Alone: We Spin Our Webs

We make our beds in which to lie,

To cover ourselves before we die,

And we spin our social web

Around this self-same bed, 

To catch some unsuspecting soul

To fill in our heart’s gaping hole,

But we consume all our victims

According to Nature’s dictums,

Or else they break entirely free

And fly to where we cannot see,

But there is perhaps a better way,

More promising to spend our day,

Walking the divinely human maze

To meet another person’s face

In which we trace our very own

From an eternity hitherto unknown


Note: Inspired by Flamingle’s post entitled, “Alone.” Thank you for the inspiration!

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Double Tanka on Friendship

You find your real friends
When you are going through hell
It’s easy to tell
They are just around the bend
And only love do they send

Fake friends can’t be found
In pain they are not around
And they make no sound
They leave you to stand alone
And with no love to be shone

What Love Is . . .

Is love not gracious and living self-giving?
Can love be love apart from self-emptying?
Ah! What is it, then, to think of self first
And foremost while letting others thirst
For genuine, selfless affection that bursts
From a passionately compassionate heart
That puts others first in every part of life?
Yes, this turns modern thought on its head
And puts so much pop psychology to bed!
But let it not be said love is self-centered
When surely we have best been mentored
By those who chose to invest in the other;
Besides which, one learns to love oneself
When he has begun to truly love outside
Of self in an outpouring of adoring love,
For do we ever really learn who we are
Outside of company as our guiding star?
So let us love greatly, both near and far!


Note: This poem is largely in response to not only self-centeredness but also the ideology of radical individualism. It is an aesthetic statement in favor of communialism and the idea that one “finds oneself” within the context of community and, more specifically, that one experiences authentic love in ongoing reciprocity, which begins with the giving of oneself to the other.

A Place Called Home

Setting your pace within your very own place
Known to you as home, where seeds are sown
In assurety of the security of your safe haven,
A place you do not have to hide in craven fear,
Where you can freely visit those near and dear,
Somewhere dry and warm where you fly high
And no longer have to try to smile a mile wide
Or hide how you feel, and kneel down in peace
With a new lease on life; after all you’re home
. . .
Setting your pace within your very own place
Somewhere dry and warm where you fly high

Home

Home . . . a place to call my own
Where in secret dreams are sown

A bed where to lay my head
And find the best rest for my body weary

A table where to eat my daily bread
After thankful prayer is said

Home . . . where ideas are freely sought
Home . . . where there is liberty of thought

Safe and secure from all alarm
Walled in securely from all harm

Far above and beyond mere survival
Home . . . where there is daily revival

Home . . . where God is ever so near
And there is no need for fear

Home . . . where there is the heart
And of life every best part . . . home

Happy Holiday Thinking

Do you think of the person who looks for a place to lay his head,
Wondering where he’ll get his next piece of bread?
Who finds a place to curl up against the cold winter’s night
Only to be told to move when he has nowhere to go,
Except maybe six feet below?
Or the little girl who whirls around from alleyway to alleyway
Trying to find someone who cares but only ends up
With some pervert that binds her behind locked door?
Do you consider the old woman with shopping cart
Who makes dumpsters her grocery mart?
Or the wandering band from a foreign land
They used to call home?
Or the shell-shocked children of Gaza
Who search for toys among rock and rubble plazas?
Do you think oils spills that poison drinking water
Or the mountain of bills the poor cannot afford to pay?
Or the bullets that kill amidst the shrill screams of war?
Or the ill who have no medical care
Because they cannot bear the cost?
Or the man lost in his own world without hope of escape?
Or blackened drapes, sour grapes, formless shapes,
And untold rapes?
Say, what do you think when you blink your eyes at the world?
Before you say ‘happy holidays,’ think and sink into reality . . .
* * * * * * * *
Do you consider the person who looks for a place to lay his head,
Wondering where he’ll get his next piece of bread?

Who Will Peek Beneath Your Hood Of Words?

Always, in every way, every day
You give until you bleed to feed
Your hungry need to be understood
Even beneath your hood of words;
It’s the only means to speak,
To give the world a peek
Into your overflowing soul,
Slowing the rhythm of your heart
To show in part the art of who
You are and what you’ve been
From the start; does anyone listen?
Do they read to fulfill your need?
Yet you open another vein believing
But ne’er receiving what’s beyond
Your conceiving: You’re deceiving
Yourself again, but when you begin
To realize the prize you want
Is beyond you to seize; it’s just
Another disease of the human soul,
Bowl of emptiness…
But you keep trying, lying to your
Heart that you’ll find the better
Part of humanity even among insanity,
And this for your own vanity:
You’re but a grain of beach sand,
Member of the wandering band
Of flesh-and-blood, fresh from
Its own pen marks on otherwise
Blank pages supplied by heavenly
Sages down through the ages, so…
Who will peek beneath your hood
Of words, where birds of self-
Revelation fly before you
Say goodbye after you try
Just one more time, just once more?



Note: Previously published in December 2015, republished due to some renewed interest and also for the enjoyment of new reader-followers. Peace and blessings to all!