Villanelle

days like today
make me wonder why
I chose tech support as my career

I am beset by bosses
as callous as demons
and I crack rocks, trapp'd in this hell

oh sure, the pay
it nearly avails the pain
but what of dignity? what then of that?

my soul, the cost
and freedom so spent
is sold for a mere mite and not thirty marks

Yes, work is work~
and a man knows his lot
I work for my own! I do not work for them!

I was proud
in days not far gone
to mark how I worked for the number one

spinning tales
in my veiled ambiguity
allowing others to be jealous of my job

oh the truth!
that this aggregation
this league of folk are truly a clique

and one like I,
mere vendor to their club
could not own full ties nor full rank!

not that I'd
desire initiation
into their club of demons, that evil baptism

insipid familiars
limp grinning goons
they eat my laughter, and in my mouth a stone

their compliments
are maledictions
and every help they proffer bears a hidden blade

how I long for a song
a holy paladin's bard
to pierce their center and cast them screaming!

Back to Abadon!
begone you hell spawn!
Get thee hence into the river Styx and choke!

Mark me oh God
against their besetting
with perfume and oil bind thy talisman to my heart!

vouchsafe this soul
as I walk each day
through shadows, the specters of these archfiends

stay their appetite
still their whip
and alight peace, that dove, firm on my shoulders

11-13-09

Facets of Leavening

How strange our belief of perpetuity!
that our world
will carry on, just so
after we have tempered it
that our grassy Elysium
cool after the battles
will never suffer weeds~
in truth, the thorns and stones will come again
not much is constant
'cept for God
And His ways seem so strange~
dominion is a s fickle as a track of sand.
and but another pathway to Him
this curious duality of man
light and shadow mixed together
hope and the despair
clarity and blindness
what queer fire this life!
in moments we sense it,
both child and stricken with years
and others, we realize too late
that the locus of control never was ours
we only held it for a time,
stewards of you will~
of a truth, it only belongs to Him
and all these acts
both mundane and deliberate
tumbling in their arc
to precipitate into the bones of being
what strangeness!
taking a handful of clay and shaping a life!
these seeming nothings amplified
to fill the sky
and greater than the stars
more constant, fixed,
than polar eye
and again awake as
children fresh as morning scions
breath of babes
in the cooing cradle of That king

-Jay
11-12-09

Two haiku:

Errand of Erinyes

silken cords of change
wrapped around each one of us
carefully to hell

Promised Land

new hope springs for me
hidden heart and winters bud
banked against the storm

-Jay
11-12-09

Glenn Beck commentary on "extemists"

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,574265,00.html

-Jay

bankrupt soul
unhappy world
when will the Gods come?
2012?
3012?
every day I read pain
pasted on the news
one inflicting
upon another
who cares enough to change?
transmogrify this clay?
bankrupt people
unhappy lives
when will 1984 come?
2009?
2010?
the true path to peace lies within
and bombs
and odium
cannot breach that stony sanctum
Thou has prepared
a table for me, against them
that trouble me

-Jay
11-11-09

Am I Purging the GOP?
by Glenn Beck

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,571219,00.html

An interesting read on accountability!

-Jay

Collapsing The System
By Glenn Beck:

http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,570151,00.html

It would be a nightmare come true, but the argument seems to be rational. What is the White House doing to America?

-Jay

Two haiku:

looking out my kitchen window

first real snow today
and first real cold this autumn
bearded white mountain

and

edacity

burn on my fingers
consequence of impatientce
this hunger within

10-27-09

Vivere disce, cogita mori

What power in the fallen leaf
Or in the piney tomb
What faith makes up the stone’s belief?
Or echo shriveled womb

The empty sky with waning moon
Reflecting the sun’s burn
The echo in the now cold room
His presence and her yearn

This spider’s web of tattered silk
And wasted ear of corn
The aged breast that bears no milk
That wind that shakes the morn

A shrunken skull and grinning mask
With scythe and bony palm
The harvest thresh his final task
That death applied as balm

Where’s the escape from this bleak place
The path we all must trod
If I alone fill this small space
Who plays the part of God?

If man is made to suffer this
If all we are is here
Why bother thoughts for these we’ll miss
Why anything held dear?

There’s power in the fallen leaf
And power in the tomb
The stone believes the stone’s belief
The resurrective womb

Believe for sake of your belief!
The soul is made to live
and binding Gilead balm relief
Is Christ’s alone to give

So carry on though veil of tears!
walk fields of bittersweet
Past roaring vales and quiet fears
To loved ones you will meet!

This here is not all we will be
Nor all that we will feel!
There is another plane to life
One ultimate and real

Bear up the pack of stones so sued
Bind up your thorny side
These God himself did give to you
Chin up, march on with pride!

There is no death in fallen leaf
Nor climax in the tomb
God's faith is what the stone believes
That craftsman of the womb

-Jay
10-27-09
0650

"I want to know God's thoughts; the rest are details."
-Albert Einstein

autumn again
and myriad manifestations surround me
the falling leaves outside
and spilling indoors
the harvest orange and yellow and red
these colors spoken in bottled fruit

what change
maturing ellipse through each day
the year strolling on in whispering steps
our earth 'round the sun
warming and cooling, orange and blue
the swing of gravity to the poles

patient canvas
each blade as delicate as placental vellum
the wind ever the artist
and each new beginning bud
from delicate opening to wind dried dropping
the masterwork of the skies

warm sweaters
by whatever etymology or nomenclature
turtleneck or aran, jumper or jersey
these thick woolly knittings speak of autumn
across thick hirsute lips
their blurred speech the mumbling of centuries

autumn again
and all these languages the season speaks
are laid out as evenly as the Rosetta stone
from 'glyphs to Egyptian to Greek
the soft translation of an artisan
colors construed on every medium

-Jay
10-22-09
8:27 pm