Desert

Conceived to dust! the fleet angel yells,
you buried my trust in a hand-written sonnet
Eastern promises mild enough to keep me wandering,
yet left me dry,
lapping at the river of dilapidated structures you called home

Print by Hiroshi Hamaya Snow Land

FE. MDLXVIII. / Expression of Being

The great hunter adorned in cherry cloak,
now retired from a beguiled persona

Humanity shown on his breastplate as if time were not aware,
of the fleeting density of his own life

Yet man is beguiled himself if he were to believe,
his lot in life was more than what lay beneath manipulated metal

OH, the lavishing few who had built their house on a pew,
orchestrated sequins of petty dainties called self-expression

The town of drunkards somehow more chivalrous than he,
for what does a man sacrifice to ignore his mortality if not dignity

Paint by Lucas Van Valckenborch The Tower of Babel

Ecce Homō

Peering through the masses clad in flesh and wine the seeking young men forged paths among those who cursed the day. Pillars of salt perched among those who had not yet feared the wrath of temporality. He who had purged his heart of tenderness. Red, deep blue, ivory, and glistening black. Blissful peace exhumed from the dust bellow of his name. Crowds of drunkards and wives chant for the king of scorn. Wisdom-boy stood on his toes to witness the feast of humanity laid at his feet. The dutiful few who will allot his salvation at the gallows. Among them the unconcerned, the unaware, and the unamused.

ecce homō

paint by Brunswick Monogrammist Ecce Homō

-‘ Somber

oh forgive me in time

for

your

matrona son is still teething on blessings,

forgotten cracked ceilings of the church where I prayed for my health

–  –  –

– , Netherlandish Execution / Nikódimos

The gulch of the gods who had once painted time
Now settle in dust to abstain from the climb

The glory of man left in pious refrain
Sincerity won in the god he had slain

The robin sewn sackcloth turned grey from his youth
‘Neath the bark of his zeal lays the onus to truth

Oh, God of our fathers, I’m playing the part
yet seeking for something as great as thou art

Paint by Pieter Bruegel the Younger The Procession to Calvary

The Lyric of a Shared Winter

The weary traveler wrote for a grey knitted coat that she wore one day
She made her home in the snow and for the winter she wrote for the warmth of May

The romantics of life yet burdened by strife, that which made her shy
In an old red cafe she left the thoughts of that day in her painted sky

Oh, for all she knew was once in the center,
The strength of her heart in the cold of the weather as he leaves

Yet the stricken old pine he had known for a time, hadn’t felt the same
He was a man of belief, of romanticized grief with a fragile frame

In a shadow he saw his refracting bourgeois of a tepid flame
In a corner he saw his Westerners flaw when she said his name

Oh, for all he knew was once in the center,
His feeble words that said ‘bye forever’ cannot stay

Paint by Pieter Bruegel the Elder The Hunters in the Snow