Posts Tagged ‘Faith’

Remember This in Time

Posted: March 2, 1995 in Poetry
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I promise that someday
I will be faithful
To my journal again.
Another sacrifice
To the fires of my economy.
The poet-sap has dried,
Hardened to a cloudy yellow
But I guess beneath
This bark I’ve grown,
The blood still boils
And the words still run
Like antelopes or
Like a persistant brook.

One lone onion
Singing in the kitchen,
Singing in its red net bag,
Singing on my cutting board.

He’s singing “Faith”
By George Michael:
Faith will keep him
Whole and untouched.

My beef stew simmers nearby,
Watching and waiting.
I hide around the corner,
Knife in my hand and
Tears in my eyes —
His brothers and sisters
Made me weep.
George Michael never makes me weep.
Wham!

Interview With an Angel

Posted: February 22, 1993 in Poetry
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no wings, no halo,
no beatific expression
of heavenly rapture.

on interviewing an Angel,
he scratched his head
and was most like any other man.

I’m five foot eleven,
one hundred and forty pounds
(give or take five for the season)
no, there’s no particular reason
I should be renowned
as an Angel from heaven.
by the way, I’m a Libra.

I just do the best that I can.
that is angelic.
I love and hate and fear,
I learn and hurt and feel.
but to the best of my ability,
with the tools God has given me;
other than that I’m just a man
struggling with the rest of my kin
to keep faith with the Angel within
and to dream.

I am still here;
encased in steel,
frozen in flesh;
I am still here.

the I, the me, and the one and only:
Michael, an Angel, this quality,
definitely the most beautiful man
regardless of position and opinion.

building and building my building,
my self: a tower of faith in feelings.
I’ve mortared each brick and laid each beam,
chosen the colors, welded the seams,
sweated past tears, made real my dreams.
I have constructed my cherished monster
and wobble like a weeble but I don’t
fall
down.
I doubt and I die
every day
sometimes I cry
and fade away,
but I’m always stuck with myself
so I’ve chosen to stick it out
until the morning after.

I’ve got to strip and scrub and look in the mirror
I get misunderstood and filthy bad-mouthing myself;
the more I scrub the more I bleed, feeling clearer –
addicting, this hurting and cleaning myself.

in that soulless mirror
is my only true friend
and he’s true as far as you believe him.
weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.
I won’t scream anymore, I won’t make a sound
on finding my construction falling apart
snapping cables in the storms of my heart.

there is nothing that can ever take me away
I’ve done too much damage already.
twenty-one years old, a missile heaven-sent
and where god has thrown me I’ve made my own dent
to sit in and scowl or wave to my stars
as they streak by in the night, fireflies in jars.

Struck Dumb

Posted: January 28, 1993 in Poetry
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sometimes things will strike me, strike me,
strike me solid with a beautiful thought.
I thought that all these things were really real
but now I’ve blinked and they’re not.

that’s just my lack of faith, of faith,
of faith in what I truly believe.
I believe in the movement of drums in this music
like the water-flow through a sieve.

dreams came and went with the ocean, the ocean,
the ocean of sparkling blue and screaming sea.
the sea so flat so far and so much a sky of its own;
I stood on the shore and watched it be.

I don’t understand when you say that magic, magic,
magic’s gone and it’s left me behind,
far behind and lonely for its pretty paintbrush touch
while we argue what’s in each other’s mind.