Jan
26
2005

Intervention of the Gods?

by Stephen Messer

I’ve come to realize
I’ve seen it all through a pair of eyes
more open than they were before

more searching
than I ever thought
they could ever be.

Searching for real answers,
that lurk
in untrodden corners of this mind

searching, hoping to find
an inner strength
to get through this life.

Some wistful fortitude,
to help me survive
the ravages of a body
wracked with things
not its own
the ravages and the toll taken
by time

I can sense my own body
and how
surviving
against all statistical odds
somehow striving

the intervention of the gods?

Perhaps.

For those gods are what lurk
inside of me
hidden deep within
untrodden corners
of the mind
waiting for me to see
the very presence
of a spirit
so far beyond this plane
the very presence
of who I really am

and of what I can proclaim
to be more than just
a human,

I am a being
and the god that within me lurks
is who I need to be.

posted in Introspection, Metaphysical, Personal, Poems | No Comments

Jan
24
2005

Salient Mind

by Stephen Messer

Peace, serenity;
a lonely stage
surrounded by and
saturated with
so much
infant rage.

I claim a clarity
of this, my salient mind,
while clinging patiently
to the obedient,
but blind.

Their choices
need not the attention of
madness;
my eyes meet theirs;
I see the rays
of damp cold light,
the brown earth,
life’s catacombs thus created,
the stolid, expressionless
faces that disguise
the only windows
to those souls;

That close
the only window
to mine.

The future arrives
and is realized;
Peace, serenity.
Things I would like to see
apart from this clinging mind,
so salient, but purportedly,
blind.

Blind to the destination of
an endless path
on which we travel,
opining miseries
to the friendly,
trying not to portray
the weakness;

staying encouraged,
alive.

The mental tide
swings a restless shroud;
the purported clarity,
now clearly defined.
The room and dampening light
cast images afresh
upon this once
blind mind.

I’ll surrender that mind
to the freedom
that takes in all
these mental catacombs,
and whisk my Self to other
great witness stands
to gleam a gallant
smile at the
masses,
I’ll take
the stage of peace,
serenity,
and gleam that
gallant smile
out into that
forever aging
rage.

posted in Introspection, Metaphysical, Personal, Poems, Social | No Comments

Jan
16
2005

Sunset

by Stephen Messer

Stealth chill of night
sneaks over to fondle me;
a burning sun still visible,
though balancing
on the rim of
a distant
Pacific.

Clouds swirl in a gentle anger;
lighted from beneath
with a blazing
orange-yellow wreath
of sun’s dying rays.

Hints of night’s impending
coup d’etat
loom in the east;
darkness,
ready to purloin
this day’s sky,
and rejoin
the wry
starkness
of night.

The day revived me,
enlivened me.

Coming night
refreshes me;
enmeshes me
in the evening’s
repose.

It will be good
to have been here:
witness to sun’s
retreat from
night’s new
dominion.

It is good to
be here.

It is good…
to be.

posted in Introspection, Kisner Collection, Nature, Personal, Poems | No Comments

Jan
06
2005

Burn

by Stephen Messer

I see the flames crash
rising and shaking and shimmering
and showing me
the endless destructive
creative force
that it can be

and embers
that had released their energy
had given less intelligent men than me
the power to truly overcome
all the things they had done

and in that destructive force
there is the creative too
and I see with more purpose now
what fire means to me

It has allowed me to sustain my life
in places inhospitable
but only in name
for with this powerful force
I’m freed of course
to destroy, create,
to warm and illuminate

So I’ll take a steady flame
and onward go
with the knowledge
that warmth is available

posted in Nature, Poems | No Comments

Jan
03
2005

Reporters

by Stephen Messer

Joyful shouts shatter
and drown an ever-deepening message.

Pages stir sleepily
as words drift onto paper,
images onto film,
voices onto airwaves.

We write:

purveyors of all that is,
sentinels of all
that trust would draw away;
unembarrassed
to bear witness
to the sickness
of our times.

Sometimes I cannot
hide those parts of my life
that are better forgotten.
They enter and taint the neutrality.

Those tortures prove worthiness;
give something in common
to all and free the
hidden solidarity
that lurks beneath a divided society,
beneath the divided race of
beings we are.

Is it not the
greatest of the graces
that seeks to fulfill
its own promises,
its despair,
its feckless abandon
into the hubbub of fate?

I turn away to
release in the evening air;
tears are invisible, but there.

The capacity to report
now marooned upon
a million billion thoughts
that have flashed through this mind–
too fast, too many–
no time for the thoughts
to be formed into the words
that would express them.

Sleep evades this room.
Quiescence evades this mind.
The sleeping must be done elsewhere,
another place, at some other time.

Such is the racing mind.
Dawn brings more thoughts;
focus drawn towards the realization
that life and friendship
and streaming sunlight and water
share a commonality:
how immensely cherishable they are.

How perishable, too.

posted in Introspection, Kisner Collection, Personal, Poems, Social | No Comments

Dec
08
2004

Me Matará

by Stephen Messer

buscaré la tranquilidad
escondido al fondo de esa
miente, un fuente
de mi fuerza,
haya descubrido.

Las fuerzas del mundo
de una vida perdida,
desmigajando
debajo de ese presion,
me matará.

Las fuerzas de esa vida
tan rapido,
tan incontrolable,
me matará.

Debo encontrar
la fuente
que me salvará,
escondido
al fondo de
esa miente–

al fondo de
esa vida,
perdida.

posted in Introspection, Personal, Poems, Spanish | No Comments

Dec
08
2004

Ill

by Stephen Messer

Life’s dizzying pace had to break.
It had outrun itself.
To some a hero,
unstoppable by any means.
But to me, a fool
trying to outrun
the inevitable.

The inevitable
lived up to its name.

Those days too empty
of moments in which to take
a breath and smile…

Those days where ne’er a
moment
went unreconciled…

Those days that have helped
create enough memories for
someone twice my age…

Then a near-death life-change
took place.

The days became a tranquil
routine of tests
and visits
and rest.

An incessant brigade of
pokes and
prods and
questions

and rest.

A sudden, unrequested change
to take stock and recompense.

A chance to rejuvenate,
drop old charges,
relinquish unneeded
responsibility,
re-prioritize,
according to what’s best.

A chance to heal
and think
only of what’s best.

posted in Introspection, Personal, Poems | No Comments

Dec
08
2004

Me Matará

by Stephen Messer

buscaré la tranquilidad
escondido al fondo de esa
miente, un fuente
de mi fuerza,
se ha descubierto.

Las fuerzas del mundo,
de una vida perdida,
desgajando
debajo de ese presion,
me matará.

Las fuerzas de esa vida
tan rapido,
tan incontrolable,
me matará.

Debo encontrar
la fuente
que me salvará,
escondido
al fondo de
esa miente–

al fondo de
esa vida,
perdida.

posted in Introspection, Personal, Poems | No Comments

Dec
08
2004

Chance to Heal

by Stephen Messer

Life’s dizzying pace had to break.
It had outrun itself.
To some a hero,
unstoppable by any means.
But to me, a fool
trying to outrun
the inevitable.

The inevitable
lived up to its name.

Those days too empty
of moments in which to take
a breath and smile…

Those days where ne’er a
moment

went unreconciled…

Those days that have helped
create enough memories for
someone twice my age…

Then a near-death life-change
took place.

The days became a tranquil
routine of tests
and visits
and rest.

An incessant brigade of
pokes and
prods and
questions

and rest.

A sudden, unrequested change
to take stock and recompense.

A chance to rejuvenate,
drop old charges,
relinquish un-needed
responsibility,

re-prioritize
according to what’s best.

A chance to heal
and think
only of what’s best.

posted in Introspection, Personal, Poems | No Comments

Aug
22
2004

What would goose think now?

by Stephen Messer

Goose would think
that the room wasn’t so mad after all,
compared to a world
run by imbeciles and charlatans

Goose would think
that the box is a safer place to be:
At least in there he’s free
to do and say what he pleases.

Goose would think
about who is screwing Susie?
Aside from the government,
the cops and the floozies…

Goose would think
that if only he could let us know
Perhaps we’d all have something
that might be worth an ounce of hope

Goose would think
that life is just too short, too painful, or too long,
and for most the of fucking people, just plain wrong.

posted in Personal, Poems, Social, Songs | No Comments

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