Wednesday, November 21, 2012

The Voice

The voice came when nature quails,
when fall's decay-laced knellings blow,
the seething welkin overhead,
the churning sea below.

I stood upon a moss-strewn bridge.
It whispered as through barren bough,
tempting me, Ulysses staring
down a tide-worn prow.

The words that faint susurrus slurred
were teeth transfixing lonesome woe,
the seething welkin overhead,
the churning sea below.

God saw fit to fill his pillared courts
with those you're missing now.
The fall that fed them to the depths
Heaven did allow.

The son and daughter pale as sidhe,
the wife those gnashing currents stow,
with seething welkin overhead,
in the churning sea below…

Down, down sunk my watery gaze,
while whispers spun around my brow
the who and why of my despair,
that all-consuming how.

As pillaged as these leafless bones,
what more remains for me to know
but seething welkin overhead
and churning sea below?

Wednesday, November 14, 2012


When all the world seems to gleam
with Satan’s anthropophagous teeth,
help me to remember why
my spirit cleaves to you.

Are you not the muzzle muting
Daniel’s leonine doom?
Are you not the presence
in those unconsuming flames?

That brazen crucifixion
ridding issue of their sin,
expelling fork-tongued devilry
from any upturned gaze,

you are the lintel’s crimson brush strokes
dripping preternatural protection,
while all of Egypt gasps and grasps
at suddenly slumping firstborns.

The pestilence walking in darkness may slaver
and pant to plant me in its gastric grave,
but you are the one who called me
from darkness; I have been and forever will be saved.