any skew of reality and hope God will
Yet renew this tarnished man, who once
Was varnished in youth but shy of sooth;
I hope upon hope one day to find my way
To the Valley of Peace for new lease
On life; to right some of the wrongs
That haunt me day and night in plight
Of aging while yet not old and cold.

My life is mid-stream. Can I reach back to reclaim something good and worthwhile before heading on to the other shore? Or is there more where I am that I cannot see to be grasped and enjoyed in maturity with the surety of heavenly days and carefree ways? Ah! Spirit of Life, help me to see and to be all that I can be as an unyoung yet not old man!

Too Young, Too Young

Achlys_goddessToo young to see such horror; are we ever old enough?
Too young to sing funeral dirge, of death to be told;
Too young to bring flowers to dress the coffin cold;
Too young to ring the funeral bell for Reaper’s hold.
Too young to wing your way to Mors for life to mould;
Too young to kneel by dying frame, expected to be bold
Beyond your years, to shed no tears lest someone scold.
And who will hold you right tight against such fright
As night rolls on till beam of light in Sol’s stream?
Too young to withhold free scream at such fright-sight;
Too young to be old enough not to care at death bare.
Too young . . . too young.
Your life has just begun.

Note: Dedicate to my two children, who have seen too much too young

Beautiful Boy, Be Not A Man

Oh my beautiful boy, be not a man, you are young;
Your life has barely begun, your song still unsung,
And there’s nothing wrong with those lower rungs;
Don’t be so anxious to climb up to the slimy grime
Of crimes, quicktime rush, and hush of pantomimes
Wearing masks, hiding behind facades with rods
Of business-as-usual, golden wads, and by all odds
Never ready to die but live in the lie of being alive
When their hive is ill-begotten, and ever-so rotten;
But you, child so meek and mild, need not succumb
To any scum or grown-up strum that thrums away
Every night and day… No! Please laugh and play!
Stay child, wild and unbeguiled, free and unreviled;
Stay this way, and ne’er mourn each day of youth,
For in truth if you sleuth to uncover and discover
What misery lay in the bay of adulthood, you would
Ever remain as you are and bar the process of age
With the turning of every page of time till chime
Of fare-thee-well rings and angels sing for you,
Bringing you home with tome of joy and happiness

Oh my beautiful boy, be not a man, you are young;
Your life has barely begun, your song still unsung…

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And The Child Shall Lead Them, Part II

$_57[1]Do the birds still sing, the trees still dance in the wind?
Do flowers still bend in the breeze, their perfume send?
Do towers of mountains still stand, the air still freeze
So high in height on such solid might, for lover and friend
To huddle together to warm one another, to affection please?

Do you still laugh with smiles, so young, strong, so radiant?
Do you still walk the miles, talk of change; old ways vacant?
Do you still lead the humble who stumble; the shaken awaken
From slumber of dullness, spiritual sadness, heart madness?
Bring forth latent truth new, to few by few, dear shepherdess?

Do you still lie on your bed in the dorm, during the storm?
Do you still open the book and look, to search for reform?
Do you still speak to the freak, who will not transform
From dominance and prominence to seek as your follower meek?
Strong streak arrogant, thick hide of pride, does he deform?

Do you still have me with you, to see and be someone new?
Do you still keep me by your side in stride; lead me through?
Do you still bid me stay, to enjoy the day, run him away,
No longer pay mind to what ere he’ll say in all to all undo
What you have wrought in youthful heart? Ah! Play your part!

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And The Child Shall Lead Them

405499_2878394371838_1646114313_n[1]One so young, have you just begun to see what might yet be?
You smiled at your mentor, read from the book, and said,
“See, I told you,” and my spirit flew and all seemed new,
Lying next to your body beautiful, your soul so bountiful,
But what did he say in dismay as together we lay that day?

With dancing chestnut eyes, alluring, you began to pull away
From the one who would keep you in his flock and block
Flow of truth from low in heart, but you’ll play your part,
I know; I knew lying next to you listening, soul glistening,
Youthful welcome ~ you wanted me ~ to see what you’d become.

Revolution is rising; old institution fading in dissolution;
And you will lead us out of confusion and spiritual pollution;
Is this what I heard and saw, what stirred and left me in awe?
Yes, you wanted me there and for him to go, and this I know:
You are young, and on your winds of change new song is sung.

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