Short but sweet(?): http://wp.me/pJZoS-4D

http://thebooklife.wordpress.com/2010/04/12/4-10/

Poet v. “Greeter”: http://wp.me/pJZoS-4B

Tim Keeton
Poet/Wizard/Teller-of-tales

Resolutions Made

The house is silent
Warm and soft
Around the world
Breath held aloft

The clock counts down
From ten to one
And while crowds chant
I am undone

Their cheers surge
As I come down
Our panting breath
The only sound

here I’m trying AGAIN. Day 10 poem

http://bygraceandfaith.tumblr.com/

Night of Purple Dancers

There is no “before and after”
that is too much to give them
the theives in the night don’t deserve a space in time
in our life
In the universe
that also include a baby’s laughter

and joy
and hope

future, past, present.
Grocery lists, coffee, laundry.
Courtesy, involuntary human needs like

breath
hunger
sleep
all exist in a seperate reality

from a nightmare.
But I am still breathing.

One must be more tangible than the other
daily minute details

once held distaste
now hold sweetness
tenderness
paying a bill
feeding the dog
reminding me life is the beauty
of all the sums
of all the small details

that do not include a dark night
attempting to define my future in the “after”
To rob me
of all sunsets, sunrises, tears and smiles.
That crept in to grab a meaning in my existence,
to bring a dark memory
or a cloud where a beautiful sunrise should be
to rob me of all tomorrow’s at all.

Did they know
tomorrow cannot be taken

Tomorrow can be a golden gate of a French Castle
or the pearl streets of Heaven

Nothing can be done
to rob me of God’s presence
Can they know the spirit that dwells?
Carrying me over cobble stones
and filth
and unknown cities
to still find home, sister, shelter.

To give me strength that is beyond human comprehension
and power not my own.

Give me drugs that can numb memory and sense
give me darkness and a stained mattress
and He will still give me back light
strength
and Angels in forms of strangers
in the form of wind that blows me home

You can rob a night
but there is no robbing of my past, present and future
of my before and after.

My body breaks and my legs shake
but I never walk alone
He gives me back my steps
When I have not one more step in me
He is my legs
when they no longer go on

I am still breathing.

Like Job crying out for mercy
David in the lions den
Me on my knees begging for direction

Darkness only exists for a moment
God never forsaking
always watching
Lifting the darkness
shining light into every crevace
Into dark corners of the city
Guiding me home.
For Home is in Him

Bring on the boils,
the drugs
and theives.
Shield my eyes from direction
and dilute my reality

Walk me into nights of purple dancers and foreign city labrynths.

For I never walk alone.

http://bygraceandfaith.tumblr.com/

Bardic Reflection: http://wp.me/pJZoS-4y

Tim Keeton
Poet/Wizard/Teller-of-tales

http://estherpoyer.wordpress.com/2010/04/11/living-with-lies-day-10-poem/

http://self-intoxication.deviantart.com/art/Birthday-Television-160332436

I was welcomed to Texas
by Stove Top Stuffing

with Jimmy Dean sausage.
That’s when I learned

how flavor can offer solace
when you can’t remember

the name of the white dog
climbing onto you inquisitively

or why your wife’s whole family
speaks too fast for vowels.

Since then, I have conjured
this concoction myself

and celebrated being
part of this new family that serves

sushi and mashed potatoes
at every gathering. It is

starches that bind us, keep us
comfortable enough

we don’t realize
how bitter the air.

Today I understood
that,

should John Hughes
still be alive
and making films,

He would not cast
me as Bender,
sullen and iconoclastic,
and he would not see
me as Brian,
too smart for my own good –

no, indeed,
I would be Vernon,
pompous and grim,
joyless and sure,
and – even worse –

I would play my role well.