Poem for a Funeral

malcolm-green-33097-unsplash

 

 

unsplash-logoMalcolm Green

There is no light without the dark
no life without death
the sun can’t rise in the morning without
the setting of the moon
and the fading of the stars 
Why this merry go round, then?
What lessons are etched upon my heart?
Had I reached my limit of knowledge to carry?

There is no ecstatic joy without deep sorrow
each waterway must end where the land begins
No Spring Flowers without Winter’s frozen snow
no lasting love affair without the first chaste kiss
There I stood in the midst of many
one light in a sea of a billion stars
participating in life’s grand display – shining brightly
furiously burning ever so wonderous
surrounded by space as black as pitch

Yet, there is no truth without a lie
No relief without the pain
There is no mercy without the crime
and there is no night without the day
I’ve done all I can in this body made of clay
I’ve said all the words I came here to speak
and though I am gone from your joyful presence
there can be no fond memories, without the pinprick of grief

So watch for me in those times, my dear
when the sun fades just to the west
when the skies are orange, purple, and red
and the moon begins to crest
Find me on the last day of summer,
and talk to me right before you fall asleep
I’ll be listening to you, my darling
in the spaces, in those transition places
Right there, in the in-between

 

I dare you…(poem)

photo-nic-co-uk-nic-119470

unsplash-logophoto-nic.co.uk nic

Dare to be different.
Dare to speak your truth.
Dare to stand in it.
Dare to be a guide on.
Dare to raise the banner.
Dare to raise your voices.
Dare to resist the night.
Dare to be yourself.
Dare to do the right thing.
Dare to speak truth to stupid.
Dare to set an example.
Dare to be safe in your skin, safe in yourself, safe in your world.
Dare to stare down a bully.
Dare to correct a wrong.
Dare to shout down lies.
Dare to sing the truth.
Dare to be observant.
Dare to be aware.
Dare to be righteous.
Dare to be loved.
Dare to be free.
Dare to be a dreamer.
Dare to be a lover.
Dare to be a friend.
Dare to be a sister.
Dare to be a brother.
Dare to be a mentor.
Dare to be a light.
Dare to be a phone call.
Dare to be a voter.
Dare to march in protest.
Dare to kneel and pray.
Dare to stand against tyranny.
Dare to make a mark.
Dare to live.
Dare so that others may live.
Dare to be counted.
Dare to be a leader.
Dare to be hope.
Dare to be a teacher.
Dare to be a preacher.
Dare to do all you can.

My first Poetry Collection

frederick_poetry_ebook_take2

 

I am proud to present to you a collection of poetry I put together over the past 2 years. My poetry, like my other writing, is informed by life experiences, memories, seasons, or by things I’ve observed about the intrinsic beauty and complicated nature of humanity.
For a very long time – having been raised in fundamentalism – I believed there wasn’t much about humanity that gave it worth. However, through the act of creating art, I have discovered that simply isn’t the case.
In a few short years, I have discovered love, regained my faith in God, and most importantly, regained my faith in my fellow human beings.
I also discovered that the things that attract us to a person aren’t the same things that make us stay. Often times it’s our imperfections that are the most endearing qualities that we possess. I believe God regards us the same way.
I hope you enjoy this collection

 

Buy Link for Amazon here

Smashwords links will soon follow

 

Sweet autumn morning (poem)

matthew-pla-29577 (1)

Matthew Pla

sweet autumn morning
strumming guitars
sad songs and dappled sunlight
mint in my tea, a stray gray hair
conversations hushed over 
a gentle current of spiced air

wistfulness, theme
the taste of cinnamon and apple
in my breakfast bowl
dust motes dance in shafts of light
my barefeet on the carpet
fingers tapping out the heartbeats
in my study

one more laugh line
two doses of fish oil as I stretch
fingers twisting upward
swoop down, namaste
gentle on myself
as the indian summer breeze
caressing the curtains
of my windows

cardboard box, napping cat
at my feet, a napping dog
beef stew in a dutch oven
served over rice
a glass of wine
a kiss from my husband
before night descends
and we descend with it

 

Filos (Poem)

filios

the clouds drift
in blue skies above my head
pirate ships in silent sailing masts filled
golden sunlight
kisses my body 
in midst of wildflowers and tall grasses
buzzing sounds
as sweet as a lullaby

lay next to me
interpret with me
the holy writ in the stars we can’t see
and let us disagree
and laugh
romance isn’t just for sex
nor for lovers
be my friend first
and be willing to stay here

Water, air
let me breathe
inhale who you are, feed me
and I’ll roar when you need inspiration
protection
I’ll burn away perceived imperfections
be the mother, brother, spouse
to my soul
friend and I’ll return to you

Let us ponder the spider’s silk
inches away from our faces
suspended between blades of grass
and wonder at it
let us write poetry dedicated
to Gaia – mother – the dust
from where we’ll return
there’s no war here
to contest
let us keep each other close
without complications

passion can be pure
no sin
no hurt feelings in golden shafts
of God’s presence
am I selfish?
not when the crickets sing, friend
not when clouds have angels wings
can we map this out?
and laugh at the babbling brook
laying head to head
watching the world pass us by?

the clouds pass by
sunsets come and burn the sky
lightning bugs rise from the ground
and spirits walk
love me – filos
and like the stone, or the tree planted
by the water
I shall not be moved

Amber Colored (poem)

 

amber color

(Some Random picture I saw)

In looking for my rest
I found a bottle of amber colored joy
as I sipped – I let it burn my throat
as the fire cascaded down into my heart
upon a gut made of stone
There are a million miles
in the tattoos that I wear
and ten thousand memories with each
passing of the needle over my skin
as I proudly display each step I’ve taken in life
I hum dixie melodies
when I go looking for my soul
gospel songs and blues
when I’m lonesome and flesh upon flesh
doesn’t do what I desperately need it to
My church is a rusty and dusty bar
when I’m in the faith having way
Otis Redding the reverend
playing on a Wurlitzer Bubbler made in 1950
just one amber glass at a time

The Lighthouse (poem)

elliot-cooper-363199

 

 

 

In the midst of tempest raging
When the wind and waves crash constant
And the night is filled with flashing lights and rolls of thunder
When the rain lashes a thousand needles agaisnt the skin
A proud lighthouse stands in the midst of it all
Even when the world trembles
From the celestial cannon fire sounding
And the periods between electric light are as dark and deep as the ocean
And the sailor has lost his way
A proud lighthouse stands in the midst of it all
With yellow lights beaming, round and round it’s promise goes
Warning sailors of imminent danger while at the same time guiding them home
Though the waves may hide jagged rocks jutting upward
Ready to take apart ship and limb and life
The steady knowledge of someone watching, always vigilant , always ready
Encouraged the sailor to keep on fighting till the wind gives up the ghost
That’s how I felt the day I found you and i knew to come and speak to you
When life’s cruel waves did force me from a life id always known
And as that cannon fire through the night did rumble
Blinded by the lightnings angry forked limitations
Though hot as the sun’s surface, was too brief to guide me home
But those days tempest tossed are far behind me
And even though the wind and waves grow higher
The fear of going under or dashing against the unyielding rocky shore
Isnt Much of a worry for me these days
For I’ve given up my ship, now Harbored just inside the bay
And now I bathe in the glow of the lighthouse which has now become my home

Hurricane outside, Maelstrom within (poem)

nasa-71747

 

 

Flickering lights and uncertainty rolled out in front of us
myself, my family
the wind crashed whistling through the eaves of the house
like an errant train in the dead of night
lightning danced 
Death had come ashore and ghosts were marching to martial music
thundering heels against the coal black night

the telephone rang
in foolish compassion I answered
and a voice from the grave spoke to me
suddenly I felt thirsty, ravenously hungry
and though the conversation was pleasant
my veins began to ache
and my body began to ache
to be possessed by old habits of a foolish youth
spent locked in torment

after we said goodbye
to fight against the desire of anonymity
I flung the doors open to the storm
wind, leaves, and rain rolled inward
when the threat between my ears
became greater than the one that ran screaming through the night

I pulled up shades
threw open windows and breathed in chance
in giant cleansing gulps
hoping against hope that I could exorcise my dutiful mistake
between The Father, and The Son, and three glasses of red wine – the blood
This I did in remembrance
I all of a sudden felt needy
to be possessed by creatures of the veil not far beyond my touch

I watched the storm blow the rest of the night
between flashes of lightning and gusts of wind
the fourth horseman I knew galloped close by
I waited for upon my cross of bones and childrens toys
for the sound of his thundering hooves
my gaze locked in on the shadows beyond the trees

At some point I fell asleep
only to awaken at dawns first light with my mouth
tasting like yesterdays news
and my clothes just barely damp
I rose from my leaf littered bed
my solace sleeping soundly next to me
my protection asleep soundly on the floor

I rose and peered into the stillness with a heavy head
a tongue that cleaved to the roof of my mouth
I noticed the lightening of the sky with the rising of the sun
now that the storm had blown itself away
and though there be no track marks, no bottles laying strewn on the floor
even though I knew the name of the man next to me in my bed
I still felt the shame of a misspent night
and the lingering feeling of poison in my veins

I’m an addict without a habit
no that isn’t true – no, there’s a habit there
and it isn’t in recklessness or immoral lack of judgement
it was in a simple act of compassion
that now, today burns a hole in the center of me
that wracks my body with a guilt even though I never did anything wrong

In the stillness of that morning
I slowly rose up from my sleep as a hangover
thudded mercifully between my ears
and before the rest of the house woke
I stripped down and walked naked into a cold shower
humming, “Precious Lord, take my hand.”
as shakily, shivering from the cold, I washed away my shame
and I climbed back on the wagon

I am your Voodoo Lady (poem)

 

 

 

joshua-fuller-204247Hand me a Ouija board
throw out some candles and
give me your tarot
the demons are talking tonight
all at once
even with Emile Sande
begging for something to believe in
through my headphones

It’s a map, all laid out
not a single memory
it’s all of the memory, all of it
my room is crowded with them
I am you’re voodoo lady

Pay me in trade, boy
sit in front of me and wait
while I cast bones
while I spin tables
with the taste of cold coffee
on my tongue
I hear stories I don’t want to

forbidden fruit
sweet to the taste but bitter
in the gut
as voices speak through me
each line I write
I’ve paid for in chains
and a pound of flesh

Last night
I prayed my first rosary
Holy Mary mother of God
I’m so tired
I counted the beads
and said the ‘Our Father’
but tonight I’m reminded
what a jealous creature
I am

Tonight, I thought
I was emptied out completely
that nothing would stir
but it does, precious
it stirs in me
as I am now ghost writing
what they want me to say

I’m untalented
all this is a conduit
the praise, the adulation
your five star darling hooker
and I can never tell when
the door is going to swing open
but I have a fear
deep in my soul should
it one day swing open
and the crowd steps through
this time it wont be to deliver the goods

It’ll be to take me with them
There is no Sibley Road for me anymore

He was a Middle Eastern Jew (poem)

 

jason-betz-274375

Murderous, venomous
Thomas Hobbes is now a prophet
where refugees are cast aside
and black men die for the color of their skin
and thugs wearing badges prowl the streets
yes, your abundance of a pigment is STILL a reason you must bleed.

Broke down, low down
dirty rotten shame we’re sitting in
It’s like the 1930’s, 1960’s, and 1984
all rolled into one stinking pile of a lack of acumen

White is right, White is right
white is wrong here, brother man
we’re bleeding this age of reason creation
in favor of jingoistic, fundamentalist, belief in a lack of pigment

a belief in a LACK of something
that makes you superior? please vote, people
or you’ll be governed by your inferiors
cardboard cut outs posing as human beings
who’s lacking is not in color but the beating
heart that occupies a real person’s interior

Its like the tale of the body snatchers
as we’ve become soulless, demonic,
forget Agape, we can’t even grasp the platonic
love necessarily to keep from killing our fellow countrymen
someone born under the protection of and rights GOD has given them.

But you want to sit up in here and lecture on sin
are you for real? Baptist man? Pentecostal?
Since when did King George III tyranny become so lawful
it’s awful, sit down, shut up, read that damn book you carry
because what you’re lacking, really, quite clearly
is the Son of the Virgin Mary

Who, by the way, I know I shouldn’t have to say this
although it’s avoided yet it’s really hard to miss
the fact that he was a refugee, and brown skin to boot
the last thing may surprise you, He was a Middle Eastern Jew.