Michael Carroll Green

Short­age of Love.

Abbre­vi­at­ed pas­sions
are rarely worth the trou­ble.
Most often they con­sume them­selves;
end up a pile of rub­ble.

Potential life is not a stage

through which we mortals pass.

It is instead an empty page --

accumulated mass.

More than a promise unfulfilled

and less than a desire.

It is a blaze whose heart has chilled

and yet must still be fire.

2.

                Talent in its latent form 
                   is genius in disguise. 
                Looking out for hidden lairs 
                  with disenchanted eyes. 

                 Slothful from its infancy 
                  and idle now its grown. 
                Exertion seems a lofty goal 
                   too easy to postpone. 

                Procrastinating out of fear 
                  reclining in its coffin. 
              Perhaps it lost the will to move 
                from pausing once too often.

3.

             Insulate me from myself 
                lest I should come to harm. 
               Fill my gut with self control 
                  then take me by the arm. 
 
                 Determination my defense, 
                 my single pledge and vow. 
                Brings me from the precipice 
                 and back to here and now. 
 
                 Vague conclusions terrify 
                   and weaken my resolve. 
                 Condemning me to turpitude 
                  and sins I must absolve. 

4.

          Quiet sighs are no disgrace 
                but cruel past all measure. 
               They seek to set a faster pace 
              and bind all sense of pleasure. 

5.

               Urgency of feeling; 
                   Depth of grim resolve. 
                  Rarely does it hesitate 
              when there is a riddle to solve. 
 
                 Insistent force of nature, 
                  compulsive act of faith. 
                 Honored by a point of view 
        

6.

 
                A lack of soul is no excuse 
                for a senseless act of will. 
                Humans stand a better chance 
             when they fight the urge to kill. 
 
                  Call it sport or hunger; 
                 perhaps it's just insane. 
              The net result is loss of life; 
                   a savage new terrain. 

7.

          A chance encounter with an urge 
                  so steadfast in its zeal 
               can only serve to pluck a soul 
                 from out its earthly wheel. 
 
             And once a soul has been apprized 
                 of beings with such power. 
             Its earthly plane seems imprecise 
                  and weaker by the hour. 
 
            The fate of souls so blessed by fate 
                is filled with grim despair, 
              that in their earthy mortal plane 
               they'll sink for lack of air. 

8.

           Left alone by acts of God 
                and driven by acts of will, 
                 a soul must seek its answer 
                 before its heart is still. 
 
                 Hurt by missing artifacts 
                  and empty recollections. 
              The soul must form a new defense 
                from out its own rejections. 

9.

               Each answer that we undertake 
                 is but a means to question 
               the fabric that we contemplate 
               when seeking self-expression. 

10.

           Sadness is a state of grace, 
                    a melancholy virtue. 
               It etches lines into your face 
              then charges forth to hurt you. 

11.

             Befuddled and bemused; 
                  bewildered and betrayed. 
                 What a shame to be abused 
                when such a price was paid. 

12.

            Discouraged by delusion; 
                   and disturbed by disarray.
 
                Describes the sad conclusion 
                   to such a dismal day. 

1.

Faith­ful fol­low­ers unite
to wish away the weak
Call­ing down the clowns of God
to find the sins they seek.

Shame­ful sin­ners con­tem­plate
their bla­tent indis­cre­tion
While mind­less min­ions groom them­selves
to prac­tice grim oppres­sion.

2.

God seems a greedy archi­tect
not sat­is­fied with splen­dour.
Instead He calls my beau­ty home
and foils my best defend­er.

3.

Glo­ry –
To the night sky.
To the stars I used to know.
To every vic­tim left alone.
To tears that ever flow.

4.

Zealots rarely hes­i­tate
when pur­su­ing their obses­sion.
It is their goal to con­se­crate
what­ev­er flees oppres­sion.

First they try to con­fis­cate
each dear­ly held pos­ses­sion.
Then they pon­der ways to sate
their rav­en­ous aggres­sion.

(1)

Achings and old tid­ings
sig­ni­fy a start.
Sub­tle new begin­nings
pet­ri­fy the heart.

(2)

  Why here –

                     Forced into earth,

                what acci­dent of fate …

                  result­ed in this birth?

                        Why this –

                    Incon­sis­tent grace,

             What shame­less mis­ad­ven­ture …

                 pro­duced this angry place?

                         Why now –

                     Assault­ed by time,

              What mis­di­rect­ed Engi­neer …

                   cor­rupt­ed the sub­lime?

                         Heart­felt –

                  and care­ful­ly sculpt­ed.

                      Lov­ing­ly bound,

                 and painful­ly con­struct­ed.

                        Set free –

                    a debu­tante of fate.

                  Aspir­ing to great­ness ,

                 itself the prof­fered bait.

(3)

      Anger is a weak excuse

                  for what I need to feel.

                    Fury comes no clos­er

                  made fee­ble by my zeal.

                 Rage is just anoth­er word;

                     imma­ture emo­tion.

                 Fero­cious urges soothe me,

                    earn­ing my devo­tion.

(4)

    Have you seen it?

                  Have you seen my fright?

                   Did you give it leave

                to won­der through my night?

                     Have you heard it?

                  Have you heard my fear?

                   Did you bring me water

                   to wash away my tear?

(5)

 Intim­i­da­tion of the soul

                  by unsus­pect­ing mor­tals,

               Tends to cause a ten­der heart

                 to close away its por­tals.

                Often this poor con­se­quence

                   is sub­ject to belief,

               And nev­er hav­ing been applied

                   will offer up relief.

(6)

                  Queen of fire;

                       Pele’s friend.

                       Bride’s desire

                     with time to lend.

                       Bril­liant muse

                    from comets twinned.

                       Summer’s peak;

                      sweet div­i­dend.

Slain in the Spir­it…

Fall down –

proof of God’s sal­va­tion.

flat down –

safe from con­dem­na­tion.

Be slain –

know the Spirit’s pow­er!

God slain –

stronger by the hour.

New tongues –

weak­est gift of all.

Mens’ tongues –

con­tent to take the Fall!

I recent­ly lost a lot of data when an exter­nal hard dri­ve failed. Despite all sorts of attempts at back­ing up infor­ma­tion, one fail­ure changed his­to­ry, at least for me. You know how they say if you won’t remem­ber it next year, don’t wor­ry about it. I’ll remem­ber this…

Loss of history…loss of work…loss of projects…loss of creativity…and time.

Loss of…

Poet­ry? Sto­ries.… Bits of me.

I scoured every sin­gle hard dri­ve and exter­nal hard dri­ve and thumb dri­ve I could find. I pulled files of poet­ry, and sort­ed through it all to find the most recent copies of every­thing. I con­fess it was a bit man­ic, but what do you do when you’re in fear of hav­ing lost your­self.

I decid­ed I would share a lot of my old­er poet­ry on here so it would have a chance to live some­where else (besides in my head and on a hard dri­ve some­where)…

First installment…from some­time in the eight­ies or ear­ly nineties…much of it is cen­tered around Chris­tian­i­ty, faith and reli­gious dia­logue. I won’t deny that much of it may be trou­bling to those with strong reli­gious beliefs.…

Test of Faith.

               Test of Faith;
                     a willing turn,
                 down the road to insanity. 

                     More than crazy!
                In point of fact,
			   Consumed! 

			Driven by an angry God,
                         to insanity,
                  and a willingness to die,
                          to hunt,
                          	 to kill,
                          		to maim - 

                 all in the name of faith.

				...and I thought I was Mad!