I Pray

I pray before the candles in the night

Inspired to take a chance upon my fate

Upon my golden cup the pentagram

Tapped by a hazel wand times three

My sturdy hand grasps the sharp silver blade

Burning incense splash the sacred alter

As silken purple robes flow away free

As a full sail upon the gusting sea

Song birds alight upon the fortune wheel

And Lovers await teeming chariots

And hierophants question the religion

Of the bright crescent moon upon the sky

The wind rattles the wooden Wicca men

That hang in the Douglas trees there about

I kneel and pray to the Goddess and God

The Witch’s bell rings and the candles doused

On the lamb’s skin, I stand and meditate

The bamboo flutes tenderly die away

I turn and part the hanging beads to go

Another day the points of five obey

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006

Here, Take My Gun

Here, take my gun and a sip of gin
Let it clean our teeth and fade our hair

Maybe not, I'll need it out here on the run
Besides, your not exactly what you pretend to be

I’ve been watching you for a long time

Through my compass and decided you were east

I knew at that very moment

That the sun doesn't set in your eyes ever

Sometimes I see the world like that

Like it was crystal clear with no illusions

I’m sorry I disturbed you

Have a nice day and pretend you never met me

For I saw the portrait of your life

I found how your essence had been stolen

Because now you’re nothing but a painted clown

Hoping to deceive and finally win an easy life

On second thought, here, take my gun

Don’t you love it here on this road?

© Copyrights G. Jones 2007

The American Dream

Having forgotten their ancient identity

They lived their days in a long perpetual dream

Forever captivated in make believe lives

They practiced from birth until their final demise

From candled solitaires to hooded conductors

In the grandest of temples to tiniest shacks

Constantly grasping for bright and shiny bobbles

They flapped about the hungry lights of attention

Never suspecting the reason for their being

The intricate tapestry in which they resided

Blind to the timeless cosmic beauty that abounds

Unbeknown to them the prize that lies deep within

There existed a small group that knew the secret

Slowly they’d climbed from the sleep of lies and deceit

Soon, they began to take responsibility

Ashamed were they, but relieved to see the real truth

Their nation was built upon greed and consumption

Pillaging the Earth’s resources for their own use

Telling whoever stood in the way, "We’re your friend!"

“We’re here to give you freedom!”, while raping their land

Either through never ending war or puppet kings

Their insidious death grip ever tightening

The unseen matrix ruled by big corporations

The people their zombies of consumerism

The American Dream…

Copyrights @ G. Jones 2012

Cravings

Our cravings cause our soul to lie

We become possessed by our possessions
As long as we let our cravings drive us
They will restrict us from obtaining peace
Our soul bleeds, while in this condition
Our purpose for existence is not being served
Cravings reduce and define all things
Aligning them to our own condition
Cravings are like a garment for our soul

A cheap unfeeling costume cover
Its very nature, displays our shallow needs

We pretend to be something we are not
Craving envelopes our bodies
 A self inflicted dark blindness
That blocks our true divine image

© Copyrights G. Jones 2007
Photo by immersive.es

French Distortion Times Three

To Grey Goose

Cool, sweet distortion is what I crave.

The sweet French variety,

fat olives in abundance,

always serve best.

Problems

of the

long,

hot

day

seem

to just melt away

after just one of these magic potions.

“Shaken, not stirred,” was Bond’s steady reply.

What an ingenious answer to

the action and intrigue.

Even the slope

of the

cool,

slim,

clear

glass

reminds me of a topless,

passionate woman, ready to ease my pain.

Yes, you can keep all your bliss of the inferior.

I take my chilled relief of reality

with olives or onions.

I’m very easy

to please.

Just

chill

it,

add

vermouth

and it must by all means

be thoroughly of the French variety.

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006



Dragonfly's Rest

A paradise is what enters my mind

When I reflect upon my dear estate

A soft bed and breakfast it imitates

Warm, cozy, and filled with precious antiques

Named for the turquoise dragonflies we love

But they are not the only residents

There are chipmunks that live in the woodpile

Douglas squirrels bark for their daily snack

The wise old Bared owls ever on the watch

The black-tailed deer graze quietly at dawn

Bald eagles ever soaring overhead

Bigfoot occasionally visiting

Our lush green lawns and colorful flowers

Towering furs wall our perimeter

A warm fireplace in the winter for heat

A cool pergola in the summer months

Listening to birds and the wind through the trees

The wind chimes and the lone coyote howl

Barbecue slow cooking country styled ribs

Sipping a cool martini and dreaming

God has blessed my dear lovely wife and I

With this wonderful piece of paradise

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006

Alone in a Crowded Room

Sitting absolutely alone

In a round room of riled people

My brain feeling dry as a bone

Staring at a silent steeple

They’re sleeping upon a hill there

In a shadowed silent graveyard

Still, just resting, lacking a care

The smooth granite stones standing guard

Charming clouds floating close above

The sounds of calling gulls and surf

No competing or push and shove

In a plot of well trimmed green turf

Safely absent from the rat race

The constructed reality

With make-believe smiles on each face

Sleeping through perpetuity

A seldom soft fleeting footfall

Leaving intermittent flowers

Stopping for a tad to recall

Then receding like spring showers

Smiling, I return to the room

The backbiting and bickering

Critical deadlines that still loom

People fretting about nothing

© Copyrights G. Jones 2007

Life's Trick and Love's Treat

To Trick or Treat

At first the fear overshadows the light
Strangers and foreign images loom high
Shifting glances, nervous whispers a flight
Looks from innocent faces, the long sigh

Cooling coals of life receive gentle stirs
Receptive smiles and angel voices sound
Sweet songs of memory generate words
Young tender hearts mingle with faint and bound

An exchange is made of silent message
Gifts shared between the elder and younger
Memories of old dreams and rites passage
New appreciation and sparked hunger

Though doubt and perceived hindrance entered
A divine service to both is rendered.

Copyrights @ G. Jones 2001

Author's Comments:
"This is a sonnet I wrote after taking my sixth graders to a retirement home for Halloween. The experience was very moving and I decided to do it every year.

Typhoon

To the Signalman of the Watch

With my hands forcing a wind-beaten hatch
Out into a vast world of might and spray
Holding tightly to the storm lines, I latch
Rain gear lashing against my frame, I pray

Mountain of water rising and falling
Wind screaming through manmade tower of steel
Stagger dancing and towing, not walking
Saltwater flys into my eyes, I shield

Finally, the hatch lever in my grip
Squeezing into the Signal Shack, dog tight
Safe inside, warm and dry, poncho, drip, drip
Blue water and spray extinguish starlight

Night on watch, in a treacherous typhoon
The howling beast stalking my metal room

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006



Author's Comments:
This is a poem is based on my memories of duty aboard a navy destroyer.

The First Step

The first step out of slavery is to stop being a consumer and attention seeker.
 Then begin the long walk back to the divine purpose we were placed in human form to accomplish.

God's Favor

Why would any god favor one nation over another?
 Nations are the construct of man, they are meaningless to gods and goddesses.

Riding With the Freak

The highway

Is a giant snake before me

As if a shimmering mirage

Within a distant dream

The wind

Feels like the hand of an angel

Softly tugging at my long

Raven silver mane

The world

Is a Chinese tapestry

Of a brilliant blue ocean

And snow-capped majestic mountains

The ride

Divides the awesome array

With engine's deafening

Creating a silent passage

The curves

Providing stimulation

Like those of a wanting woman

Racing the hungry heart

The walker

Experiences a flash

Of red chromed black leather

And a receding roar

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Author's Note: In the Wind Series

The Puppet-Master's String

Occasionally in the eyes of a student

I see the ghostly look of a much younger me

Those troubled and painful looks of despair and hurt

The reminders of adolescent self-reproach

I felt while dancing from the puppetmaster's string

An uncovered mauled and robbed young child’s self-esteem

The shy anti-social character of my youth

A life prematurely frightened and distorted

By the mirror of poverty and tragic death

As a teacher, I adore all of my children

But, there will always remain in my wounded heart

A special place for the child on the master’s thread

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Easter Morning Whore

To Mary Magdalene

Butterflies

all in a

winged

rhyme.

Rays

of

tiny

blue

birds

singing

songs of joy.

A young woman with lovely crimson hair, her long flowing sapphire robe floating in the light Spring breeze.

In her hand she held a lovely spray of ivory lilies for the only Man she had ever truly believed or loved.

Crucified by

those who

feared

Him.

To

his

crypt

now

she

softly

tread

.

To her astonishment, the tomb was empty. Great fear gripped her as she began flee.

But as she turned, a joyous scene appeared. The man she loved was alive and standing there for her to see.

She couldn't embrace him, he said not yet. Instead he told her to go and proclaim that he had truly arisen.

Apostle to the Apostles she was to be proclaimed, although for centuries she was known as the adulterous

whore.

This poem is written for a woman who was feared for her wisdom by the men who ruled over her.

© Copyright 2006 G. Jones

Midnight Ride to Deception Pass Bridge

A cool midnight ride

Down the narrow spine

Of black water’s edge

Tattoos and chrome silver flashing

Beneath the strobe sparking streetlights

Astraddle warm engine metal

Fascination behind cannabis eyes

Within the brain leaves a hot fingerprint

Skin tingling beneath denim and leather

Rock-and-roll heartbeat ride to the Deception Pass

There, upon island’s northern tip spans suicide’s rail

To glide bridge’s span through mysterious clouds of white

Copyrights @ G. Jones 2012

Author's Note: In the Wind Series

In the Twilight Half-Light

In the twilight half-light

our unfading purple dreams
of lover’s meetings
are transformed
to clearly established
rainbow-like
poetically emotional symbols
of epic serenity.

Copyrights @ G. Jones 2012