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

 

When on Red Mountain


“And Moses built an altar, and called the name of it Adonai-nissi.”-Exodus 17:15

Northern Colorado some twelve miles North of Fort Collins.

It was a natural altar, alluring in the July sun. Red and jagged against the blazing sky. A normal place to celebrate both life and grief. Mortality and immortality. A place to call the lightning, and watch her come.

O’ great lord of Red Mountain, I need a new perspective that is very clear, need your veins of metal and granite to breathe heavy in my ears. I need you to lift me higher, bend my back into the sky, let me feel the heat of summer, release the challenges of July.

I send a storm unto your heaven; your heaven sends the storm to me. Everywhere I feel dry lightning, grabbing inwardly. Whip lashing me. G_D you are the chair of energy creator of twisted me. One that is made of angry illusion, one built on quiet complexity. You have asked me to the mountain, now burn your inward soul in me. Let me not succumb here earthbound, like a wailing, shrieking need. O’ grandeur of this arid edifice that rises up to me. Let not scorpion and rattlesnake reside beneath my feet. For I am one with wind and place that taunts eternity. Do not I pray let me slip beneath this sandy sea.

O prayer that rides the summer skies beneath a sun drenched leak, a boomerang of sounds and syllables a want, a need, a creed. I strode this path to someone’s calling, was it you or a mental disease. To feel the touch of this “Red Mountain” when I cry “Adonai Nissi” When I cry “Adonai Nissi”.

O’ draught that is unquenchable here on your immortal brief, that I would always own this moment, and not its grief. That I would see you counting my compassions one by extra one. Touching my body with your kisses, under this “Red Mountain’s’ July sun, and its third week black moon, on once the night begun. O’ terror may you find me not bedeviled by this form, the one created here on creation the one that is often torn. For it is frame of just reflection, that you stilled in me. That you stilled in me.

O’ great lord of Red Mountain, I need a new perspective that is very clear, need your veins of metal and granite to breathe heavy in my ears. I need you to lift me higher, bend my back into the sky, let me feel the heat of summer, release the challenges of July. – 07.13.20 – דָּנִיֵּאל

The Unbelievable (Angel Vespers)


A million prayers I prayed to heaven, for myself upon bloody knees, in times of crisis when the skies turned dusk to red, falling sunset leaves. And in the time of lost battles when in self I turned to need, a million times the call of heaven returned no answer upon my pleas. A solo call I wrote in darkness, Dante’s smile scribed in my need, a tune, a soul, a shave of whisker, turn my cheek, a bit deceived. The unbelievable comes calling, the answer what I can’t receive, better now you pray for angels, your neighbor’s soul is now in grief. For there in times upon cold winters when your heart is warmed and fed. The cold eyes stare therein no fortune, vespers are for those in need, vespers are for those in need.

The unbelievable of asking, when the battle is your own, angel’s vespers are not lasting, turn the world, the selfish own. Compassion strikes the light in heartache, though it’s blind to what’s not owned, the pure of heart, of G-Ds own choosing, a million prayers answered from those unatoned. So now in silence stand I asking for those of others, for not my own, will you turn now, to all and answer, the unbelievable a world so cold. Will you turn now, to all and answer, the unbelievable a world so cold.

A million prayers spun unto heaven, upon Shabbat, for what’s not known, the unbelievable I’m asking, not for me, but those unknown. For this you turn in tides it’s given, angel’s vespers, they can’t believe, you turn an eye and it’s forgiven, the beggar’s heart for unbelief. A million prayers, I pray in the darkness, for myself on bloody knees, you give them back all unanswered, but for one, that’s not for me. The unbelievable is given, when it’s for this world in need, the angel’s vespers are written, when a prayer is for my neighbor in need. Bless you my holy righteous neighbor who is in need. – 12.19.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Cassey Blue (A Song I Once Knew)


Au Revoir is not goodbye, it could be a simple way we cry, and all this an adieu in blue, a song I once knew, my Cassey blue, my sweet, red white and blue. A world returns to haunt its own, I wish I knew where we belong, and what the words to say. It seems to rest upon a store of hate those with rituals innate, those who pound the hammer cold, and kill to make their god atone. I will not spend the text or time, I will not pretend the time is mine, but I will say bonjour to you, and yes I’ll pray too, a song I once knew, my Cassey blue.

Au Revoir is not goodbye, a span of tears in earths sweet tide, that reaches way beyond the terror vale, that knows the great divide. It seems sometimes that spirit knows why and takes away from G-Ds own sky, our own reasons to decide. I think right now a mother cry’s; a child does look for daddy’s eyes. It’s not for me to invade this pain to say it’s mine, narcissistic gain, to have others look at me, and say so good you feel for me, for all I have is not enough to understand what others had, is gone. Bonjour sweet Cassey blue, a song I once knew.  I hope there’s time to help you through, and when you close the door on pain, it would be your better when you say:

Au Revoir is not goodbye, even when the wormwood flies and sprays the color red across your Paris sky.

Au Revoir is not goodbye, for history bares, that circles fly, and bares repeat of spring will come, and light a darkened sun. But now, I beg sweet Cassey blue, a song I once knew, your flag sweet torn, red white and blue, it is enough to know the time, to know, the minutes going by, and some day when the field is sown, and someday swords will turn to stone, and then you’ll know why.

Au Revoir is not goodbye, sweet Cassey blue, sweet Cassey blue, a song I once knew. – 11.13.2015 –
דָּנִיֵּאל

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

Far end of the Black (Cherokee Park)


“Some whisper holy, holy, but they lie. Some cry rapture sweet Pontifex Maximus, but they do not know. I lay in the secret places, where the wolves eat their meat, and I wait for you to call Lord”*.

I came to Colorado, to the park of the Cherokee, to wild places, to see the light, the fading light, and there was black. Into heaven I rose, into lonely lands, on my own I found memories of some things, tragic spells that I lacked. And those places, so high and free, those dwellings of stone, those places that seemed so black, brought me back, so high they were my friend, and they brought me back. I am a soul who has come too closely to what is not right, and by virtue, what is right, and here in these high places, where there is black, there is light great light.

So close to Wyoming here, so close to G_D, and yet he hides, there among the sandstone, and conifer, the pinon and deep shadows. My frown turned into a debt, my childhood scars, no one knows about, those frights, and glass defenses shattered by life. I cast them into that pool of sand, and it turns into black, while demons dance all along my back, my white, white back. And ruins they come, throwing their stones everywhere around, and it seems they place themselves on the meadow where I might never find my way back. Holy, holy I cry, turning to see there in the wild place, the far end of the black, the stones form around me tight, a place I might find. A path to breath in light.

I came to Colorado, to the park of the Cherokee, to stop what was black, to resurrect a magic of right. You see my fears, have made the one of the world something, lost to my sight. And it was cold, frozen beyond anything, close to what I had ever been told it would be. And the wind blew from left to right, from left to right, for all that is known, he is not, for he is foreign, hidden in a sea of compassion and darkness, waiting at the far end of the black, in light.

And he called me Daniel in the park of the Cherokee, his dances were waves of light, I Am, I Am, he gave me with liquid rays, that touch, that kisses me, at the far end of the black, at the farthest end of the black!

“Some whisper holy, holy, but they lie. Some cry rapture sweet Pontifex Maximus, but they do not know. I lay in the secret places, where the wolves eat their meat, and I wait for you to call Lord”*. – 08.17.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

*The Chronicles of Mihai – Daniel Swearingen
* Far end of Black – J.R. Richards

Ruins


There oh Ruach fulfill in me, springtime of a destiny,

Rain in ruins, and what’s now green,

There my shadows build a hall of kings,

A hall of kings.

And Ruach fills my ruins with glory.

The train of his robe fills my shadows with glory.

Are we not candles in melancholy black, falling like ashes while no one looks back? Neurons in transit, a darkness of attack, ruins in corners hidden, a high so many lack. Falling like poets on a dusty road, writing to edges where nobody goes, and ruins and pieces, these parts that give back, oh those lonely byways, light that pain attracts. Have you built a cabin, one that leaks in rain, wood that is your story that celebrates your pain? Ruins on dusty highways, pictures looking back, an issue of our century, genius of our tack. Ruins, I’ve seen them bloody, shells of men in pain, and a glory of what’s hidden, in the writer’s rain. For when the brow is furrowed, worried, sights unseen, that ruin of all depression is where G-D’s light is seen.

Tested in great fury, scratches on your back, those who do not worry are those who should look back. For their sits an angel, dark temper in his sleeves, watching special failures, to see those who do not leave. When in all dark passion, when in charm you lack, G-D will kiss your blindness your ruins he will take back. For lonely is a fullness, shadow is a rite, unto you who do not see straight, is a way for light. Come now build your character in ruins that are unseen, gold in tested fire of anchors staid by kings. Ruins that call a people, where only ghost still sing, rising in your fortune, turn around and see.

Settle with the liar, those who hold you back, those who pretend that ruins are things that you lack. Go beyond the picture, those definitions seen, descriptions of your weakness, those teachers that cannot see. Delve into your darkness, pastels that turn to black, commandeer your shadows, your G-D he wants you back. It is now here in all Ruach, that breath that shakes the sun, your night that’s held you’re willing, and the light that brings you back. Your ruins they are spirit, a conscious of your past, a forward of your person fulfilled you should look back, your light is shadows past, your light is shadows past, your light is shadows past.

There oh Ruach fulfill in me, springtime of a destiny,

Rain in ruins, and what’s now green,

There my shadows build a hall of kings,

A hall of kings.

And Ruach fills my ruins with glory.

The train of his robe fills my shadows with glory.

Ruach – A Hebrew word meaning “wind” or “spirit“. In its prophetic form as Ruach HaKodesh it is derived from the Talmud equating Divine Inspiration (Ruach haKodesh), and a Divine Voice as the word used to refer to the Spirit of God, or Holy Spirit, in the Tanakh. For me Ruach that most holy of holy’s resides in the ruins of my soul. 07.16.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

SAND (The Promise)


Like a young man you go to the seashore looking for treasure in sand, so many articles of logical conclusion based on what’s been or what’s had. Some dreamers dream of sailing clear oceans, some opt to stand where they can. Come you with questions now to this table, like Solomon I’ll give you a hand. There it could be a chosen few people, lying their spirits in sand, look for the places lightning is striking, grab for the children you can. So it is, I’ll question you plenty, being a father that stands, so many weaknesses on your table, forget all your options you had. Two flaming arrows I shoot into you, implanting a seashore of sand.

Take your thoughts away, the ones that’s say this is just today, for these are paths you’ve made. Blessing a spirit now it is one, look to the sky, father, this sand is falling on you. This sand is falling on you.

This golden haired warrior she will change you, and outwardly challenge the status view of a world, she will be strong. Teaching all others, from other lands, building a home when they can’t stand, building their language, to help them say, love’s found a way. She will fly away, know that she takes your sand inside her sprinkling the world, as she soars to gray. Bringing the tears from sadness to joy when she sings, bless her always, when tidal waves roar, washing the sand, glimpses of light, a fathomable darkness will hear her pray, will hear her say, my father worships this way. His sand is inside me, fortunes and witches can play, and my father’s sand never goes away.

Take your thoughts away, the ones that’s say this is just today, for these are paths you’ve made. Blessing a spirit now it is two, look to the sky, father, this sand is falling on you. This sand is falling on you.

This ark of the soul, a brown eyed boy, will challenge the spirit until it’s made whole, and look to divisions from his own life, to multiply spirits and end their strife, when he cries. Your blessing resides deep inside, for every pure night since he was born a strike of the light in a world that is worn, he will pray. Angels will move time away. The sun will stand ready, the sand will blow, building a highway, where his spirit sows All of G-Ds kingdom will know, his father bending low, instilling sand in mixes to show, a purer glass to see through, where this wonder goes. For he goes to heal the way, and his father’s sand never goes away.

Like a young man you go to the seashore looking for treasure in sand, so many articles of logical conclusion based on what’s been or what’s had. Some dreamers dream of sailing clear oceans, some opt to stand where they can. Come you with questions now to this table, like Solomon I’ll give you a hand. There it could be a chosen few people, lying their spirits in sand, look for the places lightning is striking, grab for the children you can. So it is, I’ll question you plenty, being a father that stands, so many weaknesses on your table, forget all your options you had. Two flaming arrows I shoot into you, implanting a seashore of sand.

On this Father’s day I remember a lonely single man given a promise on a deserted stretch of beach in 1991. – 06.21.2015 –
דָּנִיֵּאל

HEART – Sand

Nederland (The Prayer)


Were in Nederland, the sun has started its track to the west side of Long’s peak, resting for a short time between Meeker and Long’s, giving a parting shot before the whole of the world becomes darkness. “Dad, I have to pray, its sundown”. “Now”? I look over at Ryan, his brown eyes wide, reflecting the high thin fading light, so far, so high. “It’s a commandment you know”, he’s grinning, but serious. “Well I guess if it’s a commandment then”, I’m grinning but serious. “Can I just drive while you pray”, I say. “Sure I think so, I think it will be okay this time”, he says. “Yeah it’s probably okay this time”.

“Perhaps you’re hidden in plain sight, in this shadow or in that light, that ours down on the trail of sky to Nederland. A molecule that parts our hair, from ancient days, in this thin air, your purpose sanctifies and cares our naked minds. If you are real or just as is, beyond knowledge of all we wish, we are here, from day to day anyway. Instant death is not surprise, longer life we ask from skies, but anyway, both are blessings that we pray. Perhaps you wish our gratitude, just like the area, the fire forsook, that place near Nederland, the other day. We think we wish and that’s an art, but what we ask for is so stark, of things to buy, not life sparks, and that’s a shame.

Perhaps right here in Nederland, a place you gifted, and I’m glad, for right here, I think I found my way today. Some visions start right out of time, but what I’ve seen starts in rhyme, this mountain vale, this mountain high, has scared my fear away. Perhaps you planned it from the start, designation of loves pure part, to raise me up, to strike my heart this day. You strike my heart this day.

Perhaps this wind in Nederland, that binds this car, as we descend, teaches us to never ever be afraid. Indigo, or reddish blue, we see you paint a higher hue, of spirits rushing and falling fast, as if to bade, us to be safe. We are scents from what you are, the very essence in this car, the smell of days of sunshine rays, where wonder plays. Perhaps were farther from the truth, but well okay, for when we look, you’re above us and behind in Nederland. A gift before us all our days. All our days.

Perhaps right here in Nederland, a place you gifted, and I’m glad, for right here, I think I found my way today. Some visions start right out of time, but what I’ve seen starts in rhyme, this mountain vale, this mountain high, has scared my fear away. Perhaps you planned it from the start, designation of loves pure part, to raise me up, to strike my heart this day. You strike my heart this day”.

It’s dark, the headlights from the car, pick up the glassy eyes of a coyote moving swiftly near a sharp curve in the road. “I wouldn’t mind living in Nederland”, I say looking quickly over at Ryan and then back at the mountain road. “How about you”, I ask? Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my son grinning when he replies, his hand held up to his heart, “I already do dad”, he says, “I already do”. 6-7-2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Seeth

Seeth is a place in mountain woods, when I was hungry I came and I stood, and there did I stand to see your face, and there did you beckon and glow. There did you seeth. A branch not a cup that came in place, and grafted my heart, I was afraid. For G-D claims his own in dignity, there is no need to run or flee, and when you reach higher than you can breathe, he makes your life larger, and gives you reprieve. And he seeth, oh he seeth.

I thought myself farther along that trail, in near a cave where a daemon dwelled. And it looked like a mirror a way of my youth, it reminded me of all that I took. I thought I must cut him out by the root, kill him and leave him there ever forsook. It was a surprise that G-D lifted me, and gave me the sight the eyes of dignity, and he said for at that moment it was he, that cave is part of your home, when you understand that, you won’t be alone oh always looking, at that moment you’ll be free. For seeth that which is you sometimes is wrong, sometimes it takes that, and mends your bone, and here in these woods come forward and see your way is my way in dignity.

So in those woods I climbed a tree, and reached for authority from heights, I sold myself to see, and then I was falling, the ground it came fast, oh speed from heaven like when Azrael my brother of old went past. I thought myself lost, just like him, groaning and lost, bound by a fawning my loud gratuitous thought. But then my arms reached for dignity, that clear decision that was born in me, from holy to holy, from sky to sea, flying above domain of wood and tree. From the midwife of spirit of mountain seed, I birthed my way forward beyond the trees and seeth rose into creativity, beyond all time to a frozen sea. Adonai, Adonai, are you here, in this blanket of freeze, do you hold several keys that will help me believe. In it all I am cold, and it’s so hard for me, said a rhyme from his lips, where’s your dignity. You are one in the wood, where light falls through trees, unified with your fear in a cave, where your heart thought deceit, climbed you high reached below, fell you fast; till you flew in your dignity. Now you stand on the edge of a vast cavernous sea, frozen here in my time for your great inner need.

Melt me, take rime from me, seeth me now in dignity, seeth me now in dignity. For I am a spirit, sometimes lost from thee, and my heart, it craves, like all that seeth, beyond and between to know you in my dignity.

Seeth is a place in mountain woods, when I was hungry I came and stood.

For it is not as man seeth: for man looketh on the outward appearance, but Adonai looks upon the heart. 1 Samuel 16:7 -04.07.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל