Agnotics Prey

God, I don't know if We are hear or not.
You're last sincere gift, Christ, is a sell out
a ticket to heaven I haven't earned.
I need a lifetime, or more, to be sure.
Somehow, I sense We've been here before,
because Nirvana seemed so real on drugs.

Thanks to the folks who pray for me, it helps,
but I can't take their miracles on faith.
The only miracle is that I am here,
a cast off in evolution and time.
Like it or not, We share these feelings,
Besides, hell is a concept no one deserves.


-dp-

IRON

(I)

As long ago as forever can be

the heavens sought order in chaos.

All properties were assimilating

as billions of bodies and galaxies.

I was dispersed here in the third orbit

of this primordial sun. No life,

only cosmic forces and mysterious

properties: gravity, light, and matter:

a delicate balance for infinity.

I was an element of the newborn earth.

(II)

Time doesn't matter to matter.

Not much does to inorganic mass.

Time passes along as strings of events,

bringing subtle changes- like miracles!

I've watched it unfold- I witnessed

creation! It seems only yesterday

the first cell slipped from rain, to land, to sea.

Then another, forming complex structures.

Enter man, his mind, and passion for fire.

(III)

The finest work in ages, this man-

God fearing, fragile, exposed, but clever-

evolving into the great thinking beast-

able to learn, to reason, to conceive

abstract ideas- and from them create tools.

I've watched and waited through ages of stone

and bronze, hoping that he would detect me-

unearth me from groundless consistency.

Unleash his resourcefulness and cast me

into useful implements- but tools of war?!

(epilogue)

Man didn't matter to matter. It's hardly

worth the time for inorganic mass

to concern itself with things uncontrolled.

Time passes along in strings of events-

subtle changes, beginnings and ends.

The future will be as the past has been.

Was it worth it for God to create this

miracle to expose his sense of irony?

-dp-

Declaration In Dependence

6-24-84

My fantastic flight
need not props
of right or left wings
foiling my air.

No manifest will
design, define, or deny
my destiny.

No self chained majority
will ever rule me
or judge my morals.

No elected representative
will elect
to represent me.

No class structure will contain me.

No status system will
symbolize my well being.

No general will order me to slaughter
for corporate interests abroad,
when the enemy are the homeless,
the starving, and the poor...
my brothers and sisters.

No dictator will enforce
his decrees and subjugate
my will to submission.

No smokescreen politician can
enter my backroom to deny me
hopes, wants, dreams, or drugs.

Bo morally bankrupt institution
will develop interest 
on my account. 

No religion can condone, condemn,
or redeem me: nor savior
martyr for my sins.

Nor does anyone deserve
my martyrdom.

There is love in my heart.
There is hope in my soul.
But my mind secretly concedes 
to anarchy.

-dp- 

Stealing Dr. Suess

Went shopping to buy my green eggs and ham.
This woman in an aisle confronted me,
saying: "You know it's illegal to smoke
in the store".  Sure I knew, but feigned surprise,
white lied, "no, really?  Well, I'm almost done".
"Would you be so kind as to put it out?"
I blushed and flashed my best boyish grin
as forefinger and thumb rolled the cherry off.
My bare foot crushed red black into tile,
while fingers retained a substantial butt.
She reproached me again:  "I asked you nicely
to please put it out.  I find your habit
offensive.  I'm getting the manager."
I murmured,  "I find you offensive, bitch".
She stormed off to the managers office.
I picked up a carton while checking out,
left, lit up, and limped back to my car.


-dp-
6-4-84
 

The Legend at Royal Oaks Plantation

A white mansion amongst old oak trees,
Uncut lawns, stagnant fountains, algae.
Pillars cracked, scoured, pitted from fire.
What nobility did this house once sire?

Fallen tombstones, sunken into ground,
From this decay, Marigolds abound.
But near ancient black oak, nothing dwells.
Here some evil has cast a timeless spell.

On tully fogged black nights of winter
Hoof prints on the bridle path appear.
A frightened horse galloping is heard,
Flustering awake slumbering birds.

Who rides this horse's ghost at night,
Locking midnight lovers in fright?
Is it ghost, or goblin, or shananakee
That stops to weep at the old oak tree?

Legends of slaves being raped and slain.
A ruthless battle from here gets it's name.
Old records don't explain what occurs here.
Someone in mourning keeps her secrets dear.

-dp-  

My Heart Is Under Control (r)

This fragile crystal container, 
I hold inside my chest, 
so easy to see through, that I
conceal it with feigned emotions.
Simple feigned smiles. 

Look into my eyes, glimpse 
my soul, full of hopes and dreams,
anticipating life's enrichment.
This container seeks fulfillment, 
but there is little to fulfill.  Heart

breaks, tumbles through this cavity,
tearing apart my gut stuff
shredding any sense of self.
Death, as an option, is rejected.
My mind must control my heart.

The heart would destroy the body, 
and allow faith to seek spiritual release  
from this world, where pain and fear
constantly lurk.  With prayer, the mind 
will mend the broken heart.


-dp-

-written and read at the Maple Leaf Bar, New Orleans, LA  -4-3-83
4-3-83 / 10-18-12- severely reworked     

4-3-83r

This fragile crystal container 
I hold deep within my chest.  
So transparent I conceal it
with disguise of feigned emotions-
a smile that's not there.  Look

beyond my eyes and glimpse
a soul of hopes and dreams, 
awaiting fulfillment.  Sought completeness, 
and found nothing.  Heart shatters- 
breaks into a million pieces,

tumbles from my empty breast,
cuts and shreds my gut stuff, and
rips through all sense of identity.
Death crosses the mind, but is rejected.
If not for the mind in control

the heart would destroy the body
and allow the soul's lost faith
release- set free from this world
where heartbreak lurks within grasp.
The mind knows better- denies

the heart rule where love is
poised for conflict.  Love only tears
into heart muscle.  Soul must wait
for natural release.  The mind grasps
that time mends the broken heart.

-dp-

-written and read at the Maple Leaf Bar, New Orleans, LA  -4-3-83    

Surfing 2000

Dogs roam the streets in packs by the dozens at dawn.
Smoke filled horizon from cities rise still ablaze.
Were you there when the water turned to ooze?
The ocean's a frozen landscape by seaside stores.
Surfers develop boards with compartments-

keep inside.

I'm expecting the sun to sneak out one day soon.
The weatherman promised it could never rain again.
It's nasty on the outside, brutal, hot, and vain.
Water signs do suicide just to kill the time, kill the time.
Surfers fossilize in muck.  Lifeguards wade to their ankles-

second thoughts.


-dp-
8-20-12  


8-20-82


Dogs roamed the streets in packs by dozens at dawn.
Smoke filled the horizon from cities still ablaze.
Were you there when the water turned to ooze?
The oceans frozen landscape by seaside stores.
Surfers develop boards with compartments-

keep inside.

I'm expecting the sun to sneak out any day now.
The weatherman promised it could never rain again.
It's nasty on the outside, brutal, hot, and vain.
Water sign do suicide just to kill the time, kill the time.
Surfers fossilize in muck.  Lifeguards wade to their ankles-

second thoughts.


-dp-