Collected Writing: in History, Philosophy and Theology; Poetry, Politics and Commentary, Given in Prose and Verse
Jennifer is she
Bright as a morning in May
Sensual and sweet
A light in the dark
My warming breeze in winter
February’s love
Freckles, and green eyes
Her flashing smile lights my heart
As the sun in spring
Clear as the bright stream
Swift as the rising moon, cool
In the evening
She listens to me
Sheltering my hopes, and dreams
Believing in me
She is strong, and fierce
I lean on her when I’m tired
And she carries me
Six years of loving
Kind and caring Valentine
Jennifer is she
Asking for a gift
Calling for a miracle
Fill the emptiness
Something for nothing
Receiving a bequeathment
Or nothing at all.
Beg the divinity
Obsequious and fawning
The supplicant mewls
Abandon the god
That hungers for your spirit
Who thirsts for worship
Ancient gods, of gold
Silver, and the war machine
Gods of slavery
Stolen sacrifice
Set the bloody gods on fire
A column of smoke
Bitumen and vice
The corrosion of virtue
Nothing is sacred
Soft, the silky sighs
Soothing, seeking silken lies
Slip beneath silk sheets
Yesterday’s kiss, lips
Blushing in the blissful mist
Touch on nothingness
Crumbling paradigms
Distorted perspective burst
Fallen monuments
Hallucinations
My vision shifts, slips.
Blurred waves in motion
I wandered alone
The impossible human
Seeking the divine
Scratching at the earth
Sleeping in the green-garden
The innocent world
Communing with God
No filters for my lenses
In the light of day
We talked and we danced
We drew pictures in the stars
As the mountains fell
Tears fall in winter
A line of crystals, freezing
On a wind chapped cheek
Clouds of misty breath
Turn to frost in a second
Falling in the light
The sky is bright, light
Blueish-gray, matted by clouds
Thin as wisps of frost
There are a few leaves
Dried things that cling to the trees
Flutter in the breeze
Outside my window
Dark limbs stretched across the pane
The old glass cascades
It bends the soft light
Waving in its fluid state
Windows on the world
Sitting on the curb
Day dreaming in the city
Shaded by the elm
A boy sits with legs
Resting, elbows on his knees
His head in his hands
He opens his eyes
Looks beyond the passing cars
His spirit settles
He mutes the shrill noise
Comes out of the cloistered shell
Into a new world
Engulfed by vision
A city in chaos, burns
Monuments falling
Flags torn by the wind
Reason consumed by terror
Engines stall and choke
The city dissolves
In a wash of blood, murmurs
The entropic mob
Revulsion follows
Nauseated and alone
Sitting on the curb
Chasing down visions
A corruption of the will
Fantastical dreams
The impossible
Taking flight like Superman
Like a falling star
We dance with spirits
Across the surface of the sun
Oblivion comes
While we are dreaming
Following the fanciful
Becoming nothing
Cinders in the sun
A confluence of photons
Streaming into space
Watch visions collide
Hopeful expectations break
Furtive, disdainful
There is little love
In the vacuum of passion
The broken-heart, skips
Stumbles in the chase
Broken promises and lies
Rejected and bereft
Pining and alone
Aching with desire, undone
As the lights go up
A simple gesture
From the Destroyer of Worlds
A wordless command
The bright herald moves
A brilliant light, fire, doom
His master hungers
The Devourer
To pluck a world like ripe fruit
Press the life from it
Galactus has come
Prayers go forth, their pleas unheard
Swallowed in the void
Drifting and lifeless
Silent on the solar wind
The world sucked lifeless
The end of all hope
Herald of the burning fire
The Silver Surfer
