First Christmas


“Expectancy is the atmosphere for miracles”. – Edwin Louis Cole

I cannot shake the feeling of familiarity, even though each time you come around I feel new. A loving heart filled with specific clarity, of the special kind of person that I have in you. I would strike a deal of my eternal security; run the judgment gantlet a time or two. If G_D in all her wisdom and her mercy, would let me walk through a winter snow with you. The lore of love is all around us, between life’s mountains what a view. The universe in snow in Colorado, the quaking Aspen below a sky that is blue. The mighty storm of life that has blown at us. The change that comes, the change that must. The first Christmas I really see you, the first we bind to make it just.

There are many who would say that it was unspoken, signs between spirits not above. A deal made by a minion who knew better? A course of instigation of not what was. For all the times we thought we were not special, for all the dread our twosome stumbled through. In all of this pain and degradation, we were hibernating, waiting in a winter wonderland to become new. In a prayer, that we have no words for, in a language uttered from the stars above. Who’s to know but us what we are given, ties that bind that make us thus. The mighty storm of life that has blown at us. The change that comes the change that must. The first Christmas I really see you, the first we bind to make it just.

For we have not died alone, but together, while moving parts have changed above. The snow around us is a carol, sung immortal in our love. We alone have sampled heartache, as such in life our deeds have some. For how we remained as faire together, for how our destiny was done. One hand raised unto the heavens, the other tied within our love. Now we see the door opened, not a shadow do we bare, and what was once is now forgiven. As ghost and angels, hold our future in such a cold thin air. Within us both strikes a hallow, a white warmth from light’s guiding lair. We rise as one together, no need for ties that bind. The mighty storm of life that has blown at us. The change that comes the change that must. The first Christmas I really see you, the first we bind to make it just. – 12.20.2019 – דָּנִיֵּאל

For Susan.

 

Zuzan (Banrigh nan Witches)


“I myself have seen this woman draw the stars from the sky; she diverts the course of a fast-flowing river with her incantations; her voice makes the earth gape, it lures the spirits from the tombs, send the bones tumbling from the dying pyre. At her behest, the sad clouds scatter; at her behest, snow falls from a summer’s sky.” – Tibullus

In the act of prelude…

They burn her in the evening near the loch, an inward sea, hairless pilgrims from the Romans, who cannot abide what they cannot see. For they know not love of difference, nor the signs of transformation, so they burn her near the sunset, to set their superstitions free. Maple red it lights the skyway, like her skin in faire degrees, with the screams of a thousand angels as above and below deceived. For she is the heir of hierarchy, the share of all unseen. The voices of her sirens cry come forth thou, my craft it is aggrieved.

First act of the evening…

First I saw her in Lucy’s garden on a snowy Solstice Eve, with the air filled full of wonder, lights around her face and feet. She made me think of some wickedness the kind that is so grand, where you watch the pleasure of a lady, delivered by a softened hand. It seemed she did not notice me, where I was or what I am and it led me to a reason, that I was dreaming or a familiar, from an ancient tribe or clan. In the garden there were statues both alive and some were dead, and not alone some were speaking, and from those her mind seemed fed. And, she laughed in grand gaiety, and smiled her lips so bloody red, and she brought forth life from a cold stone woman, with a kiss upon her hand. Above the snow had stopped falling and shown bright north stars in those snowflakes stead. Not a sound from this garden except the laughter from her mouth, forming spells in passion noises, eagerness building all about.

I saw her look back shyly, her hand it waved my way, the brown ringlets from her brown hair fine, glistened as she swayed. Come with me sweet surveyor within my mind a voice. She led me to a crypt nearby from in it came a noise. She bent the handle without effort and with her hand, she waved, back through time, we entered through a doorway once her grave. The night sky seemed to follow, well before the dawn, down through magic passageways, from whence ghost travel from whence they come. Her body moved so lightly, as so as if to say, nothing has ever owned me, not ever without my say. For with this in mind I traveled from a present course, and arrived back in time so ancient she led me without force.

I came upon an altar in a sudden winters gloom, with ashes it still smoldered by a loch under a winters moon. The queen of all the witches turned to tell me of the ruins. Of all my crazed filled travels in dreams of rare displays. No nothing not of something had ever taken me this way. For it was her in this travel, that I learned of simple things, how the body burned for living, can never be decayed. In the simple act of hatred, in one act of just one play. The building of the sovereign spirit by craft can find its own way. For her story is the cosmos, her travel by air woven sleighs, and she has made her world in forest cathedrals, and there her book of shadows stays.

First, I saw her in Lucy’s garden on a snowy Solstice Eve.

For my Whitby Lady my very own, she who I followed through a garden – 12.23.2018 – דָנִיֵּאל

The Weight


Martina Mcateer – The Dear Weight of Love

“See your star how it shines.”

“Cause the weight on my shoulders ain’t no weight at all” – Gino Vannelli

You have always been there, weight against my weight, head upon my shoulder, purpose within me. And should you know me, know me at all, you should know I never thought our love any weight at all.

Not a lifeless purpose, not a burden to know, not a hidden meaning, rather now this here, this truth, this heft in me. This weight of something, I chose to take, not much of nothing, but everything.

The weight strikes me in chasms, the strength of it surprising, different from age, more savage than emotion, supernatural in a way. The weight is stronger than battle, blood flowing in the lazy river of the Stones, brother striking brother. That weight intense indeed. A wounded weight perhaps, still asked for, still asked for. Stronger am I, that I think until this weight, this force, wind and life flowing all around it, that which comes. Something wicked from childhood this way with wind does it come. Intricate, passionate with cold eyes does it come, still this weight is no weight at all.

When we were young, we asked for more, I swore that I would take what came through that door, that endless, endless find. It was a hand that took to hold, with weights of tears, and hidden tolls. A weight I said to no one there, for you were love, that greater share. For when its now, like yesterday, and questions are asked, can this me take. Still the weight, I wish to pull, that better half, that pulls and pulls. Upon this queen, this one I know, I know the energy my half of soul. Still morning star, that swims the sky, I lift the weight, I cannot break. Not I a hero, nor muscle man, I feel your heart within my hands. Oh, weight upon me, that touches life, you are the water, now behold I the tide. A thing we talk about with hidden words, in mirrored secrets, takes flight with birds. This weight of something, I chose to take, not much of nothing, but everything.

She’s a weight of secrets, a reign of time, a purpose spell, those dreams I seek, when there is no weight at all, for that I believe. For when prophets talk, and poets cry, they will tell our story, and they will say of my love for you, that it was never a weight at all.

[For my Susan whom is no weight at all.] – 10.30.2018 – דָנִיֵּאל

Angel Peak (Long Time 1977)

She whispers, not breathing, at least not so that I can see, she bathes there in the cover of red rocks just like when she was fifteen. She’s at the two o’clock marker in the shadow of the Angel peak, I’m sixteen or fifty-five now, not no more than yesterday’s dream. The sandstone, looks past petrified mummies, the badlands of the San Juan basin to the back of a wet brown hued lady. “It was “such a long time”, she sings, the pool of clay seems clear at her feet, just sparkling minerals, dropping diamonds of sun beneath her wings.

The world has stopped, moving, and the sun would still it’s shine. The triune strata of the Kirtland Shale, The San Jose Formation, and Nacimiento Formation, bending to catch the sound of her voice singing Boston to me.

“Funny there would be music here”, I think I say, and then I wish there was stars, for maybe under the seven stars, this would all be a different dream, not real, not her making me dare, to be what maybe I can’t perceive.

Her fingers like the canyon, they bend and keep moving, bringing, the raw colors of the world to me. “You’re coming back to find me”, her voice, teasing, the sage carpet of the ancient ocean bending to see what I see.

She whispers, not breathing, at least not so that I can see, “it’s just outside of your front door”, and the angels come down from the peak, and they play with her. And just like the mystery of the song in the Kutz Canyon, she continues to sing to me. “I’ve got to keep on chasing that dream, though I may never find it, I’m always just behind it”. And the angel’s just fifteen, but she’s older than the peak, for it seems the vaults of canyons seem to echo, what she repeats, for a long time, all my life for a long time.

She whispers, not breathing, at least not so that I can see…10.7.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל 

  • All rights to lyrics “Long Time” – Tom Schotz (Boston)

Virginia Dale (Soaked)

She stood at forty-nine, just a sprite on the ninth of May. Well she stood like a banshee a bride denied, before the moths flew about colder still near the Wyoming blue, on the Colorado side. Just a ghost watching cars go by. My Missus looks over, says” it seems a little colder”, meanwhile Bruno Mar’s sings about his oh so selfish ways. I look and see the church at the Dale, the witch she pleads stay with me. I’d like to tell you as you read, I’d like to paint a picture of what I see. For the ancients from the highlands on the other side, those silent that only speak after they have died. Say they come and know the spirit as their soaked, as their soaked.

We drove on for a minute or two, I turn to her, “did you see her too”? She looks away and cry’s, the tears are so hard to find, for there at Virginia Dale, lightning falls, and tears the vale, of rocks and wind and trees. The spirits ascend and so do we. And driving on to the Forks, 287, turns from the North, and all of a sudden we look and we see the far end of heaven the host of banshee’s, crying out, you will never leave, and I know. I’m soaked to the bone, I’m left in a flood, of the ghost I see. For there in Virginia Dale, in the bow of the highlands, where heaven does dwell. For some say heaven’s gate, most would say have you had more enough then you can take. I look to the Missus and say, can we forsake. Life and all its monetary dreams. Can we stay here where Cantor’s can’t sing, and no religion dwells. Especially that church we saw in the Dale. And hallows will ring, and through the thin air we will fly and be soaked.

She stood at forty-nine, a siren, rhyming, where mountains do climb, and just by Virginia Dale, she soaked my soul, and she left my mind to dwell. I look to the Missus and see, she’s lost in a dream, and what hurts, is I can’t tell her I see, it all too well. Were lost and Soaked in the dark rim of rock that surrounds Virginia Dale. Eternity left with stories to tell, eternity left with stories to tell. (Soaked).

MF …lost his wife in a car accident outside the Virginia Dale, Colorado Church on Highway 287, Friday, May 9, 2014. It was raining. He died from complications from the physical injuries he sustained from the automobile accident one week later. He claimed he saw and heard his missus, as he passed before his Rabbi’s eyes, and his final word was soaked. – 07.10.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Bro/ken (Hold My Heart)


When you break, when you wonder, in your soul, how to hold your heart, how to keep it from being two, not one you see, but two.

Oh my creator, my symphony of broken joy, you writing rune like syllables in this little boy, yep supernatural as the sun goes lights out, dark, so weird in this little boy, I imagine it’s been this way a time or two for all of you. It seems you would hold my heart until the conciliators wouldn’t talk, nobody listens, it seems you would hold my heart, and damn it, damn it I don’t understand, you would let it go too soon. Seems the sun wants to set too ruin, seems a broken heart wants to have sex with the new moon, that place where shadows whisper too soon. And yet you would say to me, go on be empty but make sure your swept free. To many houses inhabited, where daemons have room. For something wilds going to come along, a dangerous topics going to turn into a song, and when, oh when you turn around, something magic’s going to turn without a sound, and G-Ds going to hold your heart, some awesome lights going to hold your heart soon.

And yes, you’re going to hear it, syllables without a sound, your own heart of joy breaking, face it, it’s high noon, G-Ds listening, and somebodies going to hold your heart, and it will happen too soon, the question is what do you do?

Bring me shadows, call down me flames, let me go to lonely, someplace where all there is, human as it is, great deserts of room. And let me break, it seems the natural thing to do, for deep unto deep it calls, letting me being hurt, and I will watch my heart break itself in two. Oh my creator, my symphony of broken joy, are you listening, you said you would hold me, than hold my heart, will you keep it after dark, from breaking in two?  Please let me stay one, don’t want to break to two.

And yes, you’re going to hear it, syllables without a sound, your own heart of joy breaking, face it, it’s high noon, G-Ds listening, and somebodies going to hold your heart, and it will happen too soon, the question is what do you do?

When you break, when you wonder, in your soul, how to hold your heart, how to keep it from being two, not one you see, but two. – 03.01.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל


Hey James Dean


She said,

Hey James Dean, I’d dye my hair and wear those lace filled panties, and when the moon was over us, I’d kiss you, and I’d be panting. Hey James Dean, I’d drive real fast just to hear your slick, damn ranting, but still it’s true, when the excitements through, I’d be lost forever waxing. Hey James Dean, I’d be really bad, it’s the modern way of vamping, and hickeys too, that’s what I would do, but still nothing would not be happening. For good boy here, something dear, your heart so good, is something James never had, how sad, he never had.

She said,

Hey James Dean, I’d slip by mom, you’re not for prom or here after, but beware my dad, he’s not a guy like you, and he’d rather shoot you through. He’d sing the prison blue’s but say it’s worth the site of your dead painting. Hey James Dean, I’d screw you, that’s the way it’s supposed to be, a bad boy brings out the witch in me, but I’m sure that you don’t know, the boy over there without the glow, will hold my life, will take me to be his wife. And forever true, he’ll light my candle, never we’ll be through, oh bad boy, that fresh face, he’ll rock my night true. Yep that straight boy will make me true.

She said,

Hey James Dean, I’m a fallen queen, and life looks like you on an old Hollywood screen. Hey James Dean, I’m a girl it seems, so in love with you, but still you don’t love me too, it seems you don’t know how to. Hey James Dean on the silver screen, bad, bad boy in tight fitting jeans, I want to be with you, but there’s a boy whose common through and through. Loves me more than his image too. The only thing, that’s astray, when this boy looks at me and I can’t believe,

He said,

Hey Norma Jean…… -02.24.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Summer of 92 (Your Song)


We are nearing a time where promises come true, when I have the money, to make assurances come through, when rings and sparkles, and castles are built in the sky. Still it’s quiet simple, these many years past, I was richer so much richer when I said I love you.

I knew you five months when I asked you in song, in rhyme my head bent, I asked you so strong, a quiet little melody a quiet little song, will you please now marry me, I know we’ll last long. Oh words in wet summer, our beach and our sand, our quiet little Camelot where we dreamed we would stand, and babies and caravans of spices for good, we would be forever, just as we should. Oh Susan my mistress, my wife and my life, that summer I knew you would be all my life, and on we would journey our hands so entwined, my classic enchantment my spell in my life. For you there are gathered outside where I stand, a world and a future, the best in my plan. That Florida sweet sunset, the heat filled the sand, a strange horizon of mountains just ahead, we’d scale them like Everest, and climb them with tears, for real was our tragedies, so telling our fears. No life of illusion, no answers so clear.

But just as so promised, and so well planned, from here we hear music that song in our ears, your song, in the highland I’ll take you there when I can.

That September majic, I fashioned a song, of green eyes in summer and dreams of year long, and brought myself down from a height I’d placed there, to play you an overture of pleasure to bare, and there we stood then, as we do stand now. Two shadows forever, entwined with our vows. My knees felt so bruised from kneeling as a knight, for you my Guinevere, for you my wife.

I thought I a rich man, for what I had with you, for a poor man with love, knows better of what’s better then new. For in that moment when you said yes, I grew my life better, I made it with you.

We are nearing a time where promises come true, when I have the money, to make assurances come through, when rings and sparkles, and castles are built in the sky. Still it’s quiet simple, these many years past, I was richer so much richer when I said I love you. – 02.18.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Psalms 1:5 (Love Hurts)


“Therefore the wicked shall not stand in the judgement”

I’m walking, and thinking, well yes, hurting. Between us, I’ll tell you, I’m feeling a little judged. It’s like receiving punishment from a parent, and the parent says, “I do this out of love”. Easy for them to say. “Love Hurts”. The woods seem darker these days, swallowing sparrows, a dark Sheol surrounds life. “Love hurts”. You who have wisdom to hear, listen, you will know. It’s painful, to know sadness. It’s much more so to not! “Love hurts”.

The sad side makes me stronger, I’ve always thought it would, from deep dark pages of my mind, arises a joy from dark woods. Is my inner man a felon, without his civil rights? Could be I regret my choices, and I birth my favor to the night? Oh but look upon the history of my shadows, those without great sight, fallen places I dared to venture when I knew something wasn’t right. What is spirit if there is no guidance, what is soul if no pain, somewhere in that dark mystery, a symphony regains. Blessed be compassion for the sinner, Gloria to the joy of fallen man. Somewhere, on this settled road that’s murky, Adonai made me a man. Yep it was in the dark Sheol of reason, joy placed in me a plan.

And I say rise like the sand in a Mohave storm, take that joy from your darkness born, introduce yourself as a fallen man, and know G_D. Woman, take yourself to the hurricane, discover birthing spirit, and know it’s pain, believe in yourself that which was dead, take your joy from darkness, where in Sheol you bled. It is a much harder path that you take, but be glad.

I think it probably has been a question all my life, to watch a generation skip along, without strife. To watch so many people claim to be blessed, without confrontation or a financial mess. They seem to pass by without any pain, along the freeway of life their breath filled with gain. A place along life’s tide without incident, something that history, finds it cannot represent, there has never been such a time with glamour spent. But let me say this from my fallen place, blessed is the man who knows pain, Gloria to the joy of fallen man, there is no disgrace, no known explanation for the hurt who do not hide, and know grace.

And I say rise like the sand in a Mohave storm, take that joy from your darkness born, introduce yourself as a fallen man, and know G_D. Woman, take yourself to the hurricane, discover birthing spirit, and know it’s pain, believe in yourself that which was dead, take your joy from darkness, where in Sheol you bled. It is a much harder path that you take, but be glad.

I’m walking, and thinking, well yes, hurting. Between us, I’ll tell you, I’m feeling a little judged. It’s like receiving punishment from a parent, and the parent says, “I do this out of love”. Easy for them to say. “Love Hurts”. The woods seem darker these days, swallowing sparrows, a dark Sheol surrounds life. “Love hurts”. You who have wisdom to hear, listen, you will know. It’s painful, to know sadness. It’s much more so to not! “Love hurts”.

“Therefore the wicked shall not stand in the judgement” – 02.16.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Psalms 1:5

Heart (A Song for You)


It seems forever since I wrote you a rhyme, I know you’ve never asked me too but still I think it’s time, to let you know forever’s not moved beyond a promise, to let you feel the rhythm in my heart that’s just for you.

I want to be so careful with the words I have to say. Nothings more insincere than to play the part of play, the man who writes these fortunes, holds his world for you, it’s folded all together like a heart “A song for you”.

I heard that Augustus said to Livia just before he died, “Have I played the part well? Then applaud as I would die”. It seems such a misfortune, that Caesar would think so, that parts of love are just a play, an actor going solo. But oh my love just this stage, this life that we now live, a boy a man, I love to say, this is what I give. For you are all the darkness, the light when I see, you have been the map of seasons that charts the waves of seas. And I would not be Caesar, and say words of play, just before I died in treasure, having ruled the day. The man who writes these fortunes, holds his world for you, it’s folded all together like a heart “A song for you”.

I’ve spoken of some history, now I’ll speak of present day, may be look into the future if you think that would be okay. For now, this glass we look through, stares surely into high stars, charts the course of builders, to sail and fly so far. I feel my heart is ready, better than it’s ever been, to live the kind of promise, just like I said I would back when. To let you know I’m able, my promise ever real, this present or the future, to live what’s been fulfilled. And as I stand upon life’s stage my heart coming still, I’ll look into the face of love, and know these words are real. The man who writes these fortunes, holds his world for you, it’s folded all together like a heart “A song for you”.

For my wife Susan on Valentine’s Day, I love you. – 02.14.2016 – דָּנִיֵּאל