Bannock sturdy for Christ

 Plain in the only way I am.
For they had proclaimed I- simple Simon.
For if only that were true.
I am plagued by an army of demons.
So I appeal to the big big...

I put on a strong display but I struggle to strengthen the rest of me.
I seek food in what is real, not by excess.
Steady me because I feel ridiculous.
Calm me because my mind runs wild.
Wholesome, but I am pulled sideways.
Direct me, because I am scattered.

See me fully, including the parts I judge harshly.
See my words and their roots their holy innuendos, Lord God Look here!
Take the sting out of my self-mockery, take the expectation out of me.
Turn embarrassment into humility, and humility into strength.
Give my spirit enough bread for today, enough courage, enough clarity.

This honest work,

 clean thought,

 measured action,

 loyalty, patience, creation.

Sturdy in spirit, soft in heart, clear in mind.

The currency inside

 On and off.
God puts my soul back in
Like a credit card paying.
Then withdrawls it again.

I would like to be the value.
Wherever it may go.
Blessed and whole,
On some great trajectory.

I must curate this path,
Sometimes molding the pavers myself.
Under the sun,
making my way to building something.

How many of you readers never feel your value?
You may not ever be able to measure your worth.
The worth we carry in ourselves is arbitrary.
The value others put on us, capricious.

So sometimes in the most silent of whispers.
I listen with all of my capacity,
As God says to me straight,
Belive in yourself.

Power Oversurge

 I'm building up, I'm walking forward.
I'm bringing the intangible into heart as energy.
Collaborate and flow through me.

Tickle my veins, live through me.
Follow me until I perish.
Smash through these walls.

Crack the stone of all resistance.
Part it all into fragments.
So that i can see the other side.

Lift me propel me forward.
I have my target and soul intact.
The rough nature of the world sustains me.

Reach for strength.
Reach for oxygen for I'm breathless.
These legs keep sprinting.

I heartless, I keep pumping...

City gone, affection and routine

 The city disappeared.
There is no affection in the world.
Only distrust and friends with their own personal interests.

Everything requires caring for.
The world is one fat suction cap.
The thing you want and go on wanting.

The city disappeared overnight.
Just your house, just your street that remained.
People are unpredictable easily influenced.

Now they are gone and the building flattened.
Routines exist to be followed.
Rebuild the city? Reinvent yourself?

Pets are fed and surfaces are cleaned.
There is no affection and the city is nonexistant
Your on your own.

That Jiggy prestige

 The pub disco has been going for fifty years.
When the uniforms were brown and yellow.
The food had no taste, the whills were wild with animals and dense forest.
I pulled the photo of the school principal from that time.
A bald headed middle aged man that matched the man standing infront of me.
Still jigging to the seventies music.
Still trying to inspire the shy teenagers, pushing them to get up and dance.

Using his stupid incentives and everything was done to get them on the dance floor.
Everyday liquid from the same spiked punch bowl.
Prom lab fix attempts at that maximum prestige.
Nothing changes and the clock resets to a sunny six pm as they all arrive.
The music didn't change, the silly vehicles toing and froing.
Nothing existed outside of the obligation to dance.
The bar in this reality is now a real estate brokers.

But in the dimension it sits in, it is the senior graduates nonstop Prom dive.

Holiday at altitude

 Afternoon in Cunha 19 of April.
Sunny picturesque cloud surrounds the far hills.
Eyes always seek somewhere else to be.
But just be here in this grass.
In this hobby rolling holiday headspace.

But there it is again a far off forest.
A house on the side of the hill.
Distracting the immediate blue.
Westerly comes in conspiring with autumn shade.
I would like to know myself after a thousand years of existence.

I see these hours and days floating away...
I see the way the sun mocks me in the sky like that.
He knows he'll stay active and potent for eons.
The westerly bites again I put my jacket on.
There's some magical place for each nostalgic notion. 

Door handle mountain Curupira

 Run down Door handle mountain.
What am I but a climber.
All the way back down Curupira style.
Backward legs gloating.
Showing off and heavy breathing growing.
Moving inward and outward.
Further down the door handle.

Mountain saved no views for me. 
So I skipped down the beast alternatively,
Door handle shaking in the knee.
As other hikers look on in horror.
Slipping curupira backwards.
What a monster inside me screaming to get out.
All backward and nasty from the mist freeze. 

Mist flowing up and down mountain round,
breeze amused inside and out of altitude trees.
I jog backward in that groove,
Rhythm, shadow, speed.
Beats the wind,
beats the looming rocks.
The root of the mountain can feel the abnromal foot falls.

Ankles and knees tighten on the concrete pavers.
Clapping smile of a mist dancing Curupira.