turning my thoughts

i turn my thoughts to you

i like to see your face
i have questions that trouble me
that i want you to answer

i seek inner strength with an inner cleansing

since the outer remains rotten
and stinking with greed
for power, control, and domination

‘follow me’, is what i heard

and i have followed that voice demanding ‘kingdom values’
submerged and scattered in sacred scriptures
from that ancient world, also in my conscience

those who fear you are few in numbers

and among those who respect your rule
fewer will pick up their cross leaving me
and other powerless utterly alone and speechless

i pray that you multiply those who stand for right

over the many who push, their might
to break the bruised reed
and quench the dimly burning wick

i pray that you give me courage

to walk away like Jesus, empty-handed
when i am crucified, rather then bending my knees
to today’s Herod and Pilate, the insolent might

i pray that you teach me to trust your providence

your unseen presence, and learn that i will, at the end
take nothing into that beyond
hence strive for nothing that is perishing

 

as i am

i come to you as i am

with all my inabilities to control my thoughts

with all my fears of future
with all my conflicts with arrogant men and women
with my limitations of language and logic
with all my inadequacies to influence even an ant

with my need to plead

to connect with the source of all life
with my desire to see you work
to justify and defend my cause

i close my eyes to behold you

i enter into silence to hear you

show me your face

speak to me your mind
provide me with a vision
that you provided the ancient prophets

i know that the call to the ancient prophets

came with a call to drink the cup of pain and suffering
if i need to drink that cup of pain and suffering
give me the strength to gulp it
and give me that poise
that comes from knowing for sure
that it is your will that i am ‘drinking’

and give me the words that is wisdom

to speak to others and self
with courage that is unbending
and peace from far beyond my universe

i am just a small man

a man from that insignificant town
with that little lake
and the little forest beside my home
the two sources
that shaped my early understanding of my world

now i stand before you

take me, shake me, and break me
i am yours
but give me that one lasting assurance
that i am yours
let me walk with that bold knowledge
of knowing that i am that clay in your hand

then i would cease to demand

the finished product i would want to be
for it is your being that matters me most
 

fishing within

i sit alone

in my abandoned farmhouse

in front of this great silence

far away from people

busy doing this, that

and all those i do not do

and i do not have to do

in that quiet stillness

i thank you, you who have so well

concealed yourself

as that snow covered soil

but only making me feel well

your patent presence

i noiselessly thank you

the most mute

for those noisy, nameless

black-capped chickadees

who so faithfully visit me

and mine and share my gifts

of sunflower seed

without prying into my privacy

i thank you for the frozen winter

that justifies my sitting

to fish within my self

this deep unclear pond

my own creation

who’s content for me to conquer

this one life is inadequate

for the soundless surmount

providing me another opportunity

in your eternity

and in the presence of your vastness

of time and space

i lose all my anxiety to hurry up

to grab any garbage

in any case i cannot, to your territories take

and therefore i am grateful

to the boundless space i enjoy

and i pray that you throw me

into the unrestricted space of the distant star

and not into that icy world

of the speckled trout

henry victor     18.12.2002

her loneliness

her phone springs to induce a ringing

on my lips to say hello when she is alone
and feels the absence of all that chattering
inside her home; until then i am left alone

like the garbage bin left outside freezing

in the winter night dark and very long
with an occasional racoon scratching
my side to reach inside but not too long

before abandoning me for the waiting

with hope of seeing some brighter light
natural and warmer, that un-burdening
of my soul before my death, surer light
 
henry victor      01.01.2015

dolls roll in my brain

continuously and constantly you hit

on my face and expect me to hold tight

on to your pet’s leash and your doll

but i have to let them go despite your growl

without you your pet and doll are mere memories

that fade as other pets and other dolls roll

into my brain as newer snow keep falling

on my sun-deck, older to leave, fast melting

neither you nor me are to here stay stagnant

at present, but like yesterday evaporate, forgotten

forever, and we are none but that snowman

of the Halloween not there to see the spring

henry victor       29.12.2014

Christmas 2000

That wailing and weeping

Now, not in ancient Rama,
But, right in our midst
Not Rachel, for her children
But, helpless fellow creatures
Refusing, all consolation
Cause, they are no more
That’s Christmas of Christians
Deaf, dumb, and blind

Forests thousands of acres

The gardens of Eden damaged and destroyed
For holiday decorations
And cosmetic Christmas worship
For printing of comical carol sheets
And hilarious, hypocritical greeting cards

Turkeys, with other fowls

And innocent animals
Butchered, in millions of tons
Slaughtered mercilessly
For celebration of
The creator’s love
For pretentious Christmas fellowships
And for the feeding of hellish greed

Oh did you hear that

Wailing and weeping,
This time, not in ancient Rama
But right in our midst
Not Rachel,
No, not Rachel, for her children
But, helpless fellow creatures
Refusing, all consolation
That’s Christmas for Christians-
Deaf, dumb, and blind

Henry Victor      25.12.2000 

dung-beetle

i lack no inspiration

but that comes not with fuel
to adequately excite my will
to spark a fire that starts my soul

to push my destiny in that direction

that i desire to move
actually to fly high, like that eagle
with no spark plugs of aircrafts
or, that of a smaller motor cycle

hence like a dung-beetle i crawl

always backward
far, far from a highway with fear of speed
pushing that piece of dung
into my little cozy tunnel

constantly cherishing

the droppings and depending
on my single skill to smell