DOVE TALON

For precious are certainties of nature

as the talons of a Dove are stunning

and adhere to a wire like nothing

squeeze every essence to remain in air

observed by the heartfelt despairs of time

beckoned forward with bread crumbs to allure

and yearning to be free from all its cares

pains of a millennium portend war

through dark scarlet eyes beyond rainbow’s hues

the Dove vanishes weightlessly returns

looks out against the everything-person

an animate being sentient aware

it has since the last line gone off to perch

and when it returns will slice the war.

God Particle

I divine Language as some worship God.

I marvel in its Ascendance and Fall.

I hear entire Symphonies in Sound.

They carry all the Voices of the Wall.

The Chamber of the World inside a Shell.

It never Forgets even a Syllable.

Its Vowels are its Hallows and Shelves of Silk.

A Temple of the Memory of Dawn:

Pure as a Sound without Sound makes a Sound.

It is Constant in Musical Foment.

Never has it Lain Down its Instruments.

But Played on them for Eons Infinite.

Just as every Person is a Being.

As such is the Power of a Feeling.

Pen Mightier than a Weapon: (Old Hat)

When I speak of War, I am a Tyrant

I interrupt others and shout in the street.

My brain conserves what my body wants free.

How can I be of two separate meanings?

I say I speak the Truth and yet I Lie?

For once it is established it Migrates.

It surrounds me or peaks around corners.

An entirely different person.

A shy and meek teacher goes to protests?

A reclusive writer a penchant

My Verses are the Sources of their Poems.

While they move from left to right I return.

IF I don't travel Left there's no Sonnet

This makes as much sense to me as a Gun

Father God Creator

-- For Peace For Eternity & For Love

To God who watches over my failings

who presages everything but hatred

created a whole universe for me

I sacrifice this lamb as my duty

To observe you as I do in my smallness

I perceive as you surround me Great One

command over the hand of history

provide in abundance to every Soul

The innocence as it lost became pure

It was never written until it Was.

Life remains in it as it perishes.

Mercy for the Dutiful whose honor

was earned for the Love of a Maker,

A Creator, A Deus, and A Father.

Heroes and Martyrs

Where the Martyrs and the Heroes go to Death,
 Far off in the Distance, the Silence Embossed
 These were His Eyes that were Cast far Apart.
 There are the Limbs of another Lamb’s Dress.
 IT matters to the Ancients what we See.
 For they have known of it Long Before We--
 Those of us Living Today were their Dreams.
 We vouchsafe their Terror or their Beauty.
 War is not Original nor is New.
 Terrible are our Pains but worse are Theirs
 For if there is a Soul or a Spirit
 Its Aches are as real to it as Ours.
 We are merely the product of that Source.
 The Days of Time Past return in the Hour.

Beauty and Truce

Oh beautiful reason that brings me here.
 That war was abandoned for an hour.
 abundant fields lay ready to flower
 they cease from their vengeance and rage no more
 America, friendly deliverer
 Call for no more of heroes or martyrs
 Bring forward the Olive Branches and Ores
 Let them Grow Older and More Intricate
 No limb lost again No more of horror!
 While many an Interlude holds its Arms,
 The Beloved and The Beloveds in Care
 Grace is only Mystery to Doubters!
 Such as I am One ravaged with Worries
 And Faithless without Spirit of Prayer.

ALLOPHANY

As no Poem to be Written will be Spared

everything comes naked to the wire

the horror is everywhere apparent

yet Peace will prevail for the hour

nears, it approaches at will and bows down

to be broached by the absence of manners

nothing that was written held any sense.

It holds me within a concave sonnet

as Music comes rolling along it rolls

neverending substance of  alto trombone

Play me a song of my diffident tone

Help me to hear myself I am muteness.

But Leave me don’t approach in the Nearness.

For no Lack of War I have done Thisness.