As a child I remember small farmers
Being depressed at some times of the year,
With climatic conditions uncertain
Turning hopes of their harvest to fear.
Whenever they cursed the bad weather
As the elements failed to rescind
My father, with wisdom, would tell them:
“There’s a brightness at the butt of the wind”.
When teenage ambitions got twisted:
My identity crisis would loom.
Rejection and fantasy mingled,
Resulting in pictures of doom.
Then………the Power of Good to the rescue
To counter each negative trend.
My thoughts would somehow be diverted
To that brightness at the butt of the wind.
Chorus;
When the weather of life it looks hopeless;
And dark clouds with disaster seem twinned,
Remember that God will send sunshine.
There’s a brightness at the butt of the wind.
When the storms of anguish are beating
And I’m lashed by the gales of defeat
When the forecast of life holds no promise
It’s still not the time to retreat
A fresh glow appears in my vision
Like a night sky by bright stars sequined.
Then I know then I haven’t forgotten
That brightness at the butt of the wind
At last when I’ll see the horizon
And that mist (self-deception) has cleared
I’ll ponder the journey before me
And confront all the things that I’ve feared,
Expecting a turbulent crossing
As the Clergy point out that I’ve sinned
But knowing that Salvation is certain
By the brightness at the butt of the wind
Another night, another disappointment, another no-show
Despite all my best efforts–here I sit alone
“It could be worse,” I tell myself as I stare down at my phone
2 nights ago we lay in bed–after I agreed to stay
You told me it was nice my head lying on your chest that way
We woke the next morning-you dressed and left for work
I roamed your apartment- it was spick and span–but I still found some dirt
She’d scribbled out her name on your refrigerator door
A girl I’d heard you mention at least a couple times before
“I’m out of here!” I told myself–picking up my stride
But I realized I couldn’t be too upset cause you were never really mine
Here I am.
Cradled by the Jewel of the Mountains
A pilgrimage two thousand three hundred miles to bow before HER.
It took months of preparation, organization, and sheer willpower.
The Great Divine Mother Mountain nourishes my heart and soul.
She has carried me through my greatest transformations
After my surgery, she gave me strength; she put my pieces back together
She gave me life and made me whole.
And now I come again in my new adventure
stretched out, surrendering myself before her
She helps me release that which is not mine but is not real.
I witness the false matrix shed away.
She reminds me of who I am. My higher calling, my soul, awakens.
You see, no illusions can live upon her.
Those who could not handle her power left mad or killed themselves
But not me. I run to Her Crystalline energy.
Eager to wash every part of my being as I stand naked before her.
Humbled and Grateful, a Heart full of Devotion
I am ready to serve.
A lone corvid picks perch on a branch of steel.
His feathers a canvas for the rainbow,
Blackened by ash.
To his left, the shell of a mall echoes absolute silence.
To his right, the undisturbed corpse of a parking lot.
The bird sits, silhouetted by the sun,
And casts shadow to the stone desert below.
It stretches for miles, as vast as the sky itself,
Spreading thin the gaze of its onlooker
Still studying from his perch.
With beady eyes and coal-smeared beak, he stares
At the pronged light posts clawing at the sky,
The fingers of grass that web across the lot,
The empty spaces between white lines, and coughs.
The crow’s voice, the dropping of a pin.
The crow will sit until the sun is spent, its rays
Ever dimming in the evening shadow.
Beneath his claws, a spark ignites.
The light hanging from his perch sputters,
Fades into a subtle glow,
And pops.
Shards of glass burst forth from their confines,
Reflecting briefly the scene they observe;
The dead mall looming in the dark,
The fields of cold, callus stone below
And the lone corvid’s ashen feathers
Vanishing into the night.
