old shoe

it’s torn around

yet i brush and dust

to put on my feet

for that comfort

no new shoe will give me

© henry victor      31.07.2003

‘lord have mercy’

i, like a feather fallen from an unknown

bird, am drifting alone, blown in an arid terrain
that wilderness of a loveless world
watered, enriched by the scarcity of gold

that mammon, an idol washed and worshipped

with liturgical music, pious rituals, and spiced
with sacred silence, with and without a person
in priestly garb, naming me, victor barren

the wind here fights and battles with emptiness

breathing out the refrain, but occasionally, ‘lord
have mercy’, while the lord of the creation
like Jesus of Nazareth naps on the boat’s stern!

28.06.2014

 

building your rule

my mind just for a moment, like a bee

on the flower, grazes along your throne, the grace!
yet, i like you to exert, to dictate, with force
the journey, the direction and content of  my soul
 

with its luggage, my being to build your rule
uprooting my heart from amidst that rat race
of erecting larger ware houses, storage space
storing the harvest of abundance with tilted scale

that also renders your seat irrelevant in a world

where Jesus and his colleagues receive a lip deal,
and no more, in a scope where shopping for gold
is, for someone on the trail, a substantial meal

henry victor     14.08.2013