In the Early Morning

In the early morning,

                  between two worlds

battling over me

                  action or dream?

ideas flood in

                  bringing down the levy

a world submerged

                  in swimming ideas.

In these ideas

                  are a truth from beyond

manufactured by

                  whom or what?

Angel whispers or

                  God’s booming instructions

full of clues

                  yet un-deciphered.

In my mind

                  I am speaking,

holding council with Spirits

                   a board of trustees,

shepherds of decision.

                  myriads of choices,

people to love,

                  addictions to harness.

In the early morning

                  between two selves

Who dreams and simply does,

                          the wise council

evaporates in the light

                          of the sun, the day 

and leaves but a residue

                     in the wake of the flood.

Saint Francis Climbs a 14'er

 

Salvation! At 14,000 feet.

Grace floods in colors filling the thin, rich air.

God visited the earth, and it overflowed.

Creation! Look, there’s a river like an artery.

It fills the ice blue alpine lake

Where Elk take the Eucharist, and are regenerated.

Breathe your breath, on trees like brush strokes.

Reveal your face in billow clouds and contrails.

And in the distance there is El Diente, orange

And copper, like a sunset basilica.

I’ll keep climbing mountains!

Sweat is a blessing, slow scree-field steps

Attesting to glory, this pinnacle,

This sentinel of the ether.

Stand watch to thunderstorms that

Saturate the green valley, leaving rainbows

And promise, a Colorado covenant.

And below is the San Juan,

Crystal rapids cover purple stones,

Boulders jut forth and make eddies

A place to pause, a Sanctuary, where

I submerge, a mountain baptism,

Unsullied, mountain clean.

And night! There’s Hesperus

Alpha and Omega navigating the firmament

Charting its eastward course

Against stars like words in the good book

Writ glowing on the black and purple.

Campfire theology:

There’s Genesis, Proverbs, The Gospels.

There’s fire-eyed Revelations

And the new heaven and earth of dreams

Asleep under Venus’s flight.

Awake to coyotes, speaking in tongues.

Songs of haunting praises, urging the creeping

Pinks of morning from the east.

Awake to new blue revealing outlines of

Quaking aspens, shaking off the chill

Frozen breath and cowboy coffee

Warm whispers, and words

Written on my heart. 

Going Out West Again

Going Out West Again

J. Barbaree

Going out west again

gasoline and means to get me there

spirit cleansed and forgiven sins

lungs absorb the rarefied air.

                 

Big sky rounded like a bowl

expanding blue and wispy white,

resplendent light swallows me whole

as I drive straight into spectral night.

A long highway before my eyes

path bathed in halogen glow.

I follow the blazed, yellow lines

praying that they carry me home.

                 

Piloting the sturdy machine

onward, where the light last glowed

caffeine and cigarette dreams

carry me to late autumn snows.

Miles recede, ideas evolve

the road climbs on to higher thoughts

elevation mingled with resolve

lessons which the highway taught.

Arriving at my mountain home

just as first light begins

I look to where it is not yet dawn,

and know I will go west again.

For M

For M

We had a good run.

gritty, real

                  and plenty foolish

like when you drew on paper

a thousand laughing faces

a static hallucination

we tried to reel our minds in from

the primordial lake of cosmic thoughts.

and when we drank the music

dancing rituals to bellowing guitar

circling youth’s flame

worshipping life itself

and spilling red wine, rich blood,

from full vases.

We traveled over clouds

and continents to the darkest

night in Bahia, Bacchic devotions

on cobble-stone hills, learning the city’s

darkness and her shadows in our hearts.

We hid some things, too.

I, divided and lost, struck blind;

converted by lightning.

You, with anxious thought turning in on itself

a look inward, untaken

a change unhappened, swallowed by medicine.

You, the drunk

I, the ascetic

You, the celebrant

I, the repentant.

Each, sinners,

both missed the mark:

That spot of beauty.

That point of truth

like a distant light

miles away

and we run still.

Maybe lessons are learnt

once we’ve forgotten to learn

no longer feigning control

of our spiraling saunters

only to  find

not what is sought

but in the seeking,

that life is sacred

lived a million ways

all forgiven

all rejoicing.

We had a good run.

May your run continue

healthy and true

may your steps to the kingdom

unveil the simple mystery

the kingdom is within you.

And I Know

It is just another day

(How many such stories begin this way?)

slight fever, mighty tired

I‘ve nothing in me that will last

gonna get fed, go to bed

for the rest of the day I rest,

that’s the best that can come to pass.

In the subterranean station

waiting for the train delayed

I look up,

eyes rise with the vapors from my cup

and there you are

and the space between us warms

with your smile of recognition

and your approach

I swear, hemmed in by light.

I have only three stops to work this out

this mystery of corporeal light

that you do emit

that falls upon me in a grip

and my heart squeezes

a little bit tighter, even I both ill and tired

down in my depths, there sparks a fire.

We make plans later for coffee,

What medicine can this be?

the panacea called desire,

the fleeting prophesy of potentials

of something that may transpire!

Coffee time, I bring that

silly gift of leftover cheese cake

you think me odd and a bit of a cheapskate

You say, Wow! with your tongue in your cheek

My smooth operator was always a bit weak.

We talk books, we talk travel,

we talk dreams and defeat

We talk life

and our eyes meet

and the fire grows

Your hand touches

 mine

and I know.

I watch you board the bus,

in those jeans, (those legs!) and you turn and wave

in a way that says what words can’t say,

at least not on a very first date:

they say I could be yours.

I could be yours.

and I could be yours, too.

And I walk that familiar street

it is altogether a brand new place

feeling your silk electric fingers

hearing the tessitura of your voice

and seeing the indelible vision of your face

as your guard broke momentarily with a smile

the beauty of laughter colored just so with pretty pain

some shadows still remained, but there is a light

still lots of light, and it follows you still

and it lights my way home tonight.