At times

Every time I write, I feel a fool
When all the thought, the work
Into which I pour my all –
Sometimes, it’s true,
Mad paper shreds won’t buy
My sanity, and bleed no genius,
But waste.
At other times, as sure as gravity
God will drop through the thought,
Clunking at the bottom
Like gold.
But even at these times,
Have I been gullible? Have I lost
My wit, over-gestating, still too much
Waste paper?
Oh, all my heart, it bleeds for you;
And all my lungs, they breathe
For you. For you,
On whom it all –
They all, that is, all of my parts
Collected – gathers, never will dispel,
Or fall.

Liminal Work

It’s like prayer –
Out of fear you come,
you go.

You never want to stay,
you stay – away,
You play
And taper out the day until you cannot bear
One moment more of sun —

So then you plunge;
The water’s cold;
The fear is old,
but bold
and plays
In several tortuous ways
On innards,

Just ask,
you say?
Just knock,
and it will go away.
To knock,
the door is all in dark,
and you must reach it-
plunge in deep —

One moment more,
This lasting fear
Will soon be gone
And you’re absorbed
In light-full patterns all around-
It’s like your eyes are full of light,
and beaming, LIGHT,
On every book that can be found.

It’s LIGHT that is of You,
The life of men,
The light that never dies, the darkness
Has not seen it. But it lasts –

and Penetrate the broken shards,
deep unknown cavity of dark –
I’ll stay a lifetime in this dark,
Just to be beamed upon by You.


Thanks for striking me
So I could be
Distinct from mediocrity.

I never knew,
Before you,
That it could renew,

My being,
And become a better thing:
Broken, I still sing.