Category Archives: poetry


Our use of language, words, and communication is a very spiritual affair. After all there is little material component to reality. As the physicists are noted for pointing out there really is no stuff at the bottom except fields, forces, and information. Material is so 19th century.

Michel Foucault tried to get us to consider that the practices that are most important for us, including the conversations and letters we share with each other are spiritual practices even as our poetry and prayer is. We have gotten rationality down pat in our computers. But consciousness and self consciousness, not yet. That doesn’t mean we won’t, but we don’t understand it well enough yet to program it. It may be in trying to program it that we begin to understand it better. Morality of whatever kind is for us a very spiritual exercise because its practice is the admission that there is meaning beyond the redness of tooth and claw.

How can poetry not be a spiritual affair. The modern materialists have done so much to make the precious banal. In an effort to keep God out, they have reduced themselves to plankton, all the while acting as if like gods they could banish their spiritual natures with a wave of their hand. (I don’t say “spiritual natures” like there’s a God-sized hole in us that can be filled only by following this or that rubric.) Our spiritual nature is consciousness and self consciousness, a mystery of magnificent scope.

I know Christianity and all the major religions have some take on the afterlife. But I side with Plato who says we shouldn’t be scared of it since we can know nothing about it. Even though in the mouth of Socrates he elaborated a marvelous tale of the afterlife, reincarnation, et al in the Phaedo he denied anything like knowledge about it.

Kant thought that without God, freedom, and immortality, morality couldn’t exist. I don’t know that, but as mysteries they are magnificent in scope. There is no easy answer to them, or categories we can put them in. The modern materialist would banish such language, but it persists, even if there is no resolution to debates about it. Looking for proofs for or against Kant’s foundational principles is a problem that can only be solved by taking a transcendental position (too high for mere humans.) That system in which freedom can be proven is larger than the system we live in. We can assert it. We can’t prove it. We also can’t prove that it doesn’t exist. It remains conditional in a philosophic sense, suspended without resolution, even though we act as though it does exist and hold each other accountable as if it exists.

I let the materialists have their say. It comforts them to eradicate the opposition. Hot air really.

howling winds

The winds howl
The storm rages furious
Torrents of rain shatter
fragile windows

The two men look to each
other as one’s house falls and
the other’s stands.
The wise on the rock
the fool on the sands.

The old man howls
The old woman screams
To see their long life end
With shattered dreams.

violet’s morning

on a cold winter’s morning
when the snow covers all we see
Like a holy blanket of white purity
So the word of God covers
All our earthly parts.

on a cold winter’s morning
when the sap freezes in the tree
the branches go to sleep, no responsibility
So the word of God freezes all
our wicked ways

on a cold winter’s morning
when the water freezes on the lake
all the anxious waves cease their endless quake
So the word of God calms our
fears and dries our tears

on a cold winter’s morning
when the sun rises in the sky
its only a symbol of the long summer fry
So the word of God promises
Life that we will soon grow

on a cold winter’s morning
there are still berries on the tree
a hungry animal will eat them gladly
So the word of God in us
will feed a hungry soul
with the hope of eternal life

Brian’s Morning

In the breaking of the day
The stars are put away
And the sun sends his rays through the clouds.

The flowers they bloom
And the earth makes room
For the shoots of grass rising to meet the dawn.

All the earth waits
And the sun anticipates
The meeting that is sure to come at dawn.

And I also wait
My life is an empty plate
For you to fill and feed my friends and I.

Once I understand
And find out who I am
I give my life determined on my cross.

You opened up my eyes
And made me realize
That in your death the sun begins to rise.

day 2

Unbelievable I wrenched myself
From the lassitude of the shelf…

Breaking into PHP for making room
Missionaries to tell their story.
Web design is like a loom
To weave together code avoiding worry.

Complex, but mechanics fail
To tell, fortunate the warp is within reach
Curiosity writes an unfinished tale
Not enough Kung Fu to leach
Reality from the breach
In my unfinished story.

day 1

I said to myself, “Self, you should write
A poem a day for thirty days,”
Since I’ve been enjoyed the flight
Of fancy in angst on Tumblr most always.

So here’s my try
For today’s poem I needn’t cry,
It seems to flow
No stirring of angst my brain to pry.