If I were a painter
I would craft a goddess, hung
Immortal to some museum
or midst the the dusty collection of some baron
With body, flawless
Form, divine
And all of her admirers
Turning the muses flanking Apollo, jealous
But the real fire, the life giving spark
Would flare mad passion in her eyes
And the thundering, A call;
Theodora, freed from the patriarchy of old Byzantium
A bearer of the old magic, ghosts dancing from another time
Her beauty would be harmonious
To the glittering brown-gold of honeydew
And bursting,
Like a symphony loud and tremulous
All the true aesthetes, trembling
That a painter got to meet a woman so
To set his heart afire

And if I had been born a sculptor
If I had been given the power to shape
My crowning achievement
The great anthem of my time, spent
Would be a face;
A chin, gently tilted skyward
The eyes, sparkling with that unknown sea
Hair disheveled, parted, smoothing the cheeks
and the glimmer of lips,
Softly pursed;
But the eyes, the doorways to that tidal force
All of the dreams
All of the feelings, trapped and rolling, the ocean beneath
Would burst forth; A thousand church candles,
Or a gathering of street lights.
If I were a sculptor my greatest achievement would be cast in Lady's Dream
Not for the skin, but for the glittering eyes

Or if I were a composer
Working on my symphony
I would have the brasses buzzing,
and the strings
A chorus of thought
And the melody would be defined not by the loudness
But the silences
The gaps of deep thought, juxtaposed
Amongst the roaring
The soft gasps of tide being pulled back to sea
and all of the sweet undulations, the rivers of a mind
If I were a composer the audience would get a glimpse,
The briefest moment,
Of the beauty
Of quiet
The deepness
Of thought

But I am merely a poet,
A poor shaper of words
Strung out on hope,
Gambling on luck,
Trapped, eternally, to the brightness of the sun
And lost to those whirlwind emotions that govern men so
And for a moment, smiling,
I got to know the wildness in another poet's eyes
The softness of her smile,
And if I could spell love in her heart
I would
But I am merely a poet,
A poor shaper of words
And with these powers
I can merely say this:
When I say beauty
and the thoughts fall loosely on the page,
hopefully bringing forth a smile
When I say beauty,
When I say beauty
What I mean:

You.

Your room, clouded with cigarette smoke,
Old pizza, leftovers, and last night's ****.
Whiskey and beer had stained your white rug,
I'll never comprehend why you looked so smug.
I didn't do anything to deserve your fist,
Your open hand, your rage, your Vulcan grip.
I begged you to stop, I pleaded for release,
But your hand was tight, 'til we called the police.
You resisted arrest and claimed you were sober,
Mom cried and sobbed, I only could hold her.
There was no fixing what you had done,
You beat me and bruised me and emptied my lungs.

Everyone told me I did nothing wrong,
But the nightmares shook me like a gong.
They kept me awake 'til the break of dawn,
I'll never know what brought this on.
Your mind has changed since you bumped your head,
And the brother I once had is dead.

Dark well
It swells
It grows
And drowns
A pool
So black
Thick pitch
Attacks

To smother
Don't bother
To crawl through
Small moth

The darkness
This thick glue
Inescapable
To you

Molasses
Surpasses
The will to escape

Sanity
Collapses
In the dark well
Of hate.

Flowers shot in the dark like hearts shot through with darts
Clotting blood in the voice box
Time moving slow as the clock tick tocks
And more bricks are laid
Between me and God

Children smearing on war-paint
Grandmas spitting against the devil's taint
Broken churches, corpse of the saint
Images listless and visually meaningless
In a long array of destructive days
As more bricks are laid
Between me and God

Overlarge toads bellow in the park
Green slimy beings croaking insults in the dark
What they're singing has meaning and the meaning is stark
Rhythmic insults haunting the night like the bark
Bark, bark of a wolf seeking prey
As more bricks are laid
Between me and God

A murderous man has a knife and he stabs
A touring killer with no remorse as he jabs,
Jabs, jabs whilst their blood coats the floor
Serial killer with an unquenchable need for more
Though the police are paid
The case runs cold
More bricks are laid
Between me and God

Chanting children there, with the devil's eyes
Urchins that smell fear, young weavers of lies
They encircle a dog and they throw it with stones
A cold-blooded giggle surrounds the dog's imploring moans
Little demons are made
And more bricks are laid
Between me and God

Are you friend or foe
Rattlesnake or doe
In the night or day
Do you fight or pray?
Curse or hymn
Hate or love
Does it differ?
As more bricks are laid
Between me and God.

To elaborate on what Chris Hedges (the liberal who loves to play radical during uprisings) wrote in the Occupied Wall Street Journal concerning the goal of the Occupy Wall Street movement: “The goal to us is very, very clear. It can be articulated in one word—REBELLION. … What the elites fail to realize is that rebellion will not stop until the corporate state is extinguished.”
To that, I say this:
If you are sick and tired of living in the land of the 'free',
in the land of plenty,
while you see injustice
and poverty
and suffering,
then stand up.
Join a local chapter of Occupy,
join any progressive group.
If you don't see these things,
PLEASE WAKE UP.
READ, look and listen,
to the world around you,
rather than a TV, an Iphone,
or some talking head.
The deep inequities in life exist for a reason.
Capitalism, that oh so familiar 'greed is good' mentality.
We have to transform it totally,
beginning with a plea for rebellion.

Don't be scared to get a little dirt under your fingernails.
Dare to dig through the tunnels
her scars have built around her
wipe your hands when necessary -
pause - catch your breath
but keep going

Get yourself new spectacles
ensure they're clear enough to let you see the cracks
and when you do
pick and pull at them
start at the corners
they fall off more easily
watch as rock slips after rock
some heavier than others
because memories can be hard to let go of
look for the loose ones and caress them
listen to her song
let it guide you towards her

don't listen as tick follows tock
she is not a land mine
she is a hidden gem;
be gentle

when you are exhausted - sweating and panting
when the sand has huffed and puffed on your face
and doubt begins to whisper,
look at your bare feet
they no longer hurt from the miles walked
Mother Earth has painted them with strength
she has embraced them,
you are her child and
your feet are pointing forward;
Don't you dare defy them

Don't be scared to get a little dirt under your fingernails;
Dig through a few layers of society
and you will find unadulterated beauty

After you have climbed all her mountains
and swam her rivers
you will finally see
that she is not pretty
She is not confined in five letters
She is a sonnet, a love song
an unread novel
ready to be explored; liberated
ready to be alive

She is the happiness in your face
when you reach the hilltop,
an autumn breeze on a summer day,
she is the courage that it takes
to look into her eyes
and give her your lusting fingernails;
To say:
You are the true face of beauty.