Thursday, September 21, 2006

Torquemada Lay Down Your Burning Effigy

Torquemada, lay down your burning effigy lest you scorch the Earth.

Quell your fanatical enthusiasm for shaking your fist, and proclaiming-

repent, you are all off Gods Christmas list.

Torquemada, release the poets and the artists to their work.

Or rip out eloquent tongues, and chop off long fingered hands,

and let them be silent monks.

Torquemada, will you forgo the new inquisition, so that you may-

stamp out the insecurities of faith, with courage, passion and hope.

Or issue you proclamation of waste.

I used Poor old Torquemada as an analogy to make my point.
What I'm trying to say here is that faith, no matter your believe should be rock solid.
No matter what people say about your religion, it is only ever said through lack of knowledge.
But asking question of faith can only serve to strengthen it.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

I Always Thought Your Eye Were Lovely

I always thought your eyes were lovely.
Such a well of secrets, you never truly revealed to me.
Oh how much depth they hold, I could sink forever-
but never want to return to gulp sweet air.
Ah such despair is mine that I am not yours.

I always thought your smile was lovely.
Lips parted that question ready, but never asked of me.
Those lips I have never kissed, I know are gentle,
but sent to torment me, every time they say-
my love, you are never mine.

I always thought your hands were lovely.
So warm to hold, gentle would be their caress.
Nails polished to perfection, finger tip to tip,
but willing to rip, this heart from its home.
But for your part, unready and alone.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

The Diggers Song

I stood upon a moonlit glade-
on my shoulder rests a spade,
is the the spot where love was laid?

I stoop to dig my muscles ache-
how long must this digging take,
as long as will for my loves sake.

And when at last my efforts done-
my sweat burned of by morning sun,
there lies exposed my holy one.

Do You Sleep

Do you sleep? My lord asked me,

for your eyes they must be closed.

Or do you see what pleases thee?

That was the question posed.

My lord I cherish everything-

upon the Earth that moves.

From the smallest of all creatures,

to the beasts that walk on hooves.

Then what of man, who is your kin-

in every thought and deed.

All brothers and all sisters,

prey do you feel their need?

Lord, are they not unworthy?

As they murder lust and steel.

Then trample nations unto dust-

if they refuse to kneel.

Once I was Gautama,

a prince in my own land.

And I used to sit in wonder-

of the pleasures that where planed.

One day there came four messengers-

who refused to be ignored.

And each then took it in his turn-

to show me life and more.

Do you sleep? The four asked me,

for your eyes they must be closed.

Or do you see what pleases thee?

That was the question posed.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

You Call Again My frequent Friend

You call again my frequent friend
So very eager to report
Picking at the bones of my lost love
Licking the wounds of my old hurt

Lets sit together and speak of mystery
And the songs we never sang
Weeping our old mans lament
For the bells that never rang

Lets sip our chocolate latte
Before we say farewell
And I'll make to you my secret smile
That only you can tell

And shall we meet again tomorrow
For I've nothing else to do
We can walk through endless memories
And talk of nothing new