Our Games

As children we'd pretend we'd captured light
and held it as a funny thing to dance
or tole some darkness from the sky at night
and with the sunlight we could make it prance.

we'd imagine we held a bright blue sky
with a bit of white cloud off to one side
and with sunlight and darkness it would fly
whenever, wherever, we would decide.

As adults we pretend we capture light
that for a moment illumines a thought/
As if we could grasp ephemeral sight
or as if revelation could be caught

what we make are toys that we hope just might
remind other folks of darkness and light

6/13/04

Capture the moment

Not all of my poems are factual
some of them are, mostly
But I still try to grip something actual:
truth which is airy and ghostly.

To bind up in ink an eyeblink
and let ephemeral moments be captured
to hold and examine what I think
in the breath where my spirit is raptured.

6/13/04

Jennifer's Hug

When the music reached that one mystic loud,
you put your tiny arms around my waist.
When perception squeezed because of the croud,
you squeezed me until my fat old heart raced.

When the air smelled of cigarettes and weed,
I smelt your hair gel mixed with shampoo.
when the world swayed to guitar player's lead,
I knew that it lead me straight to you.

I caressed the smoothness of your shirt.
I heard the roughness of the singer's voice
when you held me so hard it started to hurt
your muscles pulsed with the rock and roll noise.

when fingers lingered as we pulled away,
the hug and the music made my day.

6/12/04

Note: I am retyping this in November of 2019. I have no idea who Jennifer was. I've known a few women named Jennifer. I have no idea what concert I was at in June of '04. My handwriting is always terrible, but it doesn't look like "I've been drinking" level of bad, so I can''t blame booze, although I am use at that age if I was at a concert, I was drinking. In some ways, the fact that I remember nothing about this moment but captured it in a poem makes it better than if I remembered it all.

Tylenol PM

Sorry, I can't talk right now
you see I took a pill.
I was hoping I could sleep somehow
but I am twinkling still.

I've been trying to shut down by brain
but the fuse will not burn out.
The wheels sparkle like a nitrous train
whose scream echos my shout.

My eyes burn like a desert sad.
More red but just as dry.
My back hurts from trying to stand
as my stomach tried to cry.

It would be best if you'd allow
yourself to go away.
sorry, I can't talk right now.
I don't know what I'd say

6/7/04

Evil and Idolatrous

A person sits in the middle.
Oil is poured.
Each of us places a hand on him
or her
and we pray.

My breath catches every time.
How is God going to move?
Is He going to move?
What will I do if He moves?

I'm scared,
scared of God,
Scared He might confront me with his existance
in a way it might take me weeks to explain away again.
and sorta hoping he will.

Evil and idolatrous, I seek after a sign
or at least wish for one
so I can doubt it
or explain it away

5/11/04

Like a Real Man

I sometimes complain that people don't see

that my living is made by work, for real.

When I say "people" I mean me.

And I can't get past the guilt that I feel.

So today I did work that I understand. 

I scraped and I painted and I used tools;

got black grime and grease all over my hands.

Not all that weak shit I do for my school.

Soon I'll return to my school room and books

and live by talking about things I've read

and sort of feel like the works of all crooks,

"this aint really working," screams in my head

but I've had this moment to understand

that I truly can work, like a real man.

5/10/04

Nebraska Skies

You can see stars here
even in town.
I'm not just talking about a few constellations,
a few brighter stars, and Venus, and Mars
I mean all of them.

A sky so vast and star-filled
that the stars almost obscure themselves
constellations run into each other
and the milky way makes a road across the sky
that you are almost sure you can walk on.

Things are clearer here
and higher
and proof of God is in the night air
in the clean breeze and sweet breaths
that you'd swear is the smell of stars.

For those of us who have to leave,
we want to bottle it all up and take it with us
the smell, the stars, the revelation
we want to pack it in a memory or a poem
as if a bottle of glass or ink could hold it.

5/9/04

Nice town

I wasn't really thinking when I joked
"It's a nice town here. Nobody shoots you."
When he just got back from the fires and smoke
of a war I will never go through.

He'd spent nights exposed to the mortar shellls
and days expecting a rocket grenade.
My ghetto's a heaven to his hardened hells
and my lost stereo's no looters raid.

he could have taken offence at my quip,
for I realized my error too late
but instead a bright smile came to his lip
and laughing said, "I know, aint it great!"

Instead of anger at my flippant tone,
I just saw a man so glad to be home.

5/8/04

Alliance Rivendell

It's been too long since I've rested
and given my heart a chance to heal
rubbed oil into my calloused soul
and let my tender places feel

Now I return to Rivendell
where my torn heart will always stay
the place my spirit longs to be
from which my body's cursed to stray

Here I take off all my armor
and I wash clean my grimy skin
and put on a soft clean robe
and breath a safe breath once again

Here my deep woulds will be treated
and here I will not have to grieve
except for the tears that will come
when my quest compels me to leave

5/07/04

Control's illusion

Sometimes it goes so smoothly. It's like you're in control
and everything just falls in place
and there's Peace within your soul

Everything is right on track
your spirit rides on rails
you don't miss the things you lack
an nothing you do fails

Then sometimes you hit a wall
and everything just falls apart
broken dreams explode in you
like shrapnel in your heart

The smoke from burned out hope
stings your watering eyes
You think if nothing folks do works,
how come anybody tries?

And when you think objectively,
there's a scary thought to face:
When things go smooth or things break down,
Where's God in either place?

5/5/04

Your Pain

There's just something that I need you to hear
but I don't want you to listen, really.
Just let the noises penetrate your ear
and nod your head as if you can feel me. 

Sometimes I simply need to crush your soul.
Sometimes I want to humiliate you.
To touch your lips with a hot glowing coal
but you know I'd never violate you.

There's just something that I need you to see
But I don't want you to pay attention.
Pretend it's smoke and mirror ecstasy
Freaky thoughts for now, not for retention.

Sometimes I need to sit and watch you die.
Sometimes I want to see your walk falter.
Sometimes I wait until I hear you cry
to change pain that I could always alter.

Do you believe I love you even still?
Do you understand this pain hurts me back?
Do you know that blood cries for blood to spill?
Do you see the love behind my attack?

There's just something that I need you to know.
But, for now, your tired mind must let it slide.
It's a secret that could help you to grow
It's a hope that, you see, must be denied. 

Sometimes I laugh when you attempt to leave.
Sometimes I let you make it out the door.
Sometimes I will allow you to believe
that you won't come crawling back, like before.

There's something I need you to understand
But I know that it's too big for your mind.
But it's something that your heart will demand
When I make you seek it, then you will find.

Sometimes I need to see your heart broken.
Sometimes I want to scramble up your brain.
I want to give you a piece you will choke on
and let you live with the lingering pain.

Have you gotten it yet that I love you?
That we are tied together at the soul
And all this stuff I need you to go through
Makes you come back to me to make you whole.

Word

Once, it existed we knew in our minds

Once, it persisted but just in our hearts

In the myths and the poets deepest lines

Hiding in the knowledge a seer imparts.

Prophets spoke it, but could not understand.

Philosophers thought it, but could not see.

Dreamers longed just to hold the concept ‘s hand

And sorcerers screamed at it to come free.

Holy Wind made it more than conception

Power-mad Kings feared their own power’s loss

Through false shepherds and serpents’ deceptions

All of man nailed all of man to a cross.

            Once just a word, then a word and still more

            The word uttered now, the world to restore

cc 2000

Benjamin J. Cline

Why not conform?

More than most ever are, we were alive

Wildly dancing in hot ancient moonlight

Naked, we ran faster than angels can fly

It was enough just to love with all of our might

We drank pure droughts of living water’s blood

We let the clay of our substance be stone

We looked at the world and saw it was good.

It was a perfect place in which we belonged.

But we saw the promise of a better life

And the sweet fruits of civilization

We did not know about the future strife

Or hear future groaning of creation

We gave ourselves to the serpent’s black call

The serpent was raised because of our fall.

Benjamin J. Cline

6/1/2000

While you were out . . .

Ev’ry now and then, while you were away,

and I was doing my own work at home,

and was playing the music that I like to play,

and was doing my things in a way of my own:

talking to myself without feeling odd

and fixing my eyes on the plain white wall;

drifting between thoughts of language and God

and deep brooding thoughts ‘bout nothing at all,

there’d be a small whiff of you in my nose

that you’d left behind early in the day

in a blanket or in some of your clothes,

gentle reminders of your recent stay,

and a sweetness would sneak down through my chest

saying alone is good, but with you is best.

Benjamin Cline

7/12/05

When The World Was New

On Sundays after church we would take turns cooking.

None of us were gourmets, but we tried.

We would excitedly tell the others about a new spice,

Tarragon, or rosemary, or something else that was only new to us;

Something that real cooks had always known,

But to us, taste was something new.

We would lavishly praise each other “great recipes”.

And the one who did not cook would bring the wine.

Maybe it was all just an excuse for the wine.

On Sundays, after church, we would drink wine.

None of us were wine experts, but we tried.

We would excitedly tell the others about a new wine,

Chardonnay, Merlot, Riesling, or something that was only new to us;

Something that real wine connoisseurs had always known.

We would talk about the “good wine” to each other

And we would relate the beauty to philosophy.

Maybe it was all just an excuse for the philosophy.

On Sundays, after church, we would discuss philosophy.

None of us were philosophers, but we tried.

We would excitedly tell the others about a new book.

By Aristotle, or Kierkegaard, or someone that was only new to us.

Someone about whom real philosophers had always known.

We would talk about the “great books” to each other.

And we would enjoy being together.

Maybe it was just an excuse to be together.

That’s probably what it was.

Benjamin Cline

4/28/03

What I Want Right Now

I want to hear a sad, sad song

about how much love hurts even when it's good

I want to watch a movie

where bad guys die just like they should

I want to read a book

that makes me think magic is real

I want to just do something

where I still like what I feel.

I want to teach a class

that can make them understand

that love and hope and joy and feathers

are the safest place to land.

I want to write an article

that will clear up all this mud

and cure this affluenza

that is coursing through their blood.

I want to watch the sunset

and feel the warmth I used to feel

I want to go to Wal-Mart

and not feel the need to steal.

I want to taste my dinner

and know that it's enough

I want to stand up to my captors

and show them I am tough.

I want a glass of poison

that will kill me for a while

and wake me when the pain is gone

and pleasure is in style.

I want a gun that shoots the evil

but leaves all the good in place.

I want a spaceship with a harem

to have orgies out in space

I want a knife made out of money

So I can cut the sky

And watch it bleed out sunshine

I'll laugh and watch it die.

I want hypnotic powers

from puke-green jewel that binds

all those who see it to me

so I control their minds

I want to rule the world

I want to make the rules

I want to be in charge

I want to stop the fools

I want a the power of the bomb

and the power of the purse.

I want to make things better

But I would make them worse.

1/30/2009

Walking Back from the Art Film

Cold mist beads and drips off my long black coat.

Drops sparkle in the streetlights like small stars

I pull my collar up over my throat.

I ignore the warmth of cafés and bars.

My hands stuffed in my pockets, I walk fast.

My breath puffs up like steam from an old train.

Warm coffee shops beckon but I walk past.

The mist grows up to be cold autumn rain.

Two blocks past the stoplight is my small space

where I have hot-chocolate and all my books.

I also have blankets and a perfect place

to hang these cold, dripping clothes up on hooks.

But now I must feel the icy rain’s bite

Walking and puffing through frigid wet night.

Benjamin J. Cline

October 4, 2003

Twilight Conversations

We would walk in the glittering twilight.

And Talk on the edge between spirit and soul.

Newborn stars would brighten the sky’s light.

And in the light of that night, we were made whole.

No star seemed to fall too far out of our reach.

The water was deep but we could not drown.

We had each other to study and teach.

And groupies of angels all standing around.

A shining mirror that never could crack:

We would watch God glow between each other.

In that Perfect Lightness reflected back,

We’d add one weighty thought to another.

Somewhere singing sweet in my memory.

These old conversations still speak to me.

5-13-2000

To Adrian

You are in the sunrise when I stay up all night.

You’re the stars in my eyes when I get in a fight.

You are in the pinkish skin left there by a scar.

You are the sparkling glass broke by a crashing car.

You are the slightest pleasure that lives inside of hurt.

You are the clearest water flowing through my dirt.

Within you I find that one ounce of surety,

A place amid the chaos where one can be at peace.

See, somewhere in that mixture, there’s still purity:

The center of the wheel, where motions seem to cease.

Benjamin Cline

04/26/03

This Morning

The morning air still smells so clean and cool
from yesterday’s downpour when I had come,
a skin-soaked, drenched dress-shirt and khakis fool,
waterlogged walker arriving at home.

I peeled off sodden clothes like shedding skin
Pulling off soaked socks and wet shirt and tie
‘til wearing only what I was born in
I chose sweatclothes which were thick, warm and dry.

But the morning air, exhorting my nose
speaks of obligations that are unmet
that will not allow these comfortable clothes
and further require I rise from my bed

And go out to walk in that world once more
that tried to drown me just the day before.

9/11/2007