The Lightning is a Strobe and the Thunder is a Bass

Born from weakness, shaped in heat,
The Golden Calves appeared to him.
Their altar was beneath his feet,
And so he danced in praise of them.

Some others joined him for the feast,
And two by two more came as well,
Each worshiping their separate beast,
But all beneath a single spell;

The women bent into a bow
In praise of great fermented grain,
And close behind to praise the plow,
The men, stiff-chained, all bowed the same.

And when the sacred spell had passed,
And all the grain had turned to chaff,
From Sinai Moses came at last,
But found no altar, dance, nor calf.

~Michael Danger Caskey

A Visit to the Cemetery

A Visit to the Cemetery

Oh sweetest Lady Sorrow, how I long for your embrace!
Oh how I crave your calloused fingers running down my face!
You may have been rejected by all the human race,
But sweetest Lady Sorrow, how I long for your embrace!

Your eyes weren’t meant for gazing: they make mortals from the brave.
Your hands weren’t meant for holding, for those hands of yours enslave.
Your dowry is a coffin and your marriage bed’s a grave,
But even still, sweet Lady Sorrow, you’re the one I crave!

Although some people scorn you so, and curse you as they cry,
And others drive you out with pills, or wash you down with wine,
This holy host of happiness cannot quite satisfy:
The saddest thing a man can feel is happy all the time.

The candle’s only praised because of darkness past the flame,
And sunshine’s only warm because we know the cold of rain.
The masses pray for opium–for happiness–in vain,
For they would rather have a world, not free, but free of pain.

But oh, my sweetest Lady Sorrow, I’d have you instead
As mistress to my happiness–a cradle for my head.
I would not have you all the time, since our time lies ahead:
My sweetest Lady Sorrow dear, we’ll marry when I’m dead.

~Michael Danger Caskey

Published in: on December 28, 2010 at 4:38 pm  Leave a Comment  
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