The Grand Artisan

God, the ultimate Artist.
The supreme Scientist.
The intimate Presence, within,
and throughout this existence.
Regenesis … poetry in motion.
Life, as an artistic documentary?
Seen through all the agony
and the ecstasy,
the triumph and the tragedy?
Or are we rats in a laboratory?
Are we but particles
within the part and parcel
of subatomic intricacy?
Only a quark apart …
a small part of the mechanical?
Speaking relativity,
where is the Glory?
A perpetual quantum
crunching the numbers
in some mindless continuum.
Is that the universal story?

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Deeply Eternal

Creation;
God imagining everything
. . . including mankind
Mountains of gold
Rivers of sunshine
In all of Nature’s Kingdom
only man
be troubled by angels
and demons
The shallow mellow
The deeply fried
The prosperity blessed
The fashionably dressed
The stolen … The taken
The cast aside, the slave,
the child soldier,
the child bride
The broken and forsaken
The dignified
and self satisfied
upon that open highway
… a mile wide
Mountains of gold
Rivers of poison

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For Ernesto Che Guevara

At last
I’ve seen the past
and much like the future
it was murder
Since the beginning
of forever
brother Cain came
with low blows
to impose
some kind of order
I thank Christ
some had time to grasp
the hand at task
For chaos never stops
to counts the cost
But I blame myself
for a world of mayhem
and disorder
ever since the canonization
of my dear friend
Ernesto Che Guevara

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