Enlightened

Can you see through the space age
empirical blockade
we swallow like koolaide and die?
Reaching the moon we let go of the sun for nothing 
but comfortable living room sets.
 
Mechanical facade
Wizard of Oz behind a steel curtain
shatters like glass and we cut ourselves
bleeding out on an IV leech,
bleaching our hearts into pure benign sterility.
 
Spongy butts and petrified brains―Man!
What a science fair we make.
But we're going places behind our great walls
and slowly dying behind them.
So we set our places and smile our faces
preparing our five course fine dining oasis.
All we need is candle light
to enjoy the progressing grey.

Time to Be Holy

Every day, same plan, 
same game every day:
Eat a little better, work a little harder, get a little smarter, make love a little longer.
 
The internet algorithms got us figured out,
a clip, an email, a picture or a twitter
la petite mort
a thousand little deaths has our 
veins thumping for another. But don’t bother
that your life is stringing you out.
 
You say I don’t have time any more
But it’s time to be holy
It takes time to be holy.
 
Don’t just hide in the garden with Jesus.
He’s out here walking the streets. 
We’ve got to go with him through the scum and the mud
use our skin as collateral.
Let him cut through the media hum
buzzing and fuzzing up your brain. 
 
We’ve got to feed on His Word instead of 
feasting on our feeds.
Keep up his pace, steady feet,
steady heart,
steady faith.
 
The more we look at him, the more we’ll look like him.
It’s time to be holy. 
Take the time time to be holy.
 
We keep calm and carry on as we sail on through this storm
Even though Jesus is strutting on the water.
Keep your eyes on him as you sink
beneath the waves
he’ll pull you down through the bottom 
into fountains of love.

My Manger

My God, my hope
My nothing less 
Than all.
Come quick, come fast
And land again amidst the roiling swell
Burning dove of Zion,
Reigning kind and friend to men.
 
Hunker in my hurting heart;
Make refuge, 
Hiding, humble in the crowded cave.
Boom out to all with ears to hear
Your joy for all the worlds:
You’ve stayed your hand,
You’ve stayed with man.
My God, my God
Come dwell again in me.

Hail, Homeland Security

With an austere glance and an upright heart
We, the people, watch our troubled world.
Conflicts abounding and they all take part
As we sit and watch and rest in peace.
 
Why should we worry
And leave our tranquil home?
Their troubles are their duty.
 
We'll stand on this ground we died for,
Where the rocks don't move, the flags wave on and, the flowers always grow.
 
“Protect and defend our rights!”
Cry the people,
“We worked for our shade and green grass.”
 
There's a dark, real world out there,
you’ll see, visceral and rife with humanity.
 
“We're safer in here,”
We the people say,
“Live and let live! We're better off alone.”
 
And so alone we are
In our corner of the world
Marked by our rocks and flowers and patterned stripes and stars
Spattered across our safe, clean, cemetery plot.
 
And we are safe,
We, the people,
O, so safe!
The dead need not fear.

Crusading

Teach me death
Is not death
But a door to glory.
Make my life a museum 
Of holy acts.
Spur us on 
Not in rash or rage but 
Through your consuming blaze.
 
Pain is not pain but 
Feeling your scars
Tracing the path of those furious nails
That fury soon swallowed
And turned to fuel
By which we fight
Not further and higher
But tumbling,
a righteous cascade 
that bows ever lower,
bleeding through the bowels of earth’s hell,
not slowed by position or rank
ambition, rather, dispelling that novel
and ancient myth of progress
by constant condescension—
lower and lower
through the bottom of hell
expelled
yet promoted into beatific 
vision. 

We Wait

There’s a trembling in my bones
that shudders to the beat
of a windstrung song and shouting throng
and a hundred thousand feet.
For my Father comes in power
and he’s coming for the weak and waiting.

Will you come, Lord God, in quiet thunder
and echo throughout empty spaces
places
of decadence and desolation?
Will you come and burn with fire fury
the tears off of our faces?
For those who hear you coming
put our ears down to the ground to feel the earth shake
and wait,
we wait for you, our coming swift salvation.
The king of a thousand armies calling
in the thump and wink of a heartbeat.

Eyes forced and held open in an act of trust while
desert dust is flung in our faces and our eyes 
water freely
bleary and fainting
droplets hissing in scorn-filled heat.
Here together with arms held and up high,
forcing breath out weakened lungs
to the angry sky,
a "Hallelujah!" chorus is
our unified cry–
as we wait

Temple Complex

Why are the nations enraged?
When you tear down the DOW
flip the market upside down and say,
“This was supposed to be about prayer!”

How do the governments survive?
When the parasites filling up 
slick suits and nice ties—
pompous puppets—finally suck their people dry?

Where are the pretend priests—
the pastors and their staff protecting—
their teeth sunk deep, their bleeding-out sheep?
After all, a man’s gotta eat!

Can the gods among men,
even hear you when 
they kneel to crush? 
How can they hear you, if you can’t breathe?
Hands in their pockets, do they even care if you praise them?

Yet you, Good God and Shepherd, show 
to mend broken hearts with your own clothes
to walk with the weary through the shadow 
straight through to tomorrow.

Our sacred cows are slaughtered,
Lady Liberty led off in chains.
Left to choose between the narrow gait or Broadway,
we sit to entertain ourselves, (unfettered . . . unbothered).

Skyscrapers fuel the pyre.
Not one Yankee-doodle cobblestone unturned . . . unburned.
Hosanna, Hosanna! He comes with fire,
germinating his own empire,
fed by the tears of the crushed and perplexed
that profit and priest never saw,
fallen through the cracks of the temple complex.

Fruitfulness in the time of pandemics

Land your hand on my shoulder, Holy Dove. Hold me
down to the ground, a paperweight rock on my fluttering heart—
frantic feather between your fingers inscribing 
indescribable things. 
 
Please, keep me from flying away.
 
Speak your words over me, ‘til they drip like
oil-like-lead down into my shoes.
Keep me planted on the earth. 
Sink deep roots through my twitchy feet. Feed me
from the bottom up—up from earth’s core,
deeply dug glory, subsisting in subpar, sublevel
underground stories of futility:
the fickle smear of bone and fleshy vanity,
digested, petty dreams.
 
Break up, tear down,
Humble, till, and turn my ambition and excesses into
life-giving nutrition.
Compose me new in compost piles. 
Re-make me true.
 
May the holy seed rise up
in me, a growing in obscurity—warmed
by a single naked beam of your kenotic light. 
 
Bow my neck and bend my boughs
in ignominious productivity.
Burden me with real success, branches filled by, 
stooped, by bearing Spirit’s fruit.