200 Years (Every Praise)


“The average age of the world’s greatest civilizations has been 200 years. These nations have progressed through this sequence: From bondage to spiritual faith; From spiritual faith to great courage; From courage to liberty; From liberty to abundance; From abundance to selfishness; From selfishness to apathy; From apathy to dependence; From dependence back into bondage.”-Alexander Fraser Tytler

(Every Praise)

Now oh Judea before what rides, a strain of white lightning across the Galilee sky. G_D of all your mercy before you I rise in every praise.

200 years of lies and scorn, against the better reasons we all are born, how will we rise to greet the day from years of nightmare, of nuclear decay. 200 years of crazy thoughts, anarchist dreams of the fiddler’s knot, of that purgatory that knows no end, a socialist dream, a socialist sin. Where are you when black shirts come, to deliver your daughters to prosecute your sons. Know it now, know it true when they come for the weakest, they come for you. Oh believer, oh my heart, know thy love when all this starts. Know thy faith, honest true, what is forever starts in you. 200 years a circle starts, look toward the future is it dark? Clap your hands is it still dark?

If I had a telescope, in that saw real time, I would train it skyward and look for the shine. I would send it forward through present gloom, 200 years beyond our ruin. What would I see, what would I know? Would we be mortal, or demons without a soul? Would we still dance, or move around, would we have ego’s or would we be a part of a collective sound? For the want of an answer then I pray, for the need of a vision I turn my back on this day. For an open conversation I kneel and I say “YOU are my G_D”. For an open conversation I kneel and I say “YOU are my G_D”.

200 years of going before the storm, finding you in lightning in a different form. Finding you in weakness when I cannot see there you are in all that I believe. Night birds calling before the end of time, plague and persecution from what we thought was kind. Not an ideology or personal belief there you are. Going forward now from way back then. 200 years backwards and 200 till then, you are light eternal, the better of sin, you are every praise. Now oh Judea before what rides, a strain of white lightning across the Galilee sky. G_D of all your mercy before you I rise in every praise.

200 years of what we are. Bowing in our terror of what we see afar, every cloud, every thought, every praise. Oh, my creator of thought and psalm, oh my creator of thought and dream, bring me to you where I can see. Where I can see. Every praise of thought from inside of me, past present future to the ides that be. 200 years that goes beyond me, let light be. Every revolution before the dawn, sing hallelujah our inward song, oh my little children that our yet to be. Sing every praise. Sing every praise.

(Every Praise)

“I said it in the darkness, as the change flew under head. G_D is not changing, and neither is he dead.” – 08.17.20 – דָּנִיֵּאל

 

Sing (The Eternal)


Psalms 101: 1 – A Psalm of David. I will sing of mercy and justice unto thee, O Adonai, will I sing praises.  

And under Jacob’s ladder, and upon the eternal I will sing!

From the emptiness of a voided desert place, you bring those notes that most would think insane, and in my death of these old spirits, that which would bring me pain, I sing!  In Deuteronomy’s darkness, in requiting insanity, I sing, better when I lie naked with these things, still you say, unto me let your eternal soul sing!

You have summoned me from the Colorado, from Burlington to Cortez on shades of gray. I am born upon the plains, and everything around me sings, and so I sing. From the depths of my drunkenness I will sing, everything surrounding me can proclaim, yes it can proclaim! Everywhere around me in the prairie to the mountains fill it with your grace, Hashem, you are eternity, you are my madness, you are my light and in your universal confusion, oh ancient of days I sing. A plus and an equal has always been misplaced, for algebra, would teach us, that a proper equation would bring us the answer to all things. For you have subtracted me into the end of days, but still I will sing. For G_D of everything, you have raised me Damien high, to rise above the angels, the son of the morning star, above all darkness I am crossed in lightning, and by your will, oh Adonai I will sing. Death cannot stop me, I will sing. Bones all around me, still Elisha who sets my feast, says in languages so old, oh Daniel sing.  In El your countenance sings!

You have given me a highway that always follows north, to the snow, to the judgment of the long-forgotten kings. And when you gave me leave by your wavering northern lights lace, you instilled within me a rebellion, that says still sing. For you are my creator, not a ghost on a cross, or a savior filled with blood filled things. You are the wind of Pan upon my Hebrew wings, you are not textbook, you are the G_D of my everything. My everything!

So, you raise me like the phoenix, bless my troubles anyway, and I praise you for the trouble, I bring my magic down to sing. And when you raise me from the brokenness, my teeth gritted in pain, I will sing, for you are my everything. My commandment, you are the is, you are blessed beyond my jagged scars, I am your voice, you are my song my Hashem, I will sing. I will sing!

For G_D of everything, you have raised me Damien high, to rise above the angels, the son of the morning star, above all darkness I am crossed in lightning, and by your will, oh Adonai I will sing.

From the emptiness of a voided desert place, you bring those notes that most would think insane, and in my death of these old spirits, that which would bring me pain, I sing! Deuteronomy’s darkness, in requiting insanity, I sing, better when I lie naked with these things, still you say, unto me let your eternal soul sing!

And under Jacob’s ladder, and upon the eternal I will sing! – 07.02.2017 –  דָּנִיֵּאל

The Morning Sun (1989)


I thought about her, as I had thought about her so many years ago, up there upon the mountain, before summer where she strode, the morning sun!

She came over Burlington, over that plains township on she rode, and pointed beams like the crown of the French lady in the New York Harbor, there upon the Colorado plain she strode. And I stood there in my bare feet on the back porch of my keep, and on Mother’s Day I watched the sun tread heavy over all who still would sleep. It could be I thought about the world turning, each soul reaching for what would not make it weep, but no not me, not me. I rated this the best day, watching something this way come. A day star raging magic spinning, oh life, in age we are, how far in age we are! Adonai, my love Adonai!

A barren testimony, a fire that seals the heat, upon this morning riding, the virtue, the seeds of earth do reap. A G_D that rides a chariot, oh angels staggered leap, by count of six and two they come, summoned by this fervor fashioned so deep. Upon the South Fork River with waves that wait to hold spring’s tide, the morning retribution of something born in wayward skies, Adonai, my love Adonai! The snow it piles behind me, much higher than the earth, the rage of all the heavens, the judgement of all the earth. Upon Long’s Peak, a thunder, a sound in May it flows, face your cold for battle, for upon the western wind the sun flows, upon my sunken cheeks the light it glows.

A circled revolution, a night has come to end, upon the plains, their rides a ghost of springs heat, and winters end. A witch of convocation, a word of mornings din, and there and here before my life, a fire it comes within. Like David before his last rites, a younger olden whim, the rotating earth has brought the sun to begin. Adonai, my love Adonai!

I thought about her, as I had thought about her so many years ago, up there upon the mountain, before summer where she strode, the morning sun! – 05.15.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Justice


“For I know,

He would not encumber me,

He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother!”

The Hollies

Justice,

Passover is over, the journey self-begun, with whatever, the need my back can bear the sun. The gifts from someone, the borders for some, I am so blessed now, how can I not know you and not know someone, that looks like me. David’s inside me, Daniel too, I look in your eyes tortured, I see them both there too. And G_D’s not a menace, though it could seem that way, especially when your lonely, your physical body, no, maybe your soul, drowning in disarray. But look here, see these footprints, they seem to be mine, they have harbored death in curtains, but never made them a shrine. For here in this physical, this spirit made blood divine, I will carry you, in justice you will shine.

Justice,

The ark is a pyramid, built by a tribe, entombing lost glances of present purpose left behind. Addictions and lost thoughts, a happy hour too, but your built for displaying the light, apostle in you. it could be compassion, or justice in a strange flame, but when you look downwards, I’d asked you to explain. What purpose is living, when living is bad, when all you’ve been living in darkness is sad. Nay not it’s a gospel, say now it’s a creed, and justice in principle is what you can receive. And I am your brother, if your far or near, and we are together, as the end of time draws near. Not really a fatalist but something is near.

Justice,

Passover is over, the wilderness nigh, I hear changes calling, I must be strong.  I’ve my lost principalities, my stranger nights, looking toward the Jordan no water in sight. But then the  door has opened, our destination has moved in, and forward you and I in promise, we build justice, it’s carried, upon our sin. My promise as we walk, through fame through a flame, with lightning around, that dark cloud above the tabernacle, the sons and daughters of G_D’s name. I will carry you, as you carry me, in justice with all cuts and bruises, my name will be inscribed in you, as yours commits mine to the same.

Justice!

For my friend Sheila Lev-Rani – 04.18.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל

On the Morning of the 16th


From the summit:

“One could say a vision, one could say a plan, one could say a drunken place, where poets despair. One could call it anguish, a schizophrenic dream, maybe a last supper, some said it was easter, or so by date they claimed. I would call it truth, a Passover, a strength in words that maybe I shouldn’t share, but how can I not, for it is home, out of Egypt and at last home.”

You love me, you created me so, to spin what’s difficult in my soul, to crush the shame in all its despair, Adonai, my Adonai you have brought me home. The judgment, that self-judgment that, wants my name, it wants my freedom, all my breath, these things you will not allow it to have. My G_D I do not cry out, as some have done, for here above lightning, in thin air, you change me, you bring me home.

I rest like a homeless man against a skyward overpass. An afterthought of the world that has asked for payment past. The lines upon my forehead match the different paths I cast, and just like a long-lost dream, the angel comes at last in spells the angel comes a craft it comes, and takes me home. We climb through the years of life, some good and some with taste, the after bitter lingering it’s not too much to take. I look back through this journey, my power is lost in stress. And I see the gauntlet just ahead, no Jesus, just the light, and love is taking me home.

Their rest upon the spring flow, just on Deadman’s pass, looking down at Red Feather, the place where my daddy rest. Their breaks a sudden trouble, with wind and lights and all G_D’s ways, with music that makes the dead play, and brings me home.

A moment for a wayward child, turning questions, with thoughts gone wild, is this Easter Sunday, or just a game? A breath of air a simple sigh, a homeward journey, in linear skies, an April blessing shoots in colors across the Colorado sky. Just us here, a spirit claims, just us here now with no religious games, there is no easter, there is no pain, just you and Adonai. Just me and Adonai.

It could be g minor, in four time, a drum kit playing, maybe it’s all in G_Ds game, maybe a lack of oxygen so far up here above. My Adonai at last you have come. And here I rest and touch the timberline, the place of high thin air. A genuine place of lullaby, where witches and darkness, turn to bare, all that is not modest from worlds below, and open place where what is ancient, says this is your place.

And here at home above skyline, my soul is shared between loose lines, and what is heaven is his flame, burned beyond recognition, blessed be, in more than seventy-two names. I rest like a homeless man, against a skyward overpass, that holds my name, and there in my Adonai is home.

“One could say a vision, one could say a plan, one could say a drunken place, where poets despair. One could call it anguish, a schizophrenic dream, maybe a last supper, some said it was Easter, or so by date they claimed. I would call it truth, a Passover, a strength in words that maybe I shouldn’t share, but how can I not, for it is home, out of Egypt and at last home.” – 04.16.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל


The Cave


When your hiding underground, the rain can’t get you wet.

But do you think your righteousness could pay the interest on your debt?

I have my doubts about it. – Arcade Fire

I was young and I also aged, and spent my time surveying in a modern cave, while money was flowing all around, I spent my time underground. For seven by seven and seven years on I been searching these caverns of mystery till dawn. I’m no David with stars all around, except maybe those six points I think that I’ve found, the talking spirits of G_Ds underground, the ones that come out when your down. Immune from the dungeons that would frighten most so, not this explorer who followed his goals, led by fluorite, iridescent my soul, discoveries made without reading a scroll, the rumble of change is so near. Underground!

Such corridors of darkness, and rancor and gloom, hiding from somewhere to get somewhere soon, a circle still walking, hiding and damp, still all the mystery’s, the unpaid debt, a covers a cover when your enemy’s not around. Oh Adonai, can’t I stay underground. I stride to go deeper in mind here I go, still above me there’s chatter where life it still grows, the walls of these caverns shows mysteries of man, a sign of a doctrine, I need to understand. Underground!

It could be my faith wasn’t developed at all, or maybe the interest was what I saw on those cavern walls. It could be a stranger that passed in the night, when I was a boy sleeping oh so light, by destiny’s doorstep where magic lies, the Lord of compassion took me by different rites. He whispered such secrets, the cave knew such light, everything happened without much a fight. I was born to the tribe by the moon, Shekinah she showed me the way from the womb, Ma’arat HaMachpelah the immortals tomb, there I cried, in judgments eyes. And then I found my way out to the sun, to the sun. From underground! – 02.21.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל

The Primal Lord (Jakov’s Song)


And he said: ‘Let me go, for the day breaketh.’ And he said: ‘I will not let thee go, except thou bless me.’ Genesis 32:27

“I won’t let go”!

Here on Lookout Mountain, with Denver far below, it’s February, motionless month, still cold. Just enough winter left to break the soul’s seams, and I, which means the human me, don’t feel so bold. The silence from I-70 tells a story of the day, suspended in some strange glory, just like my hair, that wants to turn gray. I see stars rising, juxtaposed in bitter beams, they strike the whitewashed bones of William Cody, close to me where he lays. A scripture, a vision, some bloodletting, before I scream. If you in space created this mountain, all I ask is help me believe. A trace of action is all I’m thinking, a signal for you to find me.

“I won’t let go”!

Most would look for a redeemer to sooth. A fairy-tale prophet, that speaks to the good. A peaceful solution to hide all that’s bad. I take my shirt off, a sign of my cover, all that most would want, is less than you already gave me.

The Primal Lord can fly on down, join my battle, hold my ground. Give wild incantations in laws and letters that tell me why, and when that primeval light that’s dark spins eternal and turns to go. I will make you bless me, I will hold you still, you will be the primal energy, that knows how to fill. And when you finally find me, then the moon will stand forever, and then upon my fought for blessing I will kneel.

“I won’t let go”!

Here on Lookout Mountain, with roads and houses so far below, I stand in waiting, watching for a sign. When without warning, an utterance or sigh, my cold skin will feel something, a letter or a sign. I’ll look back out of habit, and see William Cody still has died. But when I turn there’s laughter, a ladder from the sky. The Primal Lord descending, his airborne wet clear eyes, and I will make you bless me, I will hold you still, you will be the primal energy that knows how to fill.

“I won’t let go”!

And when you finally find me, really, really find me. Then the moon will stand forever, and upon my fought for blessing I will kneel. – 02.07.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Tehillim (Hallelujah 150)

She was naked, maybe couldn’t see, the best of sinners, then she found want in need, Hallelujah! Tehillim takes her to a higher place, Hallelujah! He’s been drunk since the day he was born, lost desire to even fuck more, then he found want in need, Hallelujah! Tehillim takes him to a higher place, Hallelujah! And all and all we are the one’s broken so dark we bleed, yet unto Elohim, we cry redeemed, we find want in need, and we cry Hallelujah! Tehillim takes us to a higher place, and unto the light, the seal of David in grace, we cry Hallelujah!

It doesn’t begin in the knees or the heart when something leaves, something deeper, by instinct a start, and unto the heavens we dance and cry, upon the altars to the red dawn sky’s. And then we know when we are through, we lost our dreams our addictions too, and when we come to one last step, we cloth ourselves in Tehillim, and sing…

We sing and twist ourselves to that, a still of light all magnificent, that which drowns our human things, and mounts us like a naked soul beneath our spirit king, Hallelujah!

Testaments are for those so weak, those in bondage who prefer to seek, but unto sinners who have faced the night, nothings deeper than when you take hold of the knife, and sing Hallelujah! Then Tehillim is a promise fast, unto those who have lost the past, unto sinners who grab hold and meet their Hallelujah!

Now between you and me, and maybe a host of readers too, maybe in times when I bump into walls, my addictions take me down to a place I crawl. Could be a time or two I think, it would be better to die and then to sink, those little strange times, you have been there too, when faith seems cold, let me tell you it’s attitude. For all my laughter and my scars, my tears, in silence when I’ve lost my fear, all those places that I drown to swim, something happens in my Tehillim, it’s Hallelujah…its Hallelujah.

Adonai, I’ve summed it all, brought my broken pieces to a place of your call, sang that I was human, and then proclaimed it all, what I sing, the Tehillim of heaven’s darker wings, its Hallelujah.

For the Damaged-Hallelujah – 02.04.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל 

A Psalm of Haunting


*”Before the mountains were summoned, or the Ancient of Days had formed this earth, that even from everlasting to everlasting, even before you were formed, that tissue that breathes in the womb, even before your eyes were the color of dark amber, I knew you, and I made a psalm of haunting inside of you, for I am G_D”

A spirit wraps scenes, builds a life around me, takes me to the mountain than whispers see. It could be music, life upon a stanza, still the answer never wants to come to me. Shadows in living puzzles, wonder without breathing, haunting of the light, that knows not sun, nor does it freeze. It can’t be wonder, grace so unexpected, for it seems the expected has been told to me. Would it take me, cause me to see visions, know the place of G_D, the place of one? Can I touch it, psalm of the haunting, lyrical adventure beyond free? Syllables of lonely, well beyond the sunset, changes in the language, a different key. Face to face with tragic, joyful noise and magic, take the ghost of many, and fill my voided sea. And then I will know, what places I should go, inside, not as I would dare project, not introspection of the elect, just a haunting inside of me.

A love that pauses, in a sea of marvel, human oh I’m human, that seems all that’s wrong with me. Are there angels, tell me whirling spirit, are there daemons, that would do as I see? Are there verbs known, predicates of worship, points of the Magen that I haven’t seen? Can I touch it, psalm of the haunting, was it there in Meeker Meadow when a November moon placed hope beyond me? Dialects of wisdom, silence oh how silent, what forms of my knowledge how it fails me, now my Adonai, when you say simply, almost gently, turn around, and see the haunting. See!

A psalm of haunting, better than a knowledge of the tree of evil, or of life what that may be. In the stars around me, six points or whose counting, love of the light, that place of swimming in a timeless sea. Language of children, simple without asking. What is found is placed solely in front of what we always see. And it haunts us so, but in truth when were not told, that’s the space of time, a psalm of haunting makes us free. – 01.14.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

*Psalms 90:2, Jeremiah 5:1, Psalms 10:1

The Forgiveness מְחִילָה


Today is the day!

Together we come to seal the vault, hand in hand, a stroll through the desert to face the storm, and that sand that swirls and blows, lifeless shame that binds. It can no longer make us blind. The secret you see doesn’t matter, not the me or the you, for sorrow is not love, neither is loss or gain, for everything is in time, and all this stage belongs to G_D, and his compassion belongs to us. Who is a king, a rich woman, so beautiful and clean, a social justice warrior in Queens, a soldier of the Crips, when they have lost their future and rage? Where goes the deviant, the strong, the wise, and the tortured of ISIS, the new car we lust for, when emotion takes all, that has been stored. It could be when you think you’re seeking something, that something that is more, and you’re in the desert, your will so weak, your nothing, like you were, no more, you find forgiveness has come to your door.

Are you pagan, or brother, white witch that seeks a fire rite, Muslim, disciplined with pride? Do you cry for Jesus, striding in rose petals like a Sikh in the rain? Have you climbed great mountains, found your wilderness, is it your home? Are you cut deep, that tomb holding vampires that in your night, that eventide that last forever, rise from their cold, cold graves? It seems to me now, maybe we are not we at all, that what we learn to live without, makes us learn to live again. It could be when you think you’re seeking something, that something that is more, and you’re in the desert, your will so weak, your nothing, like you were, no more, you find forgiveness has come to your door.

Together we come to seal the vault, this spirit and I, and the desert has bloomed, the struggle for water, has never made me appreciate forgiveness more. And there is no longer you and I, joy or pride, there is missing a community of emotion, those shadows that contribute to uncertainty and a lack of grace. It could be when you think you’re seeking something, that something that is more, and you’re in the desert, your will so weak, your nothing, like you were, no more, you find forgiveness has come to your door. – 08.25.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל