A boy on the beach.

I am furious that humanity's mindless devotion to the concept of nation-states has resulted in yet another war displacing thousands of innocent people. When small children drown fleeing from the bombs dropped by their own government after being refused refuge by neighbors more concerned with maintaining control over arbitrary lines on a map, we as a species are truly less then animals. Fuck the violence inherent in the system, and fuck the system twice for good fucking measure. If I was not already working as hard as I can to end this kind of thing, I would not be able to live with myself. Anyone who can look at the image of a small boy's body washed up on shore and not recognize their closest loved one's face lacks the empathy to be counted among the ranks of sentient beings. This is the travesty that I fight. My whole professional career has been focused on mitigating the effects of violent authoritarians, both secular and religious, and despite what I have personally accomplished, I feel impotent. What can I do to fight harder? How can I dismantle the global system which enables powerful nations to destabilize whole regions, propping up tin pot dictators who then abuse those living under them? How do I fight theocratic lunatics who think that their bronze age fables justify horrific acts against others? I am a warrior, where is my war? I am a fighter, were is my enemy? And how to I defeat without destroying? It has been said that when you stare into the void, the void stares back at you. Looking away is not an option, so what can be done to prevent that terrible gaze from crushing those who oppose it? There is a rage, deep and powerful, that is the just and proper response to the abominations of this world. This terrible flame, this consuming fire, if not mastered, will destroy the heart in which it burns, creating yet another vengeful monster wrecking havoc on the weakest of the weak. And yet it is this very rage which fuels the souls of those who fight. This is what it means to be a true warrior, to be not a bringer of destruction, but to be a burning phoenix of peace, consuming your own life that the world may be reborn into hope. When that terrible vision from the void descends upon those who dare challenge it, the warrior lets that weight settle right down on his or her shoulders and moves right the fuck along with changing the world, knowing that the only thing awaiting that vision is the all burning flame locked within the heart of a true fighter. This is the strength that opposes without destroying, that fights without killing. It is the strength that pushes an innocent out of the way of a speeding car, that gives up days, weeks, or even years with loved ones to protect those who will never know they have been protected. It is the refusal to accept that the only solution is to kill. It is the voice that screams against those who support fundamentally unjust social and economic systems which benefit some while harming others. I will not accept that this is best we can do.  I will not rest unto those who wish to be strong learn that throwing a punch takes less strength then taking a punch. I will not rest unto those who wish to rule learn that true mastery is found only in service. And I will not rest unto those who think this is all part of some god's plan learn that such a god is worth fighting. 

Now if only there was a post title in here...

Somewhere

There's a poem in here somewhere
waiting to come out.
I wonder if I'll find it
behind the noise and doubt.

There's a poem in here somewhere
buried in my head.
And maybe I can write it,
before I go to bed.

There's a dream in here somewhere
beneath the crush of life.
And maybe I can dream a world
without the violent strife.

There's hope in here somewhere
a balm against all woes.
And maybe I can share it
those in troubles throes.

I Think Yule Like This

Solstice Day

When darkness falls across the sky,
upon the longest night.
The whisper of the gentle breeze,
assures me it's alright.

"Within this dark and quiet womb,
the light begins to grow."
These words the wind did send to me,
Across the silent snow.

And so I stood upon the hill,
before the fire bright,
To wait and watch for golden rays,
The first return of light.

Across the sky of early morn the light did slowly
start to play.
And warmth and joy did fill my heart,
Upon that solstice day.

Sweet Dreams are made of these

Night in the Wild

In the arms of the mountain I lay down my head

In the heart if the Goddess I make up my bed.

The wind in the branches, the stream in the field,

The birds in the air, quiet, rest as day yields.

This balance of forces, of earth, wind, and air,

This land that is sanctum to doe, stag, and bear,

Away from the hustle and bustle of day,

Forever my soul and my heart long to stay.

It's a living

The Warrior

A sword and a board and an empty night
full of things that bump and bite.
A tavern warm and a maiden fair,
With sparkling eyes and flowing hair.

A call to arms, a call to war,
a call to death away so far.
A soldier's life of duty waits,
To lead the evil to their fate.

Coming home

Sand

Two years in the sand
Frozen in time and space
Time to live again.

Matters of the Heart

The Dove

Relief breaks across my heart like waves upon a sandy shore,

The struggle that I could not fight has left to trouble me no more.

Before the face of certain death, I stood alone, unarmed and proud,

My heart resigned for what should come, a living, beating burial shroud.

The treasure of my inner soul, the light which shines within my sky,

The one I love above all else, had threatened from my world to fly.

What chain, what grasp, what anchoring weight, could I attach to such a one,

When love requires open hands, and she must fly free in the sun.

And so no harsh or angry words, no pleading for a time to come,

Could pass my lips, but only this, "I love you, till my life is done."

And so set free, my love did soar, a gentle flapping towards to air,

And just before she passed from sight, she paused and turned with grace so rare.

And back into my life she flew, a shy, unsteady, halting flight,

And to my open hands she came, and set my life and heart aright.

Once again.

The Open Road

Once again the dusty road,

leads before me to the dawn.

Once again the unknown calls,

Daylight comes, I must be gone.

Time to fly

 Stardust

 

We are the souls of dying stars

Cooling til no spark remains.

Within us lies the source of light

If we but try to glow again.

Like flares across a moonless night

We once again can soar and shine

The cost is only to ignite

and burn into a fiery rain.

Let not the fear of burning out

hold back your spark or stop your flight

For if you fail to pay the cost,

You fall unsung through blackest night.

Round and round we go.

 Cycles

Round and round the wheel spins

time to pass and come again

Weaving fate and weaving chance

Twirling in an endless dance.

Things they come and things they go

yet come again, the mystic knows

Passing down across the years

All our trials, all our fears.

Reflections

Night in the Desert

It's two am, the heat has died
The wind blows dry and sweet
The moon, a pearl, in the sky
Warm sand around my feet.

What dreams may come

Thoughts on a young race

What will we be in days to come
When threads of time slip round the sun
Will we still fight for hearth and home
Or will we stretch our minds and run?

What will we be when we grow old
When knowledge breaks through passion's hold?
Will we expand through space so cold
With wings of dreams and hearts of gold?

Will we put off our foolish ways
Of death and doom and pointless praise?
Or will we end in early days?
And never unto glory raise?

Like a not so rolling stone

This Rock

This rock has sat
through wind and rain
through sun and shade
and yet does not complain

This rock was born
in pressure and in stress
in heat and in destruction
and yet sites at perfect rest

This rock was rough
Time has worn it's edges
Nature has polished it's flaws
We could all learn
from this rock.

You're what?

I am

I can't promise you enlightenment
or universal truth
or endless wealth or perfect health
or everlasting youth.

I can't promise to be perfect
and never make you cry
or always be a gentlemen who plucks
stars from silent skies.

I can't make the hurting stop
or make the sun stand still
but I can make a song ring out
who's tune soothes every ill.

And I can speak with gilded tongue
what is and what might be
Of realms of bright eternal light
Of Earth and fire and sky and sea.

And I can walk between the worlds
and see the hidden flow of fate
My lot it is to speak in riddles
to spin the tales and songs at hours late.

I have walked the path of dreams
I have glanced to eternity
I have seen the madness and beauty
Infused in every being and idea and deity.

I have been a seed in earth
and the salmon in the stream
I have been the song and the wind
and the light at morning.

I have tasted the sweet water
brewed for a year
I have spoken with rock and tree
and stars and sky and air.

My mind has been blinded and healed
by light pure and white
And I have born the weight of time
unending length and height.

Mine it is to speak the word
to ring out loud
To extort man and beast and bird
in house and field and cloud.

Through me flows art, beauty, peace,
softening hearts once hard
I am a door between worlds, an invitation
to you, I am a Bard.

The problem with

Society

Brain for rent
not really used
Simply a storage
for headline news.

Brain for rent
just like new
Sat in a church
filling a pew.

Brain for rent
no money down
Gets all it knows
from gossip in town.

Brain for rent
don't really need it
A life unexamined
effectively worth shit.

It's a strange place

In my head

In my head the Awen flows

With waves of glowing shapes and sounds

Painting pictures of what might be

And demanding a homage of poetry.

In my mind a Muse sings sweet

With gentle voice and subtle notes

A wind in the forest of my soul driving me

Bringing words to birth in song.

In my depth the Land cries forth

Solid and strong, never yielding or rushing

Building under pressure from all ages

To an explosion of living art.

In my soul a Light glows bright

A fire of inspiration to wake the dead and change the living

Consuming all that stands before it

Burning the veil between the worlds.

Again and again.

Modern Times

We are greedy
We are lustful
We are selfish
We are hateful
We are warlike
We are egoistic
Surely society is collapsing

We are ignorant
We are amoral
Our children rebel
We are depriaved
We are unjust
New art is trash
Surely society is collapsing

We are oppressed
We are abused
We are imprisoned
We are ignored
We are in debt
We are alone
Surely society is collapsing

These troubles come
These troubles go
In every age
In every land
Just like the tide.
Society is not collapsing
We're simply human.

We are giving
We are pure
we sacrifice
We are loving
we are peacefull
we are humble
Surely society can soar

We are wise
We are pious
Our children brave new paths
We are natural
We are just
We make great art
Surely society can thrive

We are free
We are whole
We are unchained
We are important
We are rich
We are together.
Surely humanity will survive.

Burn Baby Burn

Fire in My Head

I did not know just what it meant to have the fire in my head,
until one evening cool and calm, I lay alone up my bed.
And in the still sweet blessed dark, my heart let out a quite prayer,
and rising from that empty room, my spirit soared into the air.

And as my mind slipped loose it's bounds, in exhaultation did it blare,
it stretched to fill eternity, spread oh so thin, like glosmer hair.
Within that mystic vision sweet did sound a thundering note full blown,
and light did flare within my mind, and press upon it things unknown.

And in that moment I did know that burning which surpasses words
as truth and peace and blessed bliss came crashing down in golden folds.
The fire like a living thing did dance upon the heart and soul
An all consuming harmless flame of ancient means and timeless goal.

So trembling I lay alone, with smoldering ashes in my thoughts,
To ponder thoughts beyond the mind, which render written words as dross.
Sweet burning light, sweet wild might, come back anew and dwell in me
and dancing singing in the light, then all my days I'll blessed be.

Freeform

A Poem

I'm going to write a poem
  with no form
rambling, wandering
 without structure or rhyme or story or point.
But that's kind of the point, isn't it?
  the breaking of rules and melding of chaos and intuition
 often
  or maybe always,
like the seed of an oak growing to a great tree.
Roots stretching through the ages,
 binding the ages past with branches of the future reaching skyward with a beautiful form beyond the ken of human hands.
What birds must nest in the branches, singing songs of Awen to time out of memory.
 But anyways, I'm going to write a poem.
 Maybe you'll like it,
 Maybe you won't.
I can't say I particularly care, I'm not writting it for you.
Then again, I'm not writting it for me either.
Who am I writting it for? What God, Goddess, Spirit has placed the fire in my mind to call forth the stirings of my soul?
Splaying my heart on a screen of bits and bytes, plastered on the virtual bathroom stall wall of popular culture.
Is this magick?
 Or maybe just insanity?
But if it is, do you care? Do I?
 In a world were everything seems insane, is insanity such a bad thing?
And now I realize that I'm not going to write a poem.
Someone else is going to write a poem.
I'm going to tag along for the ride.
 I wonder what this poem will be?
Perhaps I'll turn a page to the future and find out.
 Then again, maybe the truth lays in the past, buried in a hollow hill under a full moon.
 At the very least, I can assure you that it was, it will be, it is and might be and always was a poem.
At its heart beats a thump, thump, thud, thump, deep and slow in time with the sighs of the world as it dreams.
 Thump, thump, thud, thumpa, thump, can you hear the dream? Taste the light as it flies flashing past realms of endless possiblity and soundless songs, and drink the three drops of knowledge.
 Overflowing, my mind spills to the page, a song of singers floating on a flaming wind.
 Maybe this isn't a poem after all. Words, words without words form shapes of shapeless truths.
 Is that what a poem is? Is this inspiration?

For my Wife

The Goddess in the brown fur boots

She calls my name
Standing on the corner in the rain
The water rolling down short cropped hair
The Goddess in the brown fur boots.

Balance of rage and beauty
Queen of house and hearth and love
fire of passion and flame of love
The Goddess in the brown fur boots.

Deep and quiet
The calm of the mountain of ancient days
Rock of peace and pillar of awesome form
The Goddess in the brown fur boots.

Light, Her touch
on the strands of my heart and soul
Seizing my love with the force of the fiercest storm
The Goddess in the brown fur boots.