The Boy in the Stiff Boots


I beg you take courage; the brave soul can mend even disaster.” — Catherine the Great

Being on the spectrum, is like walking in a stiff pair of boots. Your feet hurt, and you have no flexibility. Yet you can see above the heads of others because you stand taller. And that is where we both begin and end…

Upon a recent night I hear him say. “Oh Babylon, how your walls have fallen, how you have destroyed me, how these stiff boots cannot my feet contain.” And since I wonder at such his words, I move closer, for there is a haunting of the spirit, that preludes, the creation of G_D’s sweet grace. And such further I hear him phrase. “I am broken by your name, blessed be, my only shame, fill me with your flame. For it is I have seen such terrible things, my mind plays in such a grotesque game.”

He is born with stiff boots, a strength that is built on hurt, justified, by what the world has done to him, what he thinks G_D has done to him, what life has done to him, and yes what I have done to him. And he has become unconquerable, and strong, building a daemon so angry it possesses his given name. His beautiful name. And he stands so stiff and tall in his stiff boots. He curses the stars above Babylon because they never make him whole. He never fills full.

Please help the boy in the stiff boots is my claim, on the altar in your name. Bending low, patterns drawn in your image I say. Day after day, night after night let your sweet essence enter his human cage.

And how these many days I pray, and how I will bless your unmitigated names. She-ma Yisrael, Adonai eloheinu, Adonai echad, each night I claim.

She comes in the mystery of a falling rain, and before he is born, she fills his soul. She comes in a desert place before I even know his name and claims the payment for his change. And in the city of the dead, G_D comes to claim that which I even did not know. And while he screams, and the Mediterranean rolls, this lord, this Adonai comes and makes his eyes glow. The earth opens and takes his pain, in a holy flame. My baby boy, his eyes like mine, a hazel grain.

And how these many days I pray, and how I will bless your unmitigated names. She-ma Yisrael, Adonai eloheinu, Adonai echad, each night I claim.

She comes in my stiff boots of memory, in the archetype of my soul. She is all unto me, the mix that makes me whole. And just like he is unto me, every cell that makes a family sensory, we share the same. In your name. Oh, how I come to you, in your mystery, I thank you, while this world wanes. I know my son’s story, how you built him in all your glory before the world was named. And like him you made me, stiff boots made of chemistry, that which fills our brain. In that we walk from day to day. In that we walk from day to day. And that is where we both begin and end… – 06.17.2022 – דָּנִיֵּאל

 

Beyond Red Feather


“If you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance.” – Beryl Markham

His spirit came upon me on a fourth night last before, and he laid out all the burdens that I thought once solved once more. And I worried all about it, and I prayed to G-D above, but it was in his insistence and according to his word that I followed my dad the phantom, on into a different western world. Into a different western world.

I set my mind on answers and I lay them at false feet. The Ying and yang of could be, the Ying and yang of disarray. And I climb that lonely mountain. Just the one I climbed before. Oh, here I stand a mountain, on it rest a hollow core. For if there was an answer in every peak, I’ve climbed than surely, I would be a wise man or perhaps holy divine. But oh, this Ghost upon me. The churning of my mind. This answer for a reason. Time to move, nothings left to find. Nothings left that’s mine.

Red Feather, was my fortune in the fall of ninety-nine, and I built it to a temple. To a mystery within my mind. And it’s true my daddy lies there with his ashes that dirt binds cold this very day. It’s all a part of history, the kind the spirit moves with time away. Oh, Daddy why all the mountains, that you breath into my mind, when you whisper out of the cold gray “Lay, sweet lady lay.”

And all I want is wonder, that beckons to my word, changes me forever, frees me like a bird. Makes me to an angel, just the only kind, that flies beyond your mountain to something that won’t fade away. That won’t fade away.

For maybe it’s a treasure, or just an extra breathe, maybe I’m just naked while an eagle makes a nest. Could be I see Jesus, in the beer from the night before, or maybe there is a miracle, laid in my inner core. But somehow, I know there’s a sunrise exploding in the west, laid out like days turned windy with time and secrets to explore. For ghost you are now upon me, mapping my seconds to the day, and what tomorrow may find me. With a grace tracing lines upon my face. On a distant shore of mystery where new muses come to play. A miracle of the day. A miracle of the day.

His spirit came upon me on a fourth night last before, and he laid out all the burdens that I thought once solved once more. But this time it was different, so strange in a good way. A miracle as my daddy bowed his head to pray, and I moved away. I moved away. – 01.24.22 – דָנִיֵּאל

The Haunted Time


“If it’s not one thing, it’s your mother”. – Sigmund Freud

I have traversed time, flown across a great divide, hastened shadows of unknown kinds, to seek answers to questions in the haunted time. To find out why I dream of this house and you. To tear the curtain in the temple that keeps me blind. Mom I have come from the future in search of a find.

She is hidden in great darkness, a silhouette, no face, a gloom that attaches itself against my heart but not my soul or grace. A chill beyond that upstairs door, where no one can escape. A depression lost in crying on a toilet in disgrace. A something unpleasing, a matriarchal glaze, a father standing silent, chastened by her distaste. I climb the stairs in quietness, no expression on my face, the yellow carpet under me, knows I am out of place. I have come back now, called by your ghost of grasp and tow, trying to find the reasons why I was born and how. I have trapsed through time, my life shattered undefined, my heart lonelier than all past rhymes, to understand you. Another corner to the dream of tombs, the quickened of my heartbeat way too soon. For what if after all this time. I should find the answer was denied by that not known by you.

So suddenly now, with distant sounds of a lost heartache, I find you sitting in your own mistake, not knowing what to do. “Jesus must have come, and it’s too late”, I hear you wail, as tears of sorrow run down your face, I find myself transfixed by a bathroom door. Outside the wind shapes a different landscape, but you do not notice in your forsake, self-induced depression what are you crying for. The ghost of time in me, that child that lives in dread not seen, wants to please, not know you in that inward terror that you believe. I see you and me, worst of all I see what could be, what was selfish not given in those years. And I want to leave, transfer myself to a current age, but for just a moment I stand still caged.

The whisper near, drawn from a better sphere, known as good to some, known to me. The small still voice capturing time and belief, entering life and seed entering me. Something more than words has brought me here, back in time to understand my mother’s fears. For here in this haunted time, forever forward in ties that bind, I will love her and me. It is enough to set me free.

I have traversed time, flown across a great divide, hastened shadows of unknown kinds, to seek answers to questions in the haunted time. To find out why I dream of this house and you. To tear the curtain in the temple that keeps me blind. Mom I have come from the future in search of a find. – 10.13.21 – דָּנִיֵּאל

The Precious


Kaitlyn Swearingen

“The most precious on this earth is Love” – Lavinia Valeriana

“You are my “Peter Pan” she said, her bright blue eyes dancing reflecting the bright full moon that cast it’s magical beams through her bedroom window. “What are you then, “squirt”, I asked her trying to look as serious as possible. “I am your precious”, she said, her blue eyes turning into stars and planets and becoming a universe all-consuming.

In a world where time stood still, when all memory had gone to sleep. All our secrets held our hope, spinning circles, jumping rope. To the moon, you would cry with the fiercest look that made me smile. Such is this, and such is that, you drew the pictures, of our compact. Beyond two stars, second from right, magic perfected, when we took flight. In dimensions did we ride, upon the words of which we spoke, incantations so inspired by a story or a joke. Came we to another land in a box made for a boat, rowing water with our hands, until our laughter finally broke. Tis the season, which I fly, fight the witch was your reply. Make me precious throughout the land; I said I will for I am The Pan. Be they ghouls or evil cares, I will fight them upon a dare. Be my precious, my princess lord, as she knights me with a cardboard sword. Be my precious for all the years, never let this magic disappear.

So it went from night to night, when the dusk turned to moonlight. For the full moon went nowhere, stayed it steady within our lair. How full enchantment can make you grow, when your own seed has turned to gold. In a minute of childhood find, immortality in your mind. Not an interest or a care, when the moon is in your eye, throwing caution to the wind with my precious by my side. Thinking time will never end, thinking this time will never die.

Now the day came when time appeared, second hands from everywhere and on my scalp appeared a gray, and my precious went away. Such was this, and such was that, fading pictures of our compact. Still at times upon the phone, when I hear her voice so clear, just a bright note in atmosphere. How it takes me to a time, never ending how sublime. Moves me beyond two stars so near, second from the right, this way my dear. Succumbs me to a different land, knights me as “The Pan”. From the cradle to the grave how my precious saved the day. From the cradle to Neverland, full of wonder through times of sand, through the veil hand in hand. Through the veil hand in hand.

“You are my “Peter Pan” she said, her bright blue eyes dancing reflecting the bright full moon that cast it’s magical beams through her bedroom window. “What are you then, “squirt”, I asked her trying to look as serious as possible. “I am your precious”, she said, her blue eyes turning into stars and planets and becoming a universe all-consuming.

For my own immortal precious Kaitlyn. -04.02.21 – דָנִיֵּאל

Victoria


” Sing your death song and die like a hero going home”. – Tecumseh

If I should claim how great thou art, my lady. With thy pale dress, and thy white face. Moving G-d like before me while angels wait.

In and out of minutes, heartbeats slowing, I see her dancing upon a dawn filled sea. Planting footsteps that are visible to only those who would see. And it seems that she would kiss me nicely. And it seems she would fly with me. For she is of the beginning. The beginning of my eternity.

If I should hear her if I should go to play. If my shoes should not fit and stay unlaid. If voices should become a second place. On a present morning before the sun has thought to raise. If change should happen, music and light replace my pleasant grace. If G_D should find me willing to ride the wind on her beckon of faith. My heart broken, my breath that can longer taste. My taste for earth fainter than my fading face. Oh, then Victoria I will ascend in numbers across this water so chaste. While there are seconds moving, time that I no longer make, my soul moving, into spirit beyond the tides that break.

If moving morning shadows should bring me angels. If their high notes should barriers break. If I should find myself willing, to touch her face. A distant journey, now a present place. No longer a question, indecision, or an unintelligible race. If I should no longer suffer, descend to a stoic held together by man’s science or medical case. Know that I am moving upon that water, my eyes wider, no terror left to shake. If I should claim how great thou art, my lady. With thy pale dress, and thy white face moving G-d like before me while angels wait. In death I trip, but so quickly I reach and touch your blessed lace. That which makes you in me. That which you let me take.

If I should walk in mystery, into thy ark with such an airless ease. If their would-be Seraphim that fold their wings when I, upon my journey make. Touching syllables, that only immortals make, crying holy, while she dances for me. If I am growing lighter, closer than, closer than my G_D to thee. For here there would be no lessor freedoms than what she has made in me. If she would make an equation, a variable to a prophesy, it would be that I am with Victoria, for in Victoria I have come to be.

If I should claim how great thou art, my lady. With thy pale dress, and thy white face moving G-d like before me.

Jovine DeMarcus’s daughter carries his thoughts and blood deep within her. I am married to her. Jovine taught me how to pull wire, hammer a nail, and put together the most intricate electrical wiring equations. I taught him about the mountains. He wanted me to call him dad and I fought it. I fight it no longer. Jovine went to his Victoria, his woman of the water and mountain on December 23rd, 2020 at 4:15 AM in the morning. Sweet travels Dad. Sweet travels. Miss you much more than I ever thought I would. 12.31.20- דָּנִיֵּאל

 

When Daddy Came Through


“Protect your spirit, because you are in the place where spirits get eaten”. – John Trudell

You have been gone awhile now Daddy, sailing upon some unseen sea, you’ve left me here without an answer to what it means to not know you, and what it’s like to live inside me. There are clocks here Daddy counting seconds in quarter second time. They have second hands, painting specters just beyond reaches of my mind. And I wonder if you would visit, come before the summer moon, just to where I might see you, even if before death is a bit too soon. For I would like to hear you question, where I am going to, and be so kind as to answer, if I’m okay and doing fine. For it is I have been a Daddy, been a Daddy on my own, and my spirit is depleted without your help to carry on. For this world it eats my spirit, and I feel as if I am bound, and I need to know your present, need to know your still around.

I miss you Daddy!

He comes before the sunrise, in a soon begotten dream, a glowing set of spectacles on a broken thread in a rip from another world’s seam. His clothes they flow around him, and he looks to be about thirty-three, and he is speaking many languages, speaking them all just to me. For he comes not as nuance, or shiny haunt to be believed. He comes to make a difference, as my daddy, as my daddy.

On a plane of moving objects, through the symbols of earth, fire and bone, comes the man, I thought forgotten, looking round him as if he is home. At first, I think myself terrified, then I move myself to cry, then his cold hands lift me to him, and I see his sky-blue eyes. And they are deeper than the eons of space divided by the PI, they are many worlds spinning giving answers to the why.

And he says there are many pathways to the world in which I seek, but I better watch my spirit, for there are many who only seek. And he says they come to kill that which they never could create. And he says the world is burning, but some love can still be found. And he says keep to the places least expected, for what is expected has been around. And he says to believe in karma, and the settling of old dreams, for what comes around is healthier, if we have given better things. And he says if one door gets closed, wait awhile to open more, for what try’s the spirit might just try it a little bit more. And he ends it all by saying as a Daddy I am doing fine, and never ever question, when I do my best to try.

It seems there were so many things said as the sun moved to fill the sky, and I wished that we could just stay placed my daddy and I. But I felt him whisper in cold breath, I must not, I cannot, but it is never goodbye. Maybe I will see him again on his birthday in July. Maybe I will see him again on his birthday in July. – 06.21.2020 – דָּנִיֵּאל

The Covenant (Safe and Sound)


The angel entered covered up as all bad angels do. Disjointed thoughts in spider webs, so no one understood. Came he swiftly in the form of rapid movements and times, carrying life’s nothing’s, rhythms or what should really rhyme. Came he all of confusion, bringing violence in his name, possessed he the soul of the innocent to destroy and to maim. Oh, my son you are the victim of a cruel unusual joke, played upon your gentle feelings, your mind gone when you awoke. Came the fire of rapid synapses, over running neurons spokes, and your defenses fell a writhing, when the demon in pictures spoke. Showed upon the canvas of the inner child in you. A world that is burning, dragons, while reality spins from view. Human beings pulled apart, while monsters call your name, faster spinning thoughts they come, while the doctors diagnose blame.

Oh, my precious son, I’m helpless to mend your screams and cries, even Adonai, has left me, left me only here dried eyed. I look into your mother’s eyes as she holds you in your pain, the resolution repeated loud in safe there is a way. We repeat it through the path of broken thoughts and nightmare weaves. We keep you in our arms at night as the fear refuses to leave. The motion of a moving shadow seems to bring such terror, such cold. G_D my G_D you are so quiet, have you gone away, all we hear are platitudes from Facebook people who play their silly games. I thought by now, you’d come on down in roaring promised rage, delete the noun of madness sounds, and help us face this day.

Well my son, my precious son, the promise seems delayed, another day in Hade’s tomb, while madness has her way. Nothing really matters now, for what is lost was never found, we reach the place of no sound, but whispers we have to say, “safe and sound”, our love, “safe and sound”, today.

A dawn it comes as November’s sun, and your mother’s eyes look my way, the tears they pour like a river draining from a storm-filled lake. Somewhere in this broken house, within this finite place, a power of one is seeking how; in truth, we find the way. Safe and sound is the gift now found, from what we cannot pray. In this moment, quietness comes, and in the silence plays, oh my son, my precious son, you are okay. Above me whispers a voice, I am the same, in all silence, I am the same, safe and sound still here today! Still here today!

The angel took a quieter exit, covered, as all bad angels do! – 11.12.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל

For My beautiful son who fulfills the covenant!

Our Image

All rights to art Dawid Planeta

“Let us make man in our image” – Genesis 1:26

Who are you?

I stand inside the seal, defiance rising from the ground, and I ask the question, I inquire my wrist bare, and yes unbound. Who are you, that brings me here, your barren womb, no answer clear. Who is our, and is she nice, does she protect me with her soft touch, is her whisper in my prayers all night? Where is this, you’ve brought me too, oh man, this man, I feel a fool. And is this love oh G_D of prey, that pecks and pulls my faith away. Who are you, I stand inside, this seal, of salt, mixed so quiet. The dark, so dark, a new mooned night, my Judas goat sent to find that angel of light. I stand inside the seal, to your, or our, I ask what’s right.

Who is this our, where is this us? The theologians have disappeared into a worm filled dust, baiting each other with bitter scorn, of crosses and cycles, and vegetarian scorn. I stand inside the seal still tough. With bluster bellowed, in defiant trust. Is wisdom patient, is love kind, the balance to the question is hidden in the find. Cold so cold. Inside the seal, this father, this beggar stands shimmering steel. I will not deal, no Adonai I will not deal!

A simple lesser question as I stand inside the seal, do I dare let “our” holiness, try and make a deal. It could be just this mystery, that makes me have to kneel, but how many is one of you, and which one of you is real? As I edge a little closer, as a fool is known to do, I see plurality in your likeness is it in my likeness too. Then the universe in spinning and the lights are growing dim, and with a sudden movement, there’s a mirror, and a face that looks to be my twin.

“You’re the man of all our images, the creature of our heart, whisper’s muses to my consciousness, flowing sparks upon my heart. You’re the prey that pecks at heaven, and pulls, thunder from its perch, you are the spirit of our likeness, made manifest on earth. Who are you?

She dances in my lineage, when he laughs he crafts my heart, wonder children of the womb and flame, born love unto our hearts, when I look into their glowing eyes, I see no answer clear, just the images of paradigm, of what’s been always here!

Who are you? – 09.25.2017

For Susan who gave me the idea! – 09.25.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Twenty-Three


Bare it now, bare all things, in the trouble that life brings, come on down, come on down, at twenty-three let spirit drown. Not in pain, or numbing fame, in glossy pictures from cultural stain. Turn around, turn around, reflections they are a game. Ghost they dance, on full display, in the mountains, in the night of the desolate desert where I knew not to play. Be it now, be a queen, for nothing ever love’s you like the word’s, the syllables and sounds that come from a king. Understand it at once, do not wait, for life is to short, and that which has no name, cannot contain, for you Kaitlyn it will not wait, at twenty-three without sound it cannot be explained. Love it now, that seed, I’m in you, better than faith, easier to say. For what swam forth found its way, in love oh how it came, and it became you, while feelings sang, biology made my love you.

Be the firebird, be the rain, make a choice, at twenty-three, choose an unreturnable way, I know right now that sounds insane. Be the warrior, that G_D loves to blame, for nothing at all but that, will last forever. Say hello, sweet hello, an echo in the value of accurate love forever. Raise the goddess, fly the change, human instance, born where those without soul, can never play. Wear it now, be it yourself, while the love of a burning G_D changes your shadow forever.

Past away, I’m past away, at fifty-six I’m aged forever. At twenty-three, your bound, with nothing seen and it does not matter. Drowning now encased in Daemons, now without notice a risen frailty, a man that G_D loves, your father is not so clever. It binds you now, without fear, everything has changed, and all that is me, is you, in endeavor, my familiar encased in love in you forever. When I am gone, I’m never gone, for my footstep is in your heart, and with it my love is you, forever. My love is you forever!

For my daughter Kaitlyn who turns Twenty-three upon this day, my seed, of my love for her, nothing will ever change. Love exists! – 08-12-2017 – Dad (דָּנִיֵּאל)

West of Denver


Underneath, ground, choking, I’m not sure what happens if I udder a sound. For surely it is, for surely, it could be, that any key that touches my ear, says you are down, oh yeah, it says you’re down! I’m fifty-six years, of sightseeing, things a human shouldn’t see, all the strangers in heaven say they are relying on me. I’m here on Kiowa Peak, west of Denver, you SOB’s can come on up for me, for I’m homecoming, not less a stranger in an alien land. I’m a lost father taking a different stand, but still I’m homecoming.

And I looked down upon the heavens, looked down upon the trees, a father lost in something, so heavy. Here I am above timberline, west of Denver and only G_D can help me see.

Daddy was autistic, a wonderful sort of man, I see things too, keys in music, I’m better than Billy Joel, a phantasmal piano man. I’m further west of Eden, beyond Steinbeck’s, “Red Pony” brand, a prophet in America, like my daddy said on a “Father’s Day” I will rise, and I will head for homecoming, west of Denver, I’ll be the best man, my kids ever met, up here were nothing that’s evil, can get to me.  Open your arms, Orion, I’m homecoming.

Up here above America, the universe in June is still found crisp. The place I have found within my soul, is neither dead, but it’s alive with a kiss, and it says this is the place you must find your life, that visitor, you have hated your entire damn life. That place in fire, golden flames where the Colorado sky meets the devils eye, on high, west of Denver, homecoming. I see the ridge now, ruby red, a sun setting, on the edge of a lineage gift.

And I looked down upon the heavens, looked down upon the trees, a father lost in something, so heavy. Here I am above timberline, west of Denver and only G_D can help me see.

Underneath, ground, choking, I’m not sure what happens if I udder a sound. But you know, as a father, as once I was a son, here west of Denver, I’m homecoming! – 06.18.2017 – דָּנִיֵּאל