On Morning

I yearn for that which is denied to me                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            To fill and drink my night’s delight                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 but waking eyes in light do see                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        that yearn and truth remain like black to white.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           When curtains raise to peek the day                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              And beds lie stout, still harbor night                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                And twilight sticks to sweat of morning                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         do memories shy at wink of light.

I extend an arm, in reach it pulls away                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            A string that held could only burn                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                And pulls in minutes, hours, days                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   the prize I hope, but never turns.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       A hand that clutches sand like air                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       and never opens lest more should cut                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            like little diamonds holding dreams                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               but swift they run through fingers shut.

I hold embrace an alpine wind                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         The frost, it feeds my bleakest shore                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 It cools the embers that feed the tide                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          And frosts it over in icy roar.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             As death-white realms, the wind to howl                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Circle within like desert storms                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         To numb away a heart’s desire                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        and snow in tunes that sweep forlorn.

But through this all I hold it tight                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 when sighs sign all in battered feat                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 the hope of warmth that creeds the right                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     that men should feel and hearts should beat.

-j.m.

On Falling

To yield before the sudden fail

Of struggle that for years begot

The many flights that tears prevailed

And memories that would cheer the heart

To wave a flag from dim to white

With fragile grip of victory fled

As black carouses deep of night

This white will dance till wind is dead

As hours lingered and minutes swayed

And joyous thoughts in cups did fill

And smiling faces had their way

With hands enjoined and sorrows nil

We sang as two to sun’s reprise

Like linnets in the midst of verse

And flew along the zephyr’s rise

With gentle words two hearts rehearse

To ponder thought of if and when

And wonder how the wing did hurt

When arrows brought a dire end

And wafted in to taint with dirt

Of land below we did not see

In barren hills and trees unnumbered

That came to pull in wicked glee

as fallen stars burn unencumbered

And so we dropped, unbidden tears

We rained upon the blessed dawn

That night could now and never fear

Two beams in skies that once belonged

So mirth be sullen and flame put out

When now to kneel in humble tire

and come into this weary breast

with silence to resume her power

-j.m.

On Betrayal

Three stones tossed against the grain

A blade that shears the tips of grass

A rose that kills desire in shame

A man that fears the worst to last

In nature lie the symbols true

when rivers run, they mean to pray

To speak no words, in eyes imbue

The scent of lust and prude’s dismay

Like tender clouds that shield with might

A softened dagger and pierce my mane

A sweet caress then pressure tight

To stain with bruise, to carve his name

I yield to feel, to smell his touch

Even with the pain’s arise

For frozen hearts that felt too much

Will not resist and not despise

Like mad he grabs and picks in hordes

the rotten fruit my trees bestow

and tears the roots with iron swords

for juice that bears in bitter woes

In last I gasp and look above

His eyes to mine in maddened grief

A barren trust that marked our love

Has cast indoors the silent thief

So rise the tides and sing the gales

And meadows dance in cyclic rite

And lain beneath the chalky shales

I light my moon and find the night

-j.m.

On Justin’s Package

just a fun short piece I wrote at Justin Mulvey’s request, about his package

In the dim of ageless clout                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Caused by sheen in bouncing light
A sight I follow and carve it out
To set a truth and find his might

for apples yet to fall from high
mystify what seemed so kempt
to tempt the watcher to his eye
and lead a sinner to his tent

A length that dwells within its court
To signal strength, true fret, and mire
And he who looks upon this fort
Will find the wood that quells the fire

And yet to taste and not to vend
is cause to drain a year in drought
and once its tip has found its friend
will thirst grieve silent without its pout?

Will Justin’s rounds forget their whim?
The vanity of feral Pan
Or will they free the man within
and let him win the prize at hand?

On Greed

This last deception rooted plays

Upon a new design

And set to deign on vile ways

Of those who sit to mime

 

They crave and reign on duped delight

And cringe on purest creeds

To file within a nauseous taunt

And sway like rotten weeds

 

When tireless hunters crave their prey

They do what comes in teach

To slay what little good becomes

The efforts for their reach

 

But in this foreplay rest foregoes

Their lairs of darkness deep within

And find the evercrusting foes

Of liars’ pools and craving win

 

And when in dawn awakens light

And masks of skin and bone retreat

Will terror of a righteous hand

cause tepid pulse to pause in beat

 

Their minutes run in wayward course

To patch a tear with grass and air

For in a mend that lacks remorse

Will open wounds cease true repair

-j.m.

On Jericho

In glacial boom the sonar trumps

through walls that snug the city in

And temple stones shrug in respite

Of sinners dwelling on pulpit bins

And calls to skies, fire reach their sun

And nights in darkness far from grim

Will joyous deserts rise with sand

And form tan meadows in layers rim

By dunes to peak a man’s despair

The people sire from great to moss

Minutely dim the flame with care

The loneliness of tundra frost

 

To this grand city will walls to crumble

And men to flee and women blunder

but truth be set in yearly light

Of dearth reprieve and timely plight

 

-j.m.

On Heat

In the inside of a man in heat

Of wells in deep restraint

Surge the waters woven rivers deep

And torrent crisp with breaks of wave

And in the hour of man’s defeat

When laid with troubles of summers’ past

When heat decried the bellow foul

Of smitten coals in glow to last

Felled by nothing and wanting more

He takes and swallows what barriers keep

He stretches arms that rain to pour

And wash away what sorrows weep

But to the last his will undone

By chains of iron in purest ore

Has nature ways to deal its pawn

To tear asunder and will no more

 -j.m.

 

 

 

 

 

 

On 7 Laws of Goodness

7 laws of goodness write

On hardened stone by given light

but torrent human froth does flow

bathing sinners who doth bestow

the tempest light into the fall

of souls engraven deep in all.

 

The 7th light of law be kept

from takers of seen treasures’ gold

and avaricious goals be swept

in emptied coffers’ weathered toll

 

The 6th to be denounced at right

in disrespect thy father’s gnaw

of youth enjoyment struck in plight

and drowned in trite familial caw

 

The 5th to be in herald cry

by moralist in spoken swoon

across the masses hold their light

for demagogue in anxious tune

 

Four have felled and three entrust

what’s left of angel human rust

but in these few kept clean and kempt

will apples soon be bit to tempt

 

The 4th in coupledom doth lie

To seal in rites of single pair

but flee to rivers running high

across their word to others’ share

 

The 3rd in consternation flee

In seeing lines that tend to bend

towards other sexes not decreed

to be indulged with lustful tread

 

The 2nd bathed in tar and blood

by shackles torn past civil ire

and let to roam with sharpened blades

in assembled plans to death conspire

 

One remains and six have fled

By willed impassioned human bred

And those that fly above these all

Will find the last to cue their gall

 

The 1st we find in bottom pits

of molded soils of 6 that lay

and keep themselves in crusted fit

to bar the good and keep at bay

For in this first we find enlist

the might within a trembling force

to melt the frozen hearth of six

and let inspire a virtuous course

 

The 1st is lit by hardest flint

Atonement fires to quell the rile

and burns away the soiled tint

of past aggrieved and current mire

 

For in the rue of past misdeed

Will gifts be given to those intent

on digging paths to unearth reprieve

to quell despair and naught lament.

 

-j.m.

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Consolation

Reveling in daytime glee

the joy of social throes in tow

While hours pass and minutes flee

the mark of human emblems glow

by common feeling among those friends

to pass my life, to enjoy their airs

But crossing smiles define my trends

and sags by subtle weights it bears.

Indeed they see and draw embrace

indulge in me with kinder cares

Lamentable to find defaced

extended hands to take in theirs

A truer set I could not find

To renew a vision once beheld

And plant the germ to grow inside

entice the bloom, remove the veil.

My caps of ice, except not cold

by warmth the loving outside share

In company I find their mold

but in this cage I do not dare.

I fright, I flee, I look away

Passion’s eye in lasting pour

I gray the color of their ray

Until in me I find no more.

 

 

 

-j.m.

On Nocturnal Thoughts

Night brings a release of little nooks in the mind that hide during daylight.  Thoughts and repressed memories come abound and the silence of a dark room can be the only light to illuminate their unexpected appearance.  As I squirm under a warm fleece, I remember the familiar smell of a Colombian summer, visiting the small towns dotting the road to countryside holidays, and even the slight exhaust of a polluted Colombian capital.  These are memories brought to life by smells I may catch in a millisecond while walking down Lexington or any other avenue in the midst of my commute to the office.  It all comes alive when there is nothing more to think about, when the body slowly drifts to sleep and its sweet loss of consciousness.  I dream of seeing these things again soon, but I know it probably will be some time.  It isn’t until daylight that I realize I had already fallen asleep and the memories are gone.   Well, the memories themselves are not gone, but their resurgence would have to wait another silent dark restful night. 

Do I crave moments like this, above all? I would have to say, they do give me a feeling unlike that of laughter I can enjoy with my friends, or the gratification of any other personal successes in my active life.  These other moments in my active life (and I have come to refer to my life outside of my drift to sleep and its eventual state as my active life) may have some meaning; they give happiness for my immediate consumption.  But they end and, come later in the day, I can find not so happy moments again.  Sleeping to feel, sleeping to remember, sleeping to smell the days when true joy to be remembered many years later- that is the pursuit of happiness that seeks me out.