Vapours


“I am a lover without a lover. I am lovely and lonely and I belong deeply to myself”. – Warson Shire

Nay maybe it is something else, a trait of narcissistic crust, from one who gloats about one’s shame. That ascribes a greater tone to pain. Aghast the pleasure of the life that is feral, the difference that shocks, is hidden in your veins. Come out, come out, awake unto life, faint not at her kisses, it is not a vice. It is not a vice.

Consume, consume a fire of dark, a midnight black that swoons the heart, come cup, come up from salt tilled soil, a highway from the sin that coils. That dearth of time when all is gone the cutting starts, to feel at all. A stranger’s mask, not strange no more, from your own mirror, the ides do fall. For on to air, for on to sea, this road this path has no reprieve. For light has come and went by fast, obsessed with grief you let it pass. This is my all you sometimes cry, like a town crier whose tongue is tied. For ribbons black they fall all too fast, you bind your arm with them, as if to fast.

Reach in, reach out, no grasp is left, of where to drive no known by pass. Into the years of bitterness, where all is false remembrance. For death to you, is death as known, from day to day, it is known as home. To brood and spite for losses lost, to expect your soul is at a cost. To hide in shadows by gray walls, to say with no tears you gave it all. To just one person, just one cause, alas the wearisome of it all, be still thy eardrums, they hear not at all. A tiresome gloomy loss does call the hand so limp will not pick up at all.

I would but try to ask you to breathe, to feel the purpose of which you believe, but alas, you feign, the weight of it all. The body not willing the spirit does fall.

Drop gracefully then or drop not at all.

Nay maybe it is something else, a trait of narcissistic crust, from one who gloats about one’s shame. That ascribes a greater tone to pain. Aghast the pleasure of the life that is feral, the difference that shocks, is hidden in your veins. Come out, come out, awake unto life, faint not at her kisses, it is not a vice. It is not a vice. – 07.07.0218 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Dew of Light (Papercuts)


*”You as dead, you there, you will live, all my dead bodies shall rise up! Wake up, and sing and dance, you laying there so discouraged, laying in dust. You see your tears, those you forget to cry, or don’t know how to cry, those tears are as the dew of light in my eyes. And this earth my earth, all the earth, the earth everywhere, shall bring to life your shadows”.

Into the dawn, the fourth has come, the resolutions of past night are fading. Glory to some, party hats still on, a new year is dawned, already breaking. Some look to stars, fairy tale dark, a change of the season worth taking. One who would come, a new year is spun, an end of a night past years shaking. A grand rite for some, forward to the dawn, whatever the time, from party to rhyme, whatever the year, it’s all about cheer, it’s all about cheer.

Oh, but there those beggar’s stares, those low in the shadow, dank bleeding, those who have none, no new year has come, what trust in a sum, their hearts receding. Deep city streets, deeper than deep, no political smile is seeking. What trust do they take, for dead or forsake, one day after day whatever they find, a year at a time, one year at a time.

What would it be to utter free, a sound of the keep of freedom, a dew that is light, a new year to find, a trust for the ones who our bleeding. What wonder to be a new day to seek for each day a light worth reaping. Of strange joy, unblemished toys, a song in the soul of receiving. Those wounds that were deep, healing believed, a paper cut, done, now the new year has come, and oh look the dawn, the dew of light comes, a mother a father to some.

Into the dawn, the fourth has come, the resolutions of past night are fading. The beggar looks deep, the girl in the street, the past in retreat, some are singing. The paper cut heals, the trust that is real, the dew of the light is bathing. A new year in faces, a stronger belief, that each has a purpose, for what they receive, to live to potential, to move skyward on, a dew of the light, resurrection, a dew of the light, resurrection, a dew of the light, resurrection!

*”You as dead, you there, you will live, all my dead bodies shall rise up! Wake up, and sing and dance, you laying there so discouraged, laying in dust. You see your tears, those you forget to cry, or don’t know how to cry, those tears are as the dew of light in my eyes. And this earth my earth, all the earth, the earth everywhere, shall bring to life your shadows”.

– 01.04.2016 דָּנִיֵּאל
*Isaiah 26:19

Still Here (Rolling Thunder)


Still here, wounded from the light, as I should be, like rolling thunder divided by the lightning, yes that too as it should be, for I am light, I want you as light, joined with my light oh my, light as we all should be. Still here, light in rolling thunder.  Still here!

Light of the world, a spirit to us, time takes us, its toll, beyond the shattered scroll, that place where in our troubles, our graves roll. Pictures I once knew, shadows of reflections are they true?  They must be true.  Time that bastard time, the light makes us live through. Words and notes of clue, upon this life before us, captured in its all, a photograph of pain, reflect it all. I can steer this ship no more, for I, am like a naked sailor, my back bloody red, from all the lashes, those heat filled lashes.  Oh there you are, your star, it moves, with the ease of a shadow, in this gloom, I know, a fable or a truth from my “Book of Shadows” glows inside, light of the world, I come to hide, it’s me. Make me now a glowing Torah, round and round, the feathers falling, oh it’s now, a destined howling, light, oh light of the world. My sweet light!

Light of the world, like thunder rolling, dear you whisper, is this a dream, please let it not be.  Yet here we are the tide is folding, everything happens for want it seems. Sunsets come before the dawn, still it sends, a light, to even darkness, a child, here, I’m crying oh, Adonai, please find, something of the light deep inside, so far inside of me. For every thought that ever mattered, every dream that ever shattered, light the prism in dark matter, let it shine, my wound, let it be light. For here we are the two of us, oh my G_D maybe it’s just me, light from darkness unto all it cry’s, shatter all that’s dusk, my all, light of the world.

Light of the world, for now it’s darkness, deep to deep, it’s now upon us, and it’s fine, I know, yeah even though it’s just me. Though this rolling thunder on me glows, ah yes, it’s natural that I fear on all I find, here now, for light is a darkness that shows us how, to find, a clear morning on the other side.  Would you with me step over this great divide? Oh my friend pull all that troubles, light yourself inside deaths troubles, light tonight for tomorrow waits, be still here you’ll find, your light of the world.

Still here, wounded from the light, as I should be, like rolling thunder divided by the lightning, yes that too as it should be, for I am light, I want you as light, joined with my light oh my, light as we all should be. Still here, light in rolling thunder. Still Here! – 11.22.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Gamble on Olympus


I’ll gamble in the darkness with a beggar’s spoon, the guy who walks with bare feet, I’ll make a holy wager with a mother in grief, who watches her daughter die in relief. I’ll fly right to Olympus to talk to strange lords, the ones who do not have my belief. Bet my salvation on a whore’s back, the one who makes money to watch her son eat. All in all G_D I come to your door, humbled but not ashamed, I don’t seek forgiveness for what I can’t explain. I’ll risk my heart and soul upon the world, where crime and darkness wait, give unto the hatred that has no room, and in its lack of conscience forsake. All in all you’re the light that comes from love, and hearts torn in open grief. All in all the faith that gives from some lost spark, gamble on….I’ll stake my song, and there I’ll find release. There I’ll find relief.

I’ll venture all my souls upon a mystical womb, the world that brought me to see, that Adonai in beauty is a stubborn moon, that judges on what we refuse to see. For all of life is beauty not just what we receive, for our neighbor knows more than we would believe. I’ll gamble lying naked under spotlights that stare that all and all is what you want of me, want of we.

I do not need Jesus just to touch your face, to know of all you want of me, but it could be that my friend needs his cross and blame, to just believe. And all his pain just goes away, when he takes a gamble takes a leap of faith. Buddha is a light that crosses lines, and floats in many windows, many ways, in patience all inner self’s find light’s rays, and in that, they will not need. I’ll gamble we all, will never need.

A pestilence is balance from a darkened plan, a one that relies upon reality. Pain takes no illusion or solution of faith, for in it lies what we all see. But still my falling wounded friend, I’ll gamble on you, I think it’s all worth the light indeed. I’ll gamble on Olympus, for I see it inside, a faith that explodes, and makes me free, and G_D it’s what you want of me, want of we! – 08.11.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Blessings of the Writer (Psalm of Tiferet)


Poet, you chase me, contain me in a breeze. Creator, a story, that’s born in me to believe. Wonder, first footsteps, a child you must first feed. Chastened, by darkness, you lose your mortality. Listening, stirred inward, your desert takes its toll. Hear now of a fever, a story never told. Haunted, by a sonnet, of a ghost that thieved its soul. Spirit’s, drunken soldiers, the pleasure’s still untold. Firelight, in a canyon, a pen it scribes of love. Silent, before magic, the rum it finds my blood. Tattered by the critique, the one who cannot see, the blessing of the writer when lost in mystery.

I defined G-D casting lighting, felt summer when it’s cold, written of assurance, with demons in control. Old men that were Merlin, have written in my sleep. Valleys, retained by witches have sown the words I reap. Candles, in leafless forest have chased me with a rhyme. Daniel, you have dominion, Bel’s prince has summoned time. You helped me scribe the starlight, from high born desert nights. Etched my thought in shadows, and led me to the light. The ode of throne and sapphire, a dreamed that stopped my strife, the blessing of the writer, the sparks that changed my life.

Compose, now I a changeling, an alchemy not taught, a summoning of fusion, tainted by some thought. Write I, now the sound unmade, deficient of first light, reform it to its bed now made, and ask to have real sight. Honor me with writing that changes form and deed, give me striking wisdom that grows this tree of peace. Let delight seize me, and write down song in me. Constitute the psalm of sea, and let me sail away. Establish on my forehead and arm for time to be, the blessings of the writer, my familiar trapped in me. – דָּנִיֵּאל 04/16/2014