Crag the Crow

The nefarious you, the ogred they: Quarantine that vile mechanical creation, Isolate it unto silence and coarse mud - Away from my sullied soul. Your unadorned cubicle, their musty cell, This is not my home, this is not my desire. It is not my noetic clochan of meditation and salvation. I have left the vulgar race behind, Jumped off the unsteady ladder, Bailed from this careening bus. I don’t want your life, Your expectations, Your thumbs.   I‘ve chased money and it gets further, I’ve chased success and it drops behind the racing horizon. I’ve never walked toward joy purely.   So now I’m dropping out. I‘ve had it with your denigrations, With the flesh failures.   I shall be seen moving on the streets And in the communities, But I am gone.   Seen, yet removed. Industrious, yet returned to high purpose.   Raised to the intended new life, No longer begging to be the rich man. Appearing sick to festered eyes, But reclaiming the agricultural spirituality.  ...

Three wisps of clouds travel the hazy heavens.   The dome of the sky containing the cool of the day  for a bit longer this morning.  The sparrow has left the nest for his rounds.  The mouse is off on some errand.  This voyeurism is made under shade,  on a porch,  in a sorta comfy chair. The suburban wildlife is wandering, as the derelict house stands here.   Slowly sinking; slowly yellow to greening.  The cedar leans to threaten with inevitability  Of a cleansing crash from a supersubstantial sabine.    ...

My slogan is better than your slogan because your slogan isn’t my slogan. Nothing else rhymes So this poem is broken. I’ve got nothings else to say because my point is here to stay. Now I’ll put this away.

Loving is essence and essential. Yet who can maintain it for their mortal dash? To love is to give  And to give is to sacrifice. Love and life will require it all. Your essence dashed upon the rocks. Your life scrubbed raw.  All that is built, All that is gained, All that serves, Shall be required of you at the dread tribunal Stripping you of pride and glory. O man, it is not yours to take to your cave. To give and to love for the dash is the command. And life’s failure is assured - As much as the yearly cracking of crooked manacles Maniacally parades through the shortened days. To love is to die. To die is to be stripped. To be stripped is to be freed so Janus may return. O man, O people, can you love? Can you love for your narrowly chiseled moment? The granite void upon which we hang It is failure. To fail in gain is to sacrifice to love.

Doors and windows and stores are shut Sheltering in place to sacrifice to give life. To the Least, the lost, the laos. To walk is a renewed pleasure Footfall, swish of pantlegs Echoes and silence. Patients benefit from the neighbors free gift. In the cool of the night, domestic sounds waft. Ages past, analog times. Too late for too many, sun rays shall again be cast. Whir of a transformer, the venting of a drier. And more! Clothes hung on the line. Cotton cord stretched pole to post. An old woman tenderly hung the armor of her kin.     Her back, her fingers, her line bent to the ground. The Lord assists to the last. She placed a pole in the center of the droop,     That old staff guarding the precious vestiture - The splintered pole has a grand pedigree In the midst of an ancient forest, a tree was planted A Silent Gardner choosing its perfect place.     Dropping its seed, the arbor carpeted creation,     The great canopy ...

She makes me write. Bestows the ability, Unlocks it from the dangerous cavern where it was manacled. Loving freely, Graciously remaining. I have no fears about releasing my story.