The Blame Game

Jonny blamed his brother Bob

For causing him to slip

Bobby blamed his mom

For asking him to mop the drip

Mother blamed their father then

For tacking in the mud

Then father blamed the heavens next

For causing such a flood

But thanked God for the rain 

As all their crops were nigh forlorn

And mother thanked the father for

His harvest's early corn

Then Bobby thanked

His mother twice for cooking him his favorite

And Jonny thanked Bob yet again

For sharing as they savored it

So in this game there's plenty blame 

For man to spread around

Passing the buck while shear dumb luck

Is sourced behind a shroud

Let truth affix volition's mix

In all that share a portion

Divine free will, as is revealed

Before logic's contortion

The Oak and the Vine

Boast again thy quick ascent 

Against the Oak’s slow rise

Creeping up his branches

Reaching towards the skies

Laughing while you choke his limbs

All his strength deride

Block the sun from his own leaves

And soak it up with pride

Mock his knots--belittle

His fat, impotent girth

But how surely will his demise 

Bring you down to earth

For you will crawl along the ground

Trampled under foot

Because you have no patience

But sparse and shallow root

Boast again thy numbered days

Exalted thyself above

The wisdom rings which seasons grant

Are not in thee nor love

The Gathering

The essence of creation

Is forming something new

The universe is not 

A monolithic grisaille hue

The Manifest expresses

An Endless variety

And separate will bequeathed 

On each entity as soul propriety

The forfeiture of full control

Is by Divine design

Until we're gathered all in one

In truth, in love, in time

High Genus

We deduce fruit comes from

Seed of it's kind

The universe produced

Sentient mind

Without a doubt a seed contains

Potential in it's prime

The fruit's aware that something there 

Is as itself sublime

Considering potentials

One traces origin

For that which is 

Comes from a likeness

Held somewhere within

The Ink Blot Prophecies

Sentient forms

Distill in realms transcendent

A threshold senses cannot pass

Where abstract shapes of will amassed

Reveal dynamics of desire

The cancer of control 

Mired in repeating cycles 

Longer than the breadth of life and death 

Or single generation

And thus the patterned is concealed

Taxing the sage while prophet splay

The inkblot omen

Parading through millennia

The chorus of history cants the evil ostinato

But cloaks fomenting spirit

Hidden in the human heart

While ravaging earth in it

The presage rattling the door 

Her drums have stopped 

Warning no more

It’s here the silence whispers

Sin is in the gates

Beware the ink blot prophecies 

Announce they registers again

Where pound of flesh is reckoned less

Than ounce of plain prevention

Virtue Vise

"Oh god of stone, please help me!"

The zealot knelt and prayed

Without food, without water

Paid homage through the day

His last meal on the altar

Offered for far more food

Till finally he passed out

A practice not too shrewd

A stranger found his body

Reviving him with drink

He took food from the altar

An led him from the brink

The next day the same zealot

Was back before the stone

He felt his prayers were answered

What's more the proof was shown

For missing from the altar

The food he sacrificed

Proved that the stone consumed it

His virtue in a vise

The Pious Deist

How could a being so great and grand

Care for a speck as small as man?

For if God cared, why does he hide

In everything before my eyes?

Creator absent from our lives

While we are left to grow and thrive

So apathetic

So enigmatic

To man's condition

Frail and tragic

"Stop!" 

The voice of reason cried

I froze in place

A whisper sighed

"O' man, why worship gods of stone?"

"Within your being is my throne"

"Though darkness clouds"

"Though far you roam"

"Our hearts embrace"

"You're not alone!"

These words as marrow in my bones

Sank in so deep 

Their truth--a tome

The deist creed

A futile path

Like atheists'

Vacuous math

And though I know that I am known

The blind must feel there way back home