How the World Really Ended

The devil turned in his fork,
The lake of fire had gone cold,
Said he'd retire up to Maine
'Cause he's just too damn old.
It's a losin' proposition
When everything is said,
Hell never made no profit,
There's too much overhead.

Jesus looked it over,
Thought He might renovate
But runnin' all the numbers
Declared it was too late.
A millennium of rebuildin'
While standin' your head --
It made more sense in the long run
Just to raise the dead. 

So everything came crashin' down
But not the way we thought,
As usual in these cases,
The market over-bought.
We expected flames of fire
And moon-obscurin' smoke --
We got no salt for breakfast
And a book of knock-knock jokes.

We was prepared for the Apocalypse
But it didn't go that way.
The sun came up like always
It was just another day. 
We looked for hordes of aliens
Pourin' from the heavenly hosts.
We got empty parking lots
and all of us are ghosts. 

This is the way the world ends
It ain't altogether bad
Just mostly anticlimax,
Slow, and kinda sad.
A lukewarm way of endin'
A lukewarm world it seems,
A softboiled awakening
To a gray and foggy dream.

Good Gifts

If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. -- John 15:7

Often prayer can seem a hope dim,
Relegated to last resorts,
Knowing God, if He might be real,
Could never feel my human fear.

But the things I love long to seek:
Liberty, justice, joy, and truth,
Are the dreams of God manifest
Upon the sphere, in hearts broken
Open, to light a wick or two,
And laugh at the empty darkness,
And, in endless hope, ascend.

God does dream, though never asleep,
His waking dream becomes His sheep
Who hear the Shepherd calling deep,
And following, His dream they keep.


The things that we desire and hope for are from God.  Sometimes those things are distorted and perverted by minds darkened and twisted themselves.  Evil is without substance, empty and vain.  It is only when it clothes itself in an illusion of good that it has any attraction for us.  Evil offers us good but in an evil way.  Lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride all purport to offer us the satisfaction, peace, contentment, joy, honor, and fulfillment that can come only from righteousness.  If the Good that God wants to pour into us then to pour out of us has to be filtered through such unholiness, it becomes defiled.  The Source, however, remains pure, always. 

The first step in prayer is pushing away the filters of diseased worldly thinking, which most of have to one degree or another, and returning to that Source.  When we seek the good in our own lives and in the lives of others, we are seeking God's pure and perfect will.  Our Father is not in the business of denying His children anything that is good for them.

What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will instead of a fish give him a serpent; or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion?  If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!  (Luke 11:11-13)

The Holy Spirit is that pure and undefiled Source.  Through the Spirit we are able to pray in truth and holiness, undeceived and undisturbed by "the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions".  We bypass our own muddied, muddled thinking to pray with clarity and  certainty.  By the intercession of the Holy Spirit within us, we are transmitting God's will for ourselves and for His kingdom back to Him in an endless, unbroken, fertile cycle like the rain rising from the sea to return to the sea having brought its life-giving and life-sustaining blessings. 

There is a River

Happy New Year, and I promise this is the last poem I will inflict on my gentle readers in 2011.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy habitation of the Most High.  — Psalm 46:4

I am drawn to water
To dark pools glowing in the depths
To bright riffles that never slept
Oceans solemn with secret bones
Languid birthright and limpid home

I am drawn to water
With ships rocking on endless waves
Treasures hidden in coral caves
Tides rising by the lunar clock
Life rolls on as we rest at dock

I am born of water
And to it stinging sweat returns
Though our toil be on desert rock
Though living fire within does burn
Though red plowed field the rain may spurn

I am living water
Beneath the sands green rivers flow
Scorners drily deny and mock
Though the course of streams they may know
By life above its path does show

It Could Be 'Verse

They hatch cockatrice' eggs,
and weave the spider's web: 
he that eateth of their eggs dieth,
and that which is crushed
breaketh out into a viper.
  — Isaiah 59:5 (KJV)

Knotty truth to be firmly grasped sometimes
Calls on language Shakespearean, 1611
Sounds right when we utter syllables time-strained,
             Reality caught

In the spaces of our cleverly woven
Linguistic web.  The translators for good
King James saw words as more than handy software
            Aptly to employ.

Even the best of intentions are too apt
To bite us in the ass like Cleopatra's
Asp which we think to crush in vitro under         
           Cobwebby boot heels

Not calculating additional adders
In the eggshell unleashed, wrapping and snapping
Consequential consequences intended
            Never not at all.

Who ever thought that sowing such thoughts so small
Would amount to cloud seeding spiders and snakes?
Not me nor the people who raised me from dust
            Knew what serpents eat.

Ridin' With Roy

On Saturdays when I was a boy,
I lived to ride the range with Roy.
Rollin' rivers, golden hills,
Stick horse races and cap gun kills.

Shoot the bad guys, rope and ride,
I'd play on even if I died.
I knew just how to wear my hat
When I was stalkin' the neighbor's cat.

I went off to school, went off to college
Filled my head with useless knowledge.
I already knew everything worth knowin'.
I learned from Roy about cowboyin'.

To ride, shoot straight and speak the truth,
Are the things Roy taught me in my youth.
Never fear, always be bold,
Stay young forever, never grow old.

There are no wranglers here in the city,
No golden palominos, more's the pity.
Lots of bad guys runnin' around
Dressed in suits and workin' downtown.

I ain't herded no cattle for many a' year.
I been writin' code from this office chair.
Trigger, Roy, and even Dale are gone.
All us cowboys are left on our own.

But I know Roy's ridin' high,
up there on Trigger beyond the sky.
For me there's a little more work to be done
Before I ride off in the settin' sun.

Late some evenin' when the fire is low
I'll hear the Boss call, "It's time to go."
I'll mount a white horse that's waitin' for me,
We'll cross the Divide and there we'll see
Crystal river and golden hills,
Plenty of adventure and endless thrills.
I'll look into the Boss's eye,
and ride with Roy when I die.