Windows to the Neo-Soul Collection #1-3

Windows to the Neo- Soul #1: Wildfires (2021)

 There will be misery, as sure as the sun will rise

As sightless and deadly as Carbon Monoxide engulfs it’s confines

Like newspaper to an open flame and gasoline is spilt on it. The Great Dragon whips his tail and

Wildfires cross all borders, leaving them blackened.

Nobody is there to see the Eight Point Bucks’ final moments, so deep in the burning forest and

Lives to tell the tale.

Nor the Mountain Lion’s

Nor the Field Mice. Incinerated into white ashes.

And like the Wildfire, the mind will burn in its entirety until it can burn no longer;

For years or decades, to the unluckiest.

Yet, from mere spores and bacteria, the trees can finally be rejuvenated to a healthy brush, fresh lifeblood finally flows through their roots.

But papery and more fickle than before, volatile to the tiniest mite of a spark upon the once blasted soil, and papery and more fickle each time in succession.

Makes way to burn across valleys, over mountain peaks,

Drying up entire rivers and lakes in its wake. Over and over and over again,

Until the Glass Kingdom is finally assembled and it’s inhabitants there by choice; not driven mad, in fact they quite like it and it remains quite cool year-round like a natural spring.

It’s architecture, under the mortal direction of a forgiving Lord who thus conducts installations and renovations of the Kingdom into Eternity.

Windows to the Neo-Soul #2: Ignorance and Want (2022)

 The answer and the strength to seek it,

Came all at once from one body

With caps twisted open and simultaneously released.

Like a lighthouse, stranded at sea

That is only a mirage of starvation and thirst;

But the remaining Sailors still have the sense

to hold a vote before pursuing,

It was a landslide victory.

Under the wings of the wise old Owl

From a mysterious nest hidden high in the canopies

Where the sun reports dark fractals over whiteness,

The chicks are wretched underneath.

Emaciated, dying things that grow into hunters

Of illusive, high up hiding places.

The wise old Owl circles over some other woods.

Lust punches holes in the sheet metal

Which become my only peepholes.

Bursts of pleasure like artillery shells

Hammer the quiet countryside.

A little girl stares back with eyes like diamonds

Of sorrowful tears for the most unwanted.

She sniffles and huffs and she can’t catch her breath.

 But beware this boy,

For on his brow is spelt doom.

Ignorance as innocent as a child’s,

Though we kill and hate and fight wars. And as to a child, there is no unforgivable sin In God’s perfect world. Yet forgiveness can burn like a lake of fire.

Windows to the Neo-Soul #3: The Champion (2022)

 Downtown on a Sunday Morning, Couples and families with children roamed the streets freely

But as people began to take notice of the Tall Man,

Screams erupted and people began to scatter.

The being was certainly tall, poking out among the crowds

Indeed ten feet tall he stood, stark naked.

Neither a man nor a woman at all,

It’s undercarriage smooth, its mass hulking and strong

Yet lacking the definition of mortal physique.

Not a single hair graced its body, yet even without brow

Was the unmistakable heir of determination upon its face.

A long, yellowish-glass Javelin wavered in its massive hand

And was slung over its shoulder.

“Another mad man!” the people shouted, “Shooter!” they screamed.

An abhorrent commotion ensued,

As the Great Being made off in a sprint.

Its massive stride pulled its skin to its farthest span.

The Great Being entirely lacked race;

Its skin silvery and translucent, revealing a silhouette

Of bones and organs that were equally translucent.

People on one side of the street stared through

The Being into the eyes of those on the opposite block.

As The Great Being skipped its feet and heaved

The Javelin, glittering in the fair Sunday sun

High into the sky with an incredible, grieving grunt

Which came from deep in its belly and sounded like bending metal.

The people watched the Javelin become small and disappear into the sky.

And for a moment, they almost mobbed upon The Great Being

Now that it had disarmed itself. 

It stood staring toward the clouds, its chest rising and falling

In an unmistakable display of having donated ones entire will.

As its target star, somewhere above blue sky was speared

like a fish by The Great Being’s Javelin;

Exploded across the sky in brilliant reds and oranges, washed over and

Swirled within the blue of sky like watercolors.

Some people shielded their eyes as solar winds

Billowed through the streets, rifling their clothes and

Knocking over a few of them.

In the brightness not a shadow was left on the ground but

The Great Wind, gusts from far out in untouched space were utterly pure and cool.

There was a lightshow over D.C., above the pillars

Of the Taj Mahal, over London and Beijing and Israel.

Solar winds even ruffled the fur of a lone Arctic Polar Bear

Who let out a yawn at the exploding sky

As he crossed the ice.

The people found grass to lay in, and enjoyed the

Lights all day and through the night to Monday.