some new poems by Roger humes

It is good to work hard

It is good to work hard,
dig our fingers deep
into the soil of the page, the smell
of the loam of the words ground
into our hands and under the nails.

Pull the weeds of deception
from your heart, remove the rocks
of self-righteousness, and then rake
the soil even before you plant

the seeds of ideas deep, water them
with the tenderness of your craft

and watch them grow into another poem.

If silence would the gift

If silence would the gift
that you had to offer - if silence
could be a gift - I would sit
in the hush and watch
as your body gave forth
the wisdom of the ages.

But if silence would not be the gift
that you offer I would be content
to sit with you for this moment
while the rose of your soul takes seed
and flowers in my heart.

Who are you

Who are you
who comes to my doorstep
offering freedom from want,
freedom from need, freedom
from desire, and slavery
to devotion?

I saw your name

I saw your name written in the bluest of skies

it was the Sun, the setting pale Moon, Venus
on the distant horizon, and a single white cloud

that floated over
the promise of another morning

-- 

Crested Bird

crested bird

over the dusty city

just a song

one more song

to tell me of

your peace

before you

take leave

to the sky

and become

a speck lost

over the sun

while i am left

with the memory

of your wisdom

an echo

a cry

a lament

a melody

which says

too soon

the day has ended

and we are no closer

to the mirror

from which we came

If we are offered

a golden moment where beside

the door key in hand

we may enter

do we enter?

Or do we wait until

we realize once more

that life has passed us by

I went for coffee

to free my mind

of the thought of you

but when I finished

your name awaited

smiling from the bottom

of the cup

We are placed by our craft
within an exile where
no matter the place
no matter the time

we are always alone

and if you recognize my exile
as I recognize yours
within there lies a comfort
that makes the sounds of the dark

a little less oppressive

The Judas Tree

Come meet me underneath the Judas Tree,
far from the voices, the oh so distant
voices who talk in shadows while the Eagle
descends over the Land Between
Two Rivers while all moves in blood

blood          the color          of the sky
blood          the color          of the sun
blood          the color          of the waters
blood          the color          of the earth

blood          the color          of the flowers

of the Judas tree where last we met
within the Garden, when I betrayed
your voice,  when thirty pieces
of silver and a final kiss where lain
beside my feet while my eyes wept in blood

blood          the color          of the sky
blood          the color          of the sun
blood          the color          of the waters
blood          the color          of the earth

blood          the color          of the flowers

of the Judas Tree that grows in the Land of Two Faces,
where none can agree if the setting of the sun
means that it is now rising, where the Lion rests
uneasy before the words of the Prophet, and where
upon the soil that is soaked in lamentations and blood

you will come to meet me underneath the long shadows of the Judas Tree.

--  

 my  roses have bloomed !

pink

blood red

yellow-roange !

when i view them

i can forget

for an instant

how plastic

america truly is

Your Words Touch Me

Your words touch me

like the poets of Persia:

solitary,
melancholy,
but with a hint of grace

as cool as the night winds.

Come,

sit beside me,
drink from my cup,

tell me of your day.

I will listen long

into the evening
while the embers of the fire
grow as cold as the voices
who would mock us.

-- 

The End Of History

god gives us only so many words in life
and we must choose how we use them wisely
said the prophet as he viewed the warnings
that flamed on the wall before the face of the king

you can place me in the pit with the lion
or turn me to a pillar of salt when i gaze
upon the cities you deem wicked enough to devastate
but my voice shall shine from the mountain
and though the tablets may be destroyed
wise words will always crush the golden idols you create

the end of history is but a moment where we reflect
the tomb before we rejoin the ocean and sail way

to view once more the promised land

Show Me Your Laughter

show me your laughter

that sings

in the dance of your eyes

like a crystal jar

set in the sun

to reflect and prism

the beauty of your soul

i will treat it

with great care

and not let it drop

to the floor

and shatter

like the thousand promises

of so many poems

So now the voice

So now the voice, the voice

from near, from far away, from

far between echoes the wind

deep sonorous across the fields

of the mind, and I look and find

and say, just say, once, maybe twice,

to the sounds surround me

that if it time then let it be time, and I look

to the sky to count a name

within the stars that flow

like the sands of generations

across the universe.

And if , what if, the thought asks,

if what if, this time the word comes

that one surrendered to the dark,

that one who saw the rose bloom within

the heart, one who spoke the scared

words which turned the key that opened

the glimmer of the candle within the dark

of a soul and overwhelmed a heart

for an instant with the possibility,

just the possibility, that hope

could still somehow somewhere exist.

(I am separate now

so separate

and the ache has grown

so deep…

…disconnected…

removed…

that seldom

do I now notice it)

For I am haunted by the blue skies

that lay in slumber, that lay quick

upon the edge of eternity, who breathes in

when I breathe out, whose heart races

beside the touch of mine – the blue skies that lay

within the realm of a golden sun and red

laughter of the rose that melted the frost

from my ever brooding thoughts – the blue skies

that lay now under siege of the cruel fate

that parts us all at the greatest moments

of our lives when the inevitable tick-tock

leaves us at the place where grasping empty air

within the clutch of our fists we bow

to the only conclusion that remains:

we are alone

alone

so alone – in the end

we are so all alone.

Within the dark weeping of your eyes

I have learned of the joy you can place

within my step as within the loss

of the haunted blue skies I know now

that to give is lay oneself vulnerable

but to not is to be dead, within the dark

weeping of your eyes I reach for your touch

which I know is hesitant, doubting, afraid, yet

aching with such desire to soothe, to be

soothed, to forget for an instant the sadness

we must deal with for every day, within

the dark weeping of yours eyes is the only

path to salvation offered to either of us

at this dark and desperate hour.

For to never touch is to never know

and to never know is walk with doubt

for the rest of our lonely days

where we all now must remain

separate

ever

separate

alone

disconnected save

for that instant

when we reach across

the loneliest of bridges

to forget

for that instant

the weeping of your dark eyes

and the haunting blue of the skies…

The Sea of Bitterness

Over the Sea of Bitterness resides
the deepest of blue skies, so deep
that the tongue of the angel is lost
within its reflection of the waves

that sing softly to the sparrows
who fly beneath the sun

I wish to meet you
I shall meet you
I wish to meet you

upon some distant shore.

Along The Way To Kashmir

the haze of the horizon is cool promises entices invites us
to finish this weary journey on which we have chosen
to walk together across the wastes away from canaan

you are still beside me as you have always been
since nearly the beginning and will be until
the end of days graces us with the bliss of the forgetfulness
of life for which i have long craved since i realized
they were more interested in gratification than salvation

you though never wavered sharing both my bed and teachings
and accepting them as one and the same
you though never wavered and i watch in amazement
humbled that such love and devotion can come
from one who is born out of clay

when they nailed my soul to the tree
when i believed that all was lost and my father had deserted me
when i watched the sadness of a mother outliving her son
when they cast lots for my clothes
when they mocked me and those around me
ever you stayed and quietly accepted our fate

the others turned fled denied who i was to them and myself
the others questioned even when you came back from the tomb
to tell them that death had been defeated by faith
the others gave way to the mobs and only returned
when they deemed it safe and the sole avenue offered
for them to receive repentance for their fears

you though never wavered ignoring the taunts and doubts
of how i could forgive a past and sins that were beyond your control
you though never wavered and as i reach to gently touch your cheek
entranced by the beauty that the worries of life have etched on your face
i realize finally what true faith and love can mean when two souls unite

so allow me to carry your burden for awhile down this path
and perhaps together we can find the peace we so crave

once we reach kashmir

-- 

 If I Could Write The Tale

If I could write the tale
of my days, the first page
would tell how I was born
and grew to be a man, while the rest
would recite the glorious tale
of how your first kiss
gave meaning to the universe.

-- 

night

These days I walk through the gray of the night

These days I walk through
the gray of the night encased
deep within the brooding fog
that lays its chilled fingers
over the Garden of the Lost Hearts

and my solace lays within the hope

a kind wind from the heavens
may part these numbing mists
and within the night sky I shall view
the one star pulsing

that will guide me home.