Friday, June 29, 2012

Acting Out the Call

You stare into the eyes of man, don't blink.
Within the soul is the power to sink
A wedge, deeply split a man's foundations,
Or to mend his soul with reparations
Of comedy and wistful banter's flare.
By such a personal touch of your flair
Man is made into the image of God
Or thrown into the abyss, where men nod
In a perpetual sleep, grow weary
As the titans that do shift beneath thee.
Yet with all of thy wit, charm, and grace,
Remember who's who, remember thy place.
You stare into the eyes of a man's fate
And teach him to replace, with love, his hate.

                Acting Out the Call, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Outer Space and Back

Within this fire that you've given unto me
Is the power of the sun or the raging sea.
Yet uncertain is your intent, in doubt I pace;
For fear I hide your gift, fear of disgrace.
Without I turn to pathways of the stars
That lead me further and further still, mars
Comes upon me and I don't even stop
To consider Saturn's rings, around I hop.
Yet while I fly you follow too, without
A trace to be seen in the cosmos at large,
You make yourself fast to my soul in rout,
And into my conscience you barge.
Whats wrong with me that I should flee this sight?
Decadent symptoms of raging delight;
Why do I fight what's truly good inside?
No surety besides my vacant pride.
I stare through space without a single thought,
And wonder vaguely what I"ll do if caught;
But still I don't consider it to be
Any more important than the raging sea,
And maybe that's why I didn't care for it,
For the gift that you gave, that I don't acquit;
Without the sun we'd never live a day,
But I didn't care for it, walk my own way.
I know in time I need to face this thing,
This beauty which you have given to me;
A treasure unused is a gift abused,
A traitor is a name with a heinous ring,
I'd rather climb high, higher than a tree.
But I know I've got to face what's inside,
I know that with you still am I allied;
You were waiting for me on the solid ground,
To hear from me, of my journeys, and found
That I'd become a better man through them,
Had mercy on me, did not my soul condemn.
I understand why it was you gave me
This gift, the power of the raging sea;
And I accept the eternal sun light
As worthy of my life, my cause, my fight!
Within my heart now is a noticed change,
From it's true call is no longer estranged,
I know what I have got to do in time,
And it start today by completing this rhyme.

                 Outer Space and Back, (c) Luke Bennette, Jun 2012

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Fight Night, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

If love be a polarity of gifts,
Then you and have, have got some rifts
A rough night!
Is ahead.

If love is to like whatever you do,
How then can you and I still be true?
Won't we fight?   
Go ahead!

What's good is bad, that's the way it seems,
She say's I'm a pain, I fight, then she leaves,
Ain't life a breezy day?
No way.
A hurricane's got a real cool name,
But everyone wishes it were more tame.
Always the same.  
Nobodies game!

Love don't fix what's already there,
You can't just bump, yeah! You gotta share,
Between you both, a plethora of gifts,
Fight though the anger and these your soul lifts.
Love begins,
Through has beens.

Because you can't just, make a perfect home,
Boredom sets in and you, feel all alone.
You chisel that face to, look like yourself,
And all you will get is, some helping elf.
No one wins.
No has beens.

Love is not some, fairy tale,
That you find,
It's living inside a great big whale,
Be more kind!
Please darling, do unwind!

What's bad is good for a little while,
You see where you've gone wrong, and you smile,
I hope so.
Don't you know?
Cause if you can't laugh off petty mistakes,
And crash through your love with all the great lakes,
Oh, no no...
So much woe.

Why don't you give in for once?
Try to see it her way.
Why don't you show him some love?
Don't make him pay,
Not that way.

You fight and you fight, you fight through the flare,
That rustic like steel lit glare.
See how you and she do fare,
Are your souls ready to bare?
Kiss and make up,
Fill up the cup,
Make for the moon,
Like hunting a coon.
And when you make it there,
Will you tell me, please, tell me how you two did fare?

Walking away won't make things right,
You're better off going down with a fight,
Don't you know,
That's the way love is.

Staying the same don't make for a match,
It certainly don't make the perfect catch,
Fish every night,
What a fright!

Love may be a polarity of sights,
Or a unanimity of fair heights,
Some strange insanity, a present that bites,
Great list of vanity, personal delights,
A means by which we are free from all rights
To sleep in peace, you see we don't sleep the nights!
Someone turn on the lights,
Little kids at home cause more fights.

All for the best,
That is my quest,
For where there is friction there is a fire,
A flame just waiting to burst into desire,
And from that passion I'll storm the heavens gate,
To overcome with love this raging spate!
A race tot he clouds darling,
If I win you owe me a farthing.

So baby, will you take my hand?
Together we'll meet the demand,
We'll meet it strong,
Meet it head on.
Love can see us through,
Out to sea, into the big blue,
I can't see through,
But I've got you. 

             Fight Night, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Slang Dong

Like song you are, bitter flame in the dark,
A fire to the world you are, golden spark!
Like dance am I among the stars at dawn,
I try to lead the way, lead people on.
You try to leave a path, a sound-wave stair,
By which some pilgrim traveler may fare. 

But what I found out is that they don't run
To see the things I had thought to have done,
You try to show them light, bright fireworks,
But they didn't see the light, are they jerks?
And all they wanted in the sign that we gave
Was the means that they took, that led to the grave.

We tried to elevate them with our souls,
Tried to make running mares out of them foals;
And would have succeeded if it weren't true,
That man's can't see straight, see through me and you.
Cause what's behind us is what matters most,
The Father, Son, and the bright Holy Ghost!

It's not so much we don't appreciate
The attention given us, we don't hate,
Rather it's because we care, for your sake,
We want you to give and receive, no take!
It's because you can't see straight through our skins,
We're flesh and bone, head to toe, just has beens!

If you can't see the ones we represent,
Maybe we've done wrong, and need to repent;
Cause like a mirror's got no shine on it,
All covered in dust, and fabulous wit,
Such is the case with us, our hides made,
From dust we've come, and you know we've been staid.

Cause fabulous wealth seems to shine on you,
Million dollar quarters lining your shoe!
The light comes running, comes running away,
And all that's left is artificial ray.
Now look at me in all of this drag wear,
I've got the moves, they've become a snag snare,
Cause while I was dancing the dawn in May,
The dusk came on, and with me ran away.

Now the dark don't shine bright without your flame,
And the night don't seem right, it seems so tame.
Likewise the dawn seems to have lost it's beat,
Without the moves of the dance, still defeat!
And you and I have now folded from strain,
To gold we bow, the money in the rain!

We didn't trust in the message we thought
Was the most important message done wrought,
We folded the page, and never returned,
Now we both feel astray, take it in turns
To ask the question, why did we fall down?
What happened to us? Our smiles are now frowns.
And everywhere people look at us like
We've accomplished something in this cold world;
But we see the rut we dug, strong dike,
Into which we'll be thrown, the throng hurled.

Like water you are, have you now become,
Stricken with harsh waves, and stricken so dumb.
You used to have a voice all your own, man!
What happened to you? can't you understand?
The flame is your voice now, perversely used,
Not by others silent, but self abused.
No more transparent to the light behind,
No more hope in you, no love will they find
Just an angry choke whose looking for mercy,
In all the wrong places in an endless sea!

But who am I to judge a fellow poet?
I'm a worse sinner, and I surely know it.
Like a stone am I, that can't move at all,
I'm too big to push, and to hard to haul!
I danced my time away, my heart beating,
Felt only the sway of the world spinning,
Yet even with the sun shining bright above,
I found myself in a most deceptive love.
Now the Father and the Son took the back seat,
And Holy Spirit no longer tasted sweet.

Like a postcard from some foreign land
Did you appear when you were at hand,
However you were hardly a fool,
Compared to what I was, a dumb tool.
For glory and fame you gave up your flame,
Rather far gone was your voice, no more fire.
For uncouth love, a penny pinching dame,
Who branded me of my oath a liar.

So the question now that transpires in
The realm of my mind, that list of has been's,
Is how do we know what path we should take
In order to serve God? His likeness create?
For it seems to me that the fault we shone
Is that we left God, who left us alone.
We sought to heal the hurts and the sorrow,
By bringing forth another tomorrow
With Dance and Song for people to live in,
To forget the pains and hurt of the has been.
But it seems we were ill equipped with thought,
Rather used the talents we had birth bought.

I thought you had the flame in your heart,
You thought that I had the beat to start,
I considered your song an inspiration,
And you thought that my dance made it all fun,
But these trinkets, these small contrivances
Were nothing to the knowledge of what is.
For in our haste to erase what has been,
We forgot history, to figure in.

Thus it follows, that if you think you know,
The means to erase the sorrows of woe,
You would be well advised to them up,
All the paths men took to fill their gold cup.
And it stands to be seen, a method won,
Where man did not falter in his travels;
For he didn't know that it was the Son
That lead to the cup that now overflows.

                    Slang Dong, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Sunday, June 24, 2012


Masterful intellect is this that acts
With dignity and smarts, to behave with
Such a mastery of sorts that he moves
As January south of equator,
That he should swindle winter of it's cold
And cause him so to move up further north?
What strange becoming does he hold within
That allows him to withdraw disease from
Body, overcome political grasps,
To make fast to something all desire
Without so much as looking back at life?
How may we overcome such a disease,
May we in turn pick up the slack, lose strife?
Or will we forever some other please?

               Trudacity, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Make Sure the Mast

Molten words do pour forth like a spout from
Your cheeks! You do make so much spectacle
With all of your antics, like a great thrum
Of life, a wall of energy, a shoal
Of fish; yet in all of these words is no
Shape or form, no meaning by which a foal
May learn to run his race, no shape! Although
You have taken care to formulate your
Words with ease, and so avoid the dread foe
Embarrassment, escape the critic spore
That sprouts in the light of your mistakes; but
For all of this you lack the filter by
Which words become substance, the who and what
Of an idea! Words poured into a wry
Mold turn the fount of magma into
A stream of knowledge imprinted in rock;
This is how man may to his thoughts be true,
As a man first takes aim before he cocks
The rifle that he holds in his two hands.
So to you must take care to learn your words
With greater care. For a man understands
Little more than what he presently heard.

Make sure the compass of your tongue, and forth
You may go, guided by magnetic north.
For such is structure to a word, it does
So magnify the meaning's heard; because
Of this you must seek to amplify thought
By procuring an amp, one that may, ought,
Deliver a full experience, sound
Our ears with salutations of purpose,
Draw us into a dance, make us resound
With song, remove from us all of the fuss
That once did fill our minds and hearts with fear;
Such is the feeling of uncertainty,
That it binds up what surety draws near,
Like the perpetual tide of the sea.

                   Make Sure the Mast, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Saturday, June 23, 2012


Decrypt, if you can, the fire from the water's hand;
When you have done so come and find me out on dry land,
That I too may share in the toils of your labor,
And drink my fill of the wine you did ferment. Orr
Is a precious thing, and I doubt you'll find it here
Amongst the petty lines, these springs of ink that run
With a sort of wobble to their gait, are outdone
By the powerful technological wizzard;
It 'would be like searching for gold in a blizzard,
Getting ice from a summer's day, walking through sure
Footed mountains without shoes! If only it were
Easy to decrypt the message in all of these
Things that we do wade through, these fictions in a world
That's quickly passing: a train we no sooner heard
Than saw it sprint away with our only chance. Do
You suppose that descriptions are a one shot deal
By which we may find heavens gate and make a steal
Through the Pearly Gates of the Utmost High? Maybe.
For we all decrypt our fate from the raging sea.

Decryptions, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Making Contact

Eye of the hurricane take you up in a rage
That may never bring you down until you do sage
In so much water and fire that you become one
With what you preach to be! Until then be gone, done
With the likes of a man such as I who am deep
In the muck and filth of life, a wanton doth weep
To see me staying here, but you do cringe with fright;
As though I should steel upon you in the night
With hunted steps made soft in the snowy brushes
Of a thousand lakes beside many soft rushes.
You do contend with me for the lot of men's souls,
But tell me, who doth wield your black heart? The controls
By which you act out this perverse deed of petty
Theft that leaves man and wife without food, most hungry,
In a puddle of need that amounts to deaths door!
Tell me, is your master a lover of the poor?

               Making Contact, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

The Conscious Objects

Picking at my fingers with meticulous sight,
Not by the day, the sun, but by the cold moonlight.
As if sifting through the pages of an old book,
In which I hardly take a second glance or look,
I move from finger to finger and flex their strength;
Inside my head I imagine I walk the plank.
But hidden inside of my mind, the trove untouched
These many years by mine intellect, ever closed,
And guarded by lock and key, is a thing untouched
That causes me to shiver up and down; exposed,
Such a thing would compel me to act, just as words
Do cause a man to think, to ponder what he heard.
And though I pick my way through life without a thought
As to what the end holds for me, what I've done bought
With the flipping of book pages without a care,
Inside the recess of my mind, the unconscious
Weight of the past begins to concoct some snare
For my weary feet with a dandy delicious
Treat; such a thing is often my downfall in life,
And in it I find, more than in books or films, strife.
Still now, I'll keep to my ways, I'll keep picking
Though the pros and the cons like they were a new list
Of things that needed my approval; and will sing
Out a song of disprovable, will make a strong fist
By which I shall make ruin upon the conning muck
That threatens my way of life, the ways that I've stuck
Through the years that I've lived. Rather quaint was my thought,
As a man who is swimming for life out at sea;
Approached by a boat that is much stronger than he;
Yet he at least knew when he was good and dead, caught.
Now the boatman howls in laughter, comes a charging 
With his steam all a puffing behind him, barging
In like men with business to a crowded saloon,
In order to catch the ignorant fool, buffoon.
And the quaintness now shows in full, as the buffoon
Turns around with a smile on his face, confident
In his abilities to vanish without trace.
But little did he realize he was all bent,
His mind was playing tricks on him, like a
Mirage that opens wide it's beaming arms to kill
With a storm of sand that threatens to give your fill.
I'm a picky man, and I picked my way through streets
Of gold that shone in the day, silver beams of light
I chose as my favorite means to see, soccer cleats
What I would wear upon my feet while in flight,
And I thought I'd picked the battle; but I hadn't.
For a man whose locked away his bitter fear, kept
Far from sight what he chose to ignore, did clear
Himself from it like a man from pony express,
Didn't realize deadly purpose, adamant 
Purpose did follow him wherever he did steer,
Did chase him around were he did pick luck to bless
His path and all that he would find along his way;
To his ruin, for to fight one's own mind in May
When the wind is blowing and the dust breathes perfume,
Is about as bad as reading that David Hume!
I still pick at my fingers, but they pick me back;
For I'm now stuck inside a prison, alack!
My conscious overcame me in that bar brawl fight,
And now I sleep on a bed of stone. Well, Goodnight!

                    The Conscious Objects (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Cross the Line

I see you eying that chocolate now,
Just waiting, biding your time, you take a bow;
When his back is turned and he's not looking,
You take your time rather than booking.
Yet what if I told you that I'd tell him
What it is that you are doing behind his back?
Do you think that you can cross, you can swim
This ocean of authority, this track?
You see a quick and easy prey,
I say a reason that you should pray.
Cause it doesn't matter what you've gained by it.
What matters if what you've lost.
And you may think you've exercised your wit,
But all I see is what it cost. 
So don't mind me, I'm just passing through,
I see a man, a man's who will get his due.
You may start out now with chocolate eclairs,
But eventually you'll find you're falling down the stairs.
Doesn't matter what you thought you were doing,
What matters is what you've done, what you're eschewing. 

                  Cross the Line, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Perpetual Shade

T'was worse than Smoke that rises from the flame,
All muffled by it you would choke from it's
Hand; such a thing at least is somewhat tame
In comparison to this. Keep your wits!
For out of the Mist it sends, wreathed in light
From a parallel world, a memory
Of what became you as beauteous sight;
Though long ago such a thing was gone. Be
Then cautious to approach in this dense fog
The creature that casts his shadow upon
The many elements that do stir from
This bog, this quagmire, this infested dawn
That never finds relief from night's shade, drum
Of the day by which man becomes ensnared
In the happenstance of time; be prepared!

                 Perpetual Shade, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Thursday, June 21, 2012

One has not Two, but Two has One

Commune with me in ideology,
In theory we will communicate now.
Give over your mind, so that I may see,
And I'll give to you sure knowledge of how
Two may become one, and in one form two
May be distinct, as you and are still are;
But if you hold back what I seek from you,
Then what you seek will forever be far.
For never was one able to add one
And one to two, without two being there;
Though they are unique when apart, a gun
That is held in a separate hand, they fare
Much better together as two, as you
And I speak ideological brew.

             One has not Two, but Two has One, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

A Matter of Acquisition

Relay to me again the knowledge I
Seek; for the mind is ready to glean it.
Give over to me by the end of the
Week; do not engage me with petty wit.
Entrust the information to me, this
Parcel; as a runner passes the torch.
Give to me what will make my abstract mind
So full; or your great intellect I will scorch.
Yet dally not with the time or the place,
For I have many things to do in time.
I'll give you reason, so you may save face,
That should be reason to keep you in line.
Riddles I seek cannot be understood
Without the keys you do keep, those I could.

                  A Matter of Acquisition, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Come Again

Running never did sit well with me, so
Much speed, such a pace, a gift of showman
Ship I never have seen anywhere. Though
While the distance appeals not, for I ran
It as a child, or the hurdle that makes
lite of a man's gravity, his own rite
Taken at will for what gravity takes,
Or the dash that becomes a horrid fright,
For men do fall and break themselves upon
Their wasteful speed, there is one race that I love,
One race that becomes a wordsmith, outdone
By generosity for which they strove.
The relay, by which men do overcome
The tedium of doubt and suspicion. 

                    Come Again? (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

What the Eye Can't see

Upon a trail, hot am I; like a hound
Have I picked up the scent, and am now bound
For what I deemed to be some stranger full,
An unknown entity, uncanny soul.
Yet when I came to the end of the trail
All certain that I had caught my fare, prize,
I found that I had made an epic fail,
That my trusty nose had deceived mine eyes.
Yet how does the red in a rose give sight
Except by expelling such colored light?
So too did my nose expel all else seen,
For it focused upon what once has been.
A lady stood before I had known,
With superfluous grace she had not shown.

                What the Eye Can't see, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

The Search for Love

While the world about us collapses, folds,
I'll give a great shout to the masses, search
For your face among the crowd; for it holds
Much more, as songs sung out loud, and I lurch
Too and fro to get a glance of your face,
Glue my mind, do set mine eyes. A chore made
More and more difficult. Without a trace
You vanished, without coat; about I've played
My cards, but to an empty seat before
Me that speaks not, a great sea of darkness
That pulls me ever inward to the shore
I sought to save you; were I to confess
I'd make it known that I failed to procure
A way out of this mess that falls on our
Heads, slay my soul and mesh what still sure
Means I have in this life, despite how far
I'd have to walk in strife. What rite could cure
The absence of your smile? gentle walk? so
Much presence did you create, fullness in
The mind, you satisfied great longings! O,
For kind words on a moonlit night, my shins
Do ache to have walked so far and wide. Woe!
For I shall not discover you until
Inside I have come to peace with absence;
I've lied to myself, a crease made to fill
The void where you were! And to me presents
The ineffable fact, true knowledge of
Your being, the location of your self;
Yet as I cannot run, no faith in love,
I find the bridge that gaps our hands, this shelf
Upon which I do stand apart from you,
Makes me long to be myself, to be true.
Thus am I woken up, when I am born.
From me your presence like a veil was torn,
I search forever for a cloudless night
Whereby I see you reflected in light;
And though the world around us collapses,
Falls down like a house of cards, an earthquake
That longs to make all things steady, the plays
Of life, by which we seek out the handshake
That will turn embrace, will not change at all;
Provides us with a reason not to fall.

                  The Search for Love, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Dawn meets Sunset

Upon the heels of fleeting glances made,
As red hue's upon the clouds at sunset,
So too was the thought that should have been staid,
And now I wish you and I had never met.
Yet still the merry go round doth move, such
Speed and furry, going nowhere at all,
So too did my words tumble out, to much
At once; I felt sure of myself too tall.
Since then I've thought upon the rushing stream,
Where drop upon drop doth follow in tow,
Seeking out with fleeting touch, that fair dream,
Seeking to be one wherever they go.

But in haste I spoke, like dust is my word;
I spoke of truth, but little have you heard.
Hast not the word the power to undo
The setting sun, so devoured by the night?
For as serpents stalk their foe, a small shrew,
So too does the coming darkness give fright.
Upon the heels of darkness comes the light,
Within the cave is seen a gleaming hope,
What once I took for glory is a blight,
Has been merely a tool by which I cope.
How swift the words do pour out upon dry
Sand, and leave but a memory of life;
For sand is not receptive, cannot fly
Within the dreams of men in all their strife.
Yet sought I through the day to speak the word
To sandy hills, red dunes, and mountain capes,
But for all the wind of their speech they heard
Nothing, did act akin to noisy apes.

Perhaps this wisdom, this word, this apple,
This choice fruit that I seek to give them all,
Should be kept in reserve, as land from sea,
So that what is beautiful red will not pall
Against the dull road that is their choice path,
As Spring does to Winter, the chill, it's wrath.
But when the sea craves the land at the tide
And covets what it has lost, then in time
Shall the sea return from frost, be allied
With the love of it's life; then fair rhyme
Shall be spoken, and words shall be exchanged
To the golden hues of a dawn, unchained.

So be the sea, and I'll be the land, I'll
Do my best not to force you with words, cold
Facts that make a still mere of me, a vile
Authority; merely cunning and old.
With fleeting glances you did look upon
The meaning of the words I did spake then;
And now you and I are apart, anon!
Now I am in a desolate garden.
Return O silence, let my mouth run dry,
No words be upon my lips this cold night,
Let my silent vigil of the night fly
To meet you in the warmth of new days light.
And when you hear the silence of the storm
That besets my heart, with words yet untold,
Then make fast your sails and return, O norm,
Forgive me my words, for having made bold.

Upon the heels of fleeting glances made,
When my sorrow did meet your warm embrace,
Upon the marrow that met music played
To the melody of rivals who race,
Upon the words that night infuses with plain
And cumbersome words does the daylight flee,
And by such sorrow doth the midnight rain
Come to mingle with the light that will be;
Yet by such sorrow is the dawn made sweet,
And bitter tears made from hasty words cured.
A better meeting no one will soon meet,
Than the dawn of the day by night procured.

When drawn apart by the poles of time, those
Mid way hours that we do so lament,
Then shall nature rue all down to it's toes
That it ever existed; for twas rent
In two by a falling star, of words black
With criticism, and gold with fair praise,
Such opposite foes did the host attack,
Did each other cancel out, did unphase.
Yet when the poles of time do cross as birds
That do wing their way through the crimson blot,
Or the fair pink rose sky, mixed blue and gold,
Then does the star yield to each what it ought,
A perfect mixture by which man may hold
The golden beams of sunlight made unsure
By the blackest rays of midnight that were.

Upon such fleeting heels of time made full
Of the eternal essence that is God,
May my words find root in your well made soul;
Lest you, upon my darkened path, do plod.
In my haste to speak I spoke with a flame
Untempered by such a mixture as this,
A flame that was filled with innocent shame,
And marked by such betrayal as a kiss.
Then let me make amends for my words now,
By your leave let me submit, let me bow.
I'll leave all my prized words behind to sing
Of the eternal glory you do bring
With but a moment in time moving still;
A time where light and darkness have their fill.

                           Dawn meets Sunset, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

The Persistent Toddler

Wave to the toddler standing within, care
Enough to brave the waves that thin your heart
Strings with wear and tear; lest the devil snare
You from the treasures you have, and you start
Like a wave to build in power and strength
In a passion of indifference. Tear
Your eyes inward glances, from the myth
Of self perfection, and give yourself, share!
With longing in his eyes he doth wave, is
Calling through the window, a hurricane
That cares not for the land it trods on, bizz
Overcoming the stain; energetic rain
Is he likened to while he smiles at you;
Waving, calling, hoping you remain true.

                  The Persistent Toddler, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

The Stray

In the heart there is a stray,
Who runs and barks and growls,
Who looks abroad for a place to stay,
But often finds the hoot of owls.
For the door is shut, and the lock is fast,
Like a captain's heart shut up in a cage,
Lest the heart become lost as sea at the last,
As the hurricane blows by in a rage!
But still lonely hearts must try,
As a stray to find a home,
They search for a place that's dry,
Simply looking for a bone.
For while the heart is unbound, not held back,
By the leash of the mind and of thought,
It will go forwawrd, will not feel slack,
And will do things that it probably ought not. 
Thus is the man who yearns for God,
And the woman who burns for him too,
Thus through the thought of rational do I plod,
And race through thoughts of idealist true.

               The Stray, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Slow Working Ice

Storm the castle with flame in your heart
So as to take fast that counterpart of
Man, made whole in form, but half spun in part
By the counsels of ice and cold above
That stole from him his faith, hope, and love. Cart
Your army by the prosperous winds, move
Quickly with stealth; for ice detects speed
And hastens the fall of a man in his groove,
Of a man without a thought for the need
Of his purpose, a man who has a reed
In place of scepter. Do not become he
You do seek to dethrone before you come
To the gates, for his wrath is like a sea
That surrounds the walls; you will be undone.

                      Slow Working Ice, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Wake upon Wake

Hear you the sound of insanities wake
Before it has passed? Can sanity spake
After the thief comes at night without sound
To take what once was a square, now made round?
Sanity doth not hear the tread of him
Who creeps behind in order to get in
A word or two, a few seeds of doubt; by
Which a confident breath becomes a sigh,
And by which the sky once deep blue, most clear,
Becomes a mist, a fog, a mire queer.
But know you that when the thief has passed,
And the treasure he stole he hath amassed,
Know that sanity will be hot on track,
To place insanity upon the wrack.

                    Wake upon Wake, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

My Projection

Like a gloss of paint on a dirt stained house
Is the reference I see before mine eyes.
Like rusted armor, shell of argument,
Is the trust you place in what I despise.
But beneath the gloss the dirt still remains,
Without much hope of removal at all.
And beneath the armor lies your flesh, the stains
Projected by the rust; and so you fall.
Without mass one cannot move his own bulk,
One cannot find a groove without design
That preexists his thought, just as the hulk
Who does place all his trust in clear cut lines;
For science is clear, cut out like a mold,
But still we do fear what truths it doth hold.

            My Projection, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Sharing Liniage

Share thy talents, thy coins of gold and lead,
Thy impressions of Kings given to thee
By thy Kingly Father; follow his tread
Lest you step out of line, fall in the sea
Of raging lunatics, those vast rebels
Who do cling from shore to shore in a line
That is all to much like a long grape vine
That stretches from Alamo to the Dells,
From the waves of the Pacific to such
Calm as the Atlantic. Pray you, give much
Heed to the impression he makes on you,
Lest you become like them, unsound, untrue;
For he who follows not in father's step
If tis a good father, is deemed inept.

              Sharing Lineage, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

One Hundred and Forty Four

What is known of this fickle fellow? This
Catch we did haul in with a load of fish
Upon the shore where we did fall in bliss
At the feet of the master who did wish
Us to come with him and become fishers
Of men, what is known of him? In deed no
Knowledge have I of him, but he assures
Me that he is not of evil, no show
Of blemished spot does he have upon him,
Or sign of ill intent among other
Brothers; and many he has, at a whim
I count one hundred and forty three. Sure
Knowledge we may not have. But we
Know that he is good, and came from the sea.

                  One Hundred and Forty Four, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Blithe Eyebrows

Close the door to the past with a smile, a
Sure look, with eyebrows that laugh at the day,
Wrap me with your embrace my friend, and say
How the night cannot our good friendship fray.
For I in turn will say to you the same,
Turning your frown into a smile, a sea
Of mystery; for you, from hither, came
To see my person, your friend, set me free
From a weight of uncertainty and doubt!
Reminded me through your carefree glances,
Your eyes, full of blithe, what life is about.
Open then the door to where the dance is,
This rhythm of life we do tread. Make whole,
As I the tatters of your sail, my soul.

                    Blithe Eyebrows, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

From Heaven's Door

Who controls the elements of fire light
That you should come so close from heaven's door?
An angel you may be by a man's sight,
Yet with a mischievous grin in store;
For all light that's let loose into this world
Shares in the beauty that has been unfurled
At the dawn of time by the eternal
Hand's that sustain their brightness and glory,
But carry inside a hint of pride, full
To the brim with a passion, true story.
Thus fire descended from heaven above
As a gift to man, as his greatest love,
And she in turn has a passion within 
To lead her lover, to God or to sin.

                 From Heaven's Door, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Hidden In Plain Sight

Hidden trinkets, hidden cards,
Hidden thoughts are much like poems of bards,
Hidden motives, hidden glances,
Hidden by a ritual of dances,
Hidden offspring, hidden away,
Hidden inside of a closet to stay
Hidden passage, hidden meaning,
Hidden behind a myth, a child's dreaming,
Hidden knowledge, hidden phantoms,
Hidden behind the sound of past drums,
Hidden black rites, hidden purpose,
Hidden for the sake of the murderous,
Hidden body, hidden person,
Hidden from sight because of a curse won,
Hidden music, hidden treason,
Hidden because of a message we shun.

Hidden is the world around us,
Hidden in a lack of giving, of trust,
Hidden behind masks of knowledge,
Hidden until we find the old sage in dust.

Yet behind all these things hidden,
Lies a truth that some despise, bedridden
Because of the anger they hide,
Behind that mask held up is foolish pride.
Hidden is the love they once had,
Hidden behind their hate, and it is sad;
For behind the smile is anger,
Behind that anger is a force most sure,
Behind that force ravenous hate,
Behind that, in bars, deemed as second rate,
Is the love that once reigned inside,
That with the glory of light was allied.
And the keeper of fair love's jail,
Is the betrayer, that loathsome snail,
Named disbelieve, and doubting toad,
Who makes all things twice, nay, thrice their right load,
So that the mask that hides each mask,
Becomes harder to lift, arduous task.

Thus when I see you looking through,
Those slits, those holes, a false friend you,
Unjust to me, who wear no mask,
May I see you're face? This is what I ask.
Unravel the mask, the fair cloth,
You do wear around your face, this rag, moth!
Turn your painted smile upside down.
For you do yourself wrong, this pretend gown,
This simmering fancy looks ill,
Are but cards in a game you play at still.
I am not playing games of cards,
I am not speaking in the words from bards,
I speak my peace upon your sight,
And desire to reveal to you light!
Allow your anger to flow forth,
I'll guide your fair way and point you due north,
Let go of the mask that shrouds hate,
Let go of vengeance, this bitter made spate,
See, my love desires your soul,
I desire to remove scars, make you whole,
Do not dance the night with old doubt,
For his words cut deep, his poisonous route,
See, the bars are an illusion,
From a conjurer, a spider, web spun,
They do easily fray when touched,
Do not fear his words, they have all been hushed,

Yet you doubt my love for you still,
And you doubt that you may climb out the hill,
May climb up the steps of prison,
From this prison you fear you cannot run,
But listen instead to the cord,
That cord of music that's welling up, Lord,
Lord of all things who spreads inside,
Healing your hurts, and all your pride,
The final mask has been removed,
And your past is now gone, it has been soothed,
Take then my hand, we'll go forth now,
And before the King of Kings we will bow.

Leave behind in this prison, dark,
The doubter, the snail, the toad, this false lark,
For he will live the way he knows,
For he never stays long, but comes and goes,
Amongst the jail's he makes his rounds,
In villages, towns, in cities he hounds,
The blood of life escapes his reach,
Less like a blood hound, and more like a leech,
When he returns he will give praise,
Like a king he will adorn you, to raze,
To raze your virtues, your statues,
To lead you willingly back to the roots,
There he'll imprison you again,
Don't listen to him, this dried up marsh fen,
Come now with me, I have said well,
I have spoken so to keep you from hell,
Come now to the one who sent me,
Come now, to the unending mystery.

Seen by one, seen by all,
Seen as one to whom we all call,
Seen by many, seen by few,
Seen as the one eternal brew,
Seen afar, seen up close,
Seen as beauty, the other as gross,
Seen in time, seen outside,
Seen as one with nothing to hide,
Seen at night, seen by day,
Seen as the one, the certain way,
Seen as right, seen as just,
Seen as the truth we all may trust,
Seen within, seen without,
Seen by the enemy in full rout,
Seen today, seen tomorrow,
Seen even through the eyes of sorrow,
Seen as love, seen as hope,
Seen through every mask, every rope.

For all the things that are hidden,
There's a way to find them again,
They come to the King when bidden,
And in response they say, Amen.

                  Hidden In Plain Sight, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Saturday, June 16, 2012

Stop Dis-easing

Hunger may disease the mind to rebel
As if it were understanding some great
Fall that were clearly the result of hell
Let loose on earth, preventing any second rate
From gaining any sizable portion
Of wealth; which would explain the great escape
As an escape motivated by some
Desire for more choice quality ape
Food, such as fruits and vegatables. But
Potatoes don't count being Irish sent.
Yet you refuse to see what I see, what
Compels such disease is your diseased, bent,
Scared, unfeeling, and otherwise deranged
Mind; nothing after this talk will have changed.

                    Stop Dis-easing me!, Luke Bennette, June 2012

Dream Walker

I walk and run through dreams at night, when all
The world is asleep, all a fright; a sense,
A chill that runs up my spine makes me fall
Upon the ground, upon the leaves so dense.
Thick they call me, without reality,
Up in the clouds where there is no air to
Breathe; such a contradiction I do see,
For in their reason I find another clue
As to why they don't like seeing any
Man come close to the heavens through such images
As are conjured up, imagined, so free.
Thus do I turn about in dream churches,
Fearing the mob that follows me at night,
While ministering to others with light.

                     Dream Walker, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Friday, June 15, 2012

Be You Resolved

Know thyself, that's what he said to me when
He walked out the door, all armed to the teeth
And packing as if the devil himself
Were his target! But what of I? left here
In the dirt, to play upon old maid strings
In front of hearth stones and roaring hot fire?
Know thyself may very well be to know
The sound a kettle makes when it's angry
At the pressure underneath it's tin hide!
Can't a father see his daughter's desire
To be free of the constraints that bind her
Up in so many pretty white dresses,
In frivolous tales of fairy princess,
Damsel saved by a heroic prince that
Then takes liberties when he should not do
So? To know myself is a grieving deed,
A matter for funerals; not myself
To be buried, but my mother, sisters,
Great Aunt who wanted me to wear her gold
Tiara on my frizzled head down the
Isle on a Sunday morning, instead
Of riding pell mell on a horse to fight
The devil that's got the best of me dad!
He knows very well I know myself, yet
Cautions me to know myself as they do
Seek to see me married, wed as a bride,
Sent off where I'll not taste bravery. Hide
You all in cabinets and broom cupboards
If you will, but I know myself to well
To high the day away in a castle
Keep, where no thought of adventure may reach
My "untainted" ears! I'll take my own bow,
And rush to his side like a lancer's squire
That takes no thought of his own safety, but
Longs only for the hope her darling Dad
Will come home to teach her more. Such a score
Have I, a promise to keep with myself;
For I know myself well enough to know
That any man who threatens him who gave
Me strength to wield a blade is a damn foe! 

                        Be You Resolved, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Bearing the Stranger

Revel in haste, it's such a waste to see
Such a thing becoming a man so free.
Wine flows trippingly from his reddened tongue
Without a care; he's aged, no longer young.
Can he not see the detriment to time
Not spent in finding a cure for the wine
That he feverishly pours down his throat
Like a hole where water comes in a boat?
It must be he cannot see what the sea
Of alcohol is doing, so carefree
Is his nature, his disposition, but
He has not accomplished a thing; a rut
Is his path, and he seems fine with it's make,
While I desire more and more, do take
Upon myself arduous chores, do break
My back upon the tenants of law, slake
Not my thirst until I have bowed in awe
Of the very thing I strove to create;
A perfect model, as old Bernard Shaw
Did paint Pygmalion. O second rate
Desire that is mine to carry on,
That feeds the greatest fire, love and hate
Imbued by the drops of nectar that dawn
From the thoughts I endeavor to give man,
Why do you trouble me who understand
The fruits of men, the design, why give plan 
Of everlasting light to mortal hands?
Why should I be forced to endure the stand
Where judges do cry verdicts and sentance
Me to die for the sins other men  hand
To me? In reply you say, recompense
Is not an easy thing, and men are free
To be who they are and were meant to be.

                      Bearing the Stranger, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012


I am who I am, so who am I not?
Am I to be what I longed to have caught?
Can it not be that a change is needed,
A guest of a house that's easily greeted?
May I be such a guest in my own mind
And treat myself as I would such kind
A fashion, that I'd no longer be me,
But myself in anothers form that's free?
Yet how can I then overcome such split
Nature, or become myself again? Such
A thing would require great intellect, wit
The likes I've never been able to touch.
Thus have I found myself and desired more,
Always searching for another far shore.

                    INFJ, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Worn Out Purpose

How strange the magnitude of his thought, made
Clear in the sunlit day as snowflakes do
Fall through the air on a breeze of unstaid
Wind, and a grace that's made from patient's brew
Stirred in with ingenuity of cold,
And the keen moisture that never grows old.
Yet does he desire the warmth of the mind?
Could he respond to my spirit in kind?
But this is folly, he lacks the spirit
Of the wild buck that prances throughout
The land, or the beaver who seeks merit
For what is everlasting; with worn out
Phrases he tempers his brow of ice, blue
Sheen wherein is stored knowledge made untrue.

                    Worn Out Purpose, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Appalling Fire

What hope is there that he, a thoughtless man,
May ever come to the light of day shone
Out in the darkening night? A fair tan
May he have over the side, and a tone
That is bronze, for he's allied with a race
That's made clear and evident in his face.
But what can he hope to accomplish here
Within the sight of those who are now near?
What place has a feeler, of spiritual
Tricks, have in a place with intellect's might?
Yet perhaps it's the union of the shoal
And the shore that created the sand heights;
For though we be different we be sure,
I think what will be, you think of who were. 

                    Appalling Fire (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Cross Reference

To breathe fire is his design, his craft
Made perfect in the aftermath of hell's
Wake, hell's boot. Yet his foe takes from the haft
Of his axe his power, his core, the bells
By which he may accomplish anything,
And to the world some form of good peace bring.
What strange comparison do we find here
As does befit a man and a woman?
What strange alliance is here made, within
The sight of Winter's touch, everlasting
Spring, the gentle rush of the Summer winds,
And the paling sound of cracking leaves made
Evident in Autumn's hand? Such union
Were unsettled, but necessary son.

                     Cross Reference, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012


A race to the finish is his fair game,
And he finds you lacking in spirit, tame.
He urges on the horse underneath him,
And even compels him in water, swim.
Yet you do hold your breath at the sight, make
For land without a backward glance, afright
Of what may occur without due thought; take
Notice of your surroundings, of the night,
And of the sensations of the cold air
That through your lungs stretches a new made tear.
But he is already in, and across,
Without a thought did he show you whose boss.
Thus races are won with ease and content,
But lives are spared through minds that are made bent.

                    Polarity, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012


What is sure to the mind of one is not
A surety insomuch as it's sure being
Is an actuality; when sure caught
Facts fixed upon the minds of the seeing
Are placed upon those of the blind, they say
What utter rot have you brought us today?
But a surety to the mind of one
Who knows it's worth, nay, believes in it's hue
To be what he did perceive, may then run
The race until the end, he will not rue
Until after he crosses the wrongness
Of his judgement, and then he will confess.
Yet all of this to men of disbelief
I likened to a sword still in it's sheaf.

                  Unsheathed, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Give me a Sign

I look into the future
And there I see your face,
But then you vanished from me,
Your presence fled without a trace.

You looked into my future,
And saw a man without hope,
A man without commitment,
More likely to elope.

I searched for you, night and day,
But could not find you in the storm,
I overcame the lightning,
Only to be forlorn.

You stayed away from me,
You hid your eyes and cried,
You overcame your desire,
When you did me espied.

I found a place in Texas,
Where light never seemed to leave,
You hid from me there,
Hidden by what I could not perceive.

You began to wonder,
If I would ever be gone,
You began to wonder,
If I would go on and on.

I left you there, unseen, unknown,
And gave chase in another state.
Restless, I became weak, and fell,
I became a second rate.

You left your hiding place,
But fled when I caught your scent,
You never gave an inch,
You saw my principles were bent.

I pursued you still,
Through the wall of dust.
I thought that I must find you,
I thought that I surely must.

You wondered at my persistence,
But sighed at my lack of faith,
You wondered at my insistence,
But saw that I was merely a wraith.

I wondered at your meaning,
Why you left me high and dry,
I wondered if I was dreaming,
And gave a heave and a sigh.

You saw me begin to weaken,
To give myself over to age,
Saw that I was struggling to fight,
You saw I had begun to be sage.

I slowed down in time,
And could not keep up with your step,
I encountered your sign,
And hoped for you to interpret.

You came to me there,
In that crossroad between night and day.
You gave to me your sign,
Thus ended there the fray.

I pondered your intents,
As I saw you walk with ease,
I pondered your sign,
And begged you to stay with please. 

You turned and smiled, and said,
Life is easier than you know.
All you have to do is commit,
And give to all what you owe.

I saw you fade into the dust,
The storm that came at night.
I said I'll find you again, I must,
But was filled again with fright.

You filled my head with your voice,
And told me never fear.
You called me by name, my choice,
And told me that you are near. 

I stood up then,
I stooped down no longer,
I felt as though a child,
My weakness became the stronger.

You beckoned to me still,
I heard and followed you.
You told me I'd have my fill,
If I would only remain true.

I looked inside and wondered,
To see what I'd missed before.
The weight of what I'd carried,
Had made me very sore.
I still wonder whether a dream
Did steal upon my eyesight,
But then my wondering makes
Me fall outside of your sight.
I cannot help but hope
That a more clear sign with appear,
But I know that as long as I pray,
You will always be near.

                 Give me a Sign, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012


Why do you follow me where I walk thou
Sprite unkown? Do you have it in for me?
Have I offened you? Should I give a bow
To some nome I've never met in a tree?
Whatever the cause for your pesky trapse
I'd wish you to leave me in the peace for once!
But if you must follow don't speak in haste
Of the things of the world we are amonst.
I've thought long and hard because of the thought
That burrows in deep, wherein you have caught
The very heart and soul of my being;
Now you have caught me and I cannot sing.
For words and song do fail what I did see
Through your eyes, the tale of what will soon be.

O let me alone! Can't you see I'm so
Busy that a rose budded bafoon could
Not whine in a passion for his love, O,
I could beat such a fellow, I sure would!
For the sights you have shown do sting my mind
And leave me at odds with my very self
So that I cannot sleep or eat! You bind
My very conceince to the sight! An elf
In Santa's workshop that hates to fix toys
Is what I am! Well, you'll see he annoys
Just as well as you do, for he's stubborn
As an Ox, and he will give you the burn!
For all that you try to get me to think
I'll turn it around with a simple wink!

Yet your words are compelling, the image
Self selling; as though it were in my own
Best interests to listen to you. Wage
War upon me and my mind; you have won
By the thought of a rose that's never bloomed,
That's never opened, that's been self subsumed
Into nothingness that awaits it's track;
The track that projects it's blossoming acts.
The thought of beauty that's narrowing in
Upon itself and the like so to win
A further life for the rose already
Blossoming is an idea unsteady!
What hope have I to fix such a mad curse?
To fix the rose that places beauty first?

Steady on their mind! made infirm in woods
At night, followed by some strange old bloke, some
Sprite all dressed in white that glows. There were goods
That once did masquerade as truth, and won
For themselves much repute, as I'm sure you
Will agree with me; for most try to succeed
By means illegitimate, much like glue
That's stuck where a nail should be, like a reed
In place of a scepter. So who are you?
Be you man or beast? Spirit or fowl?
A bird of the air like some night owl?
Whatever your nature you may still rue
That you came to try my mind. Give a sign
That you come for a good reason, design.

                          Unsure, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

The Rushing Stream

Thought, that time bomb, that ever flowing stream,
Takes for it's bride that which falls in its path;
It's potential and scope beyond our dreams.
Broken down within it's barriers hath
Many an emotion become dry, coarse,
Unsuitable for the experience
They once promised man; just as a swift horse
Remains at the gate for a moment, senses
Primed for the start, and at the bell he lets
Fly all traces of anxiety in
The mad rush that overcomes them all, gets
Even the best of them to fall. Such din
Oft takes hold of Thought, as a dam does block
The way; like an great big unyielding rock.

And I who do hold in the palm of my
Hand that which falls into the stream of thy
Conscience thought, and becomes like so much salt,
So soluble that you give it no glance,
The way a knight would hold in hand a lance,
I who do hold such things as are drivel
To your mind, to your galaxy, am made
Little as a planet is to a full
Moon, as a moon is to an asteroid staid  
By the course of it's flight from becoming
The star it dreamed to be! And so you are
The dam that takes all emotion from me,
Like a great ocean of dreams is my far
Off mind, cast amid drifting clouds at sea.

Caught in such a place as this I am full
Of emotion, pinned against the great rock,
The gate refuses to budge, as the wool
Is pulled over the eyes is my soul! Rock
Me too and fro with your indecision,
You smile to see me struggle against such
Weight as my own captivity, am one
With my thought as I should not be; for touch
That stream, fall into it's mass, stray from your
Course, and you will become trapped in a star
That only hopes to take form, but needs chore,
Needs the bearing of your mind; but shall mar
Your very person, you shall drift at sea
Should you fail to make dreams reality.

Fear then the thought of my escape from hell,
Undelivered goods, dreams never given
Shape, light never given a source to tell
It's glorious story through it's rays, men
Who've never found their other half of life
During their wanderings, their travels. Give
Yourself over to the thought, may the strife
Of your mind become as rapids that live
Off of the Rocks of fear, as my mind breaks
From fear, now blocked by the dam of your lies.
Know that the time has come, shivering shakes
Have damned the dam of your lies of all ties
It once had to stability, it's firm
Hold now shows you as infirm jailer.

Fear, that inescapable phantasm
For those who do hold some hidden meaning
Behind their words, some unforeseen, given
Over are they to the eye, the gleaning
Of that which thought makes evident by our
Faculties of the soul, and causes such
A shaking of the body that slightest
Probes do cause lies to crumble at the touch
Of light. For a while I was given to
The power of it's hold; now through the leaks,
Ray's of intelligent discerning, true
Knowledge turned into believe by who seeks
To be free, faith made perfect by the break
Of a chain, and I am now free and far.

Though you once used such a bomb to keep me
Held up within the crevice of my mind,
That undeveloped stream, that human sea
Untouched by hands of the eternal,
I now employ such a bomb, of so kind
A mixture that fills me so very full,
As though I were a beggar at the feast
Made whole by the invitation of light
From Sunlit Clouds, great hand of the east,
And filled now with the knoweldge of your
Great deceit; so is your work now undone,
Not by some wind that did chance upon rocks
At mountains top, as often happens when
Avalanches are thought to have caused a block.

                    The Rushing Stream, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Thursday, June 14, 2012

What Does it Mean?

I tried to make a poem concerning
Words without meaning and without function;
But found to my frustration a burning
Desire that let to a compunction
Wherein I now find myself writing this,
A poem concerning lot's of false bliss.
But try, if you will, to figure it out:
This poem I wanted to write about.
Write a poem without sense at all,
About the Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall!
I don't care what you write about so long
As it doesn't make any sense, and wrong
Is a label you should be proud of, yes!
For it makes everyone take a look, guess.

                 What Does it Mean? (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Wednesday, June 13, 2012


Weary with toil that lasts forever more
And sure that I"ll find it upon the shore
Where you do wait to mock me with false tears
I find that you are now least of my fears.
Once I did think you to be a fiendish beast
Upon which I did long to feed, feast
Upon your foolish carcass and make good
With the spoils of your body, O, I would!
But I've come from the deep and I've seen him,
He who does not sleep without nor within.
I caution you to run away from your tricks
Lest he catch you upon some sharpened sticks;
Yet now I am done in warning you son,
I hope you have sense as I do, to run.

U-TURN, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Charting the Stars

Borrow the Wardrobe at the dead of night
If you attempt to use it for your flight,
Lest mum and dad think that you've gone all daft;
They'll put a stop to your flight and your craft!
If you're set upon flying to the stars
Above, that hang over us like wick lamps
From times gone bye, then heed my words, let mars
Be your guide to the fair star cluster camps
That veer away from our fair little home
Of Earth; away from the olden fair Rome.
But if you've a mind to honor them both,
Your mum and dad who've taken an oath,
Then grow up a little, put them at ease;
Then grown up, you may do as you darn please.

Charting the Stars, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

The Self Made Pit

Yargle me timbers, like Silver gone mad
With his lost treasure, the pearl that he had.
Sever me ice box while you're at it too;
Cause my hand is cold, and it's getting blue.
But don't take away the memories of sea,
Just take away what's meaningless to me;
For instance the sight of your face, pure white
From the sight of the devil in his flight.
Shiver and growl if you have a mind to
Do so, I don't care so much what you do;
But don't take away my good eye or shoe!
Else I'll know you're no friend, are yet untrue.
In all I've asked be you true, as I've been,
Lest you go mad with the knowledge you've sinned.

The Self Made Pit, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

The Cackling Carrow

Cackling Carrow cackles out yonder
Like a bit of a gale gone to squander
And Spoil the lot of farmers in August
Who've managed to escape the Summer's thrust
Upon their dotty farms and spotty game;
Cackling as such must make most men lame.
To scramble together a ruckus so
Great as riggly field on a game day, ho
Down dance in the midst of hot summer glades;
Such a practice, such a cackle of raides
Makes men and women scratch their head and say
"What in tarnation is the Carrow's play?
But hidden in the field, at work am I,
I ignore the Carrow, and he will die.

                    The Cackling Carrow, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Walluping Mumps

Cergaius Walluping Mumps don't go down
Without saying a word, in fact they frown
So that Toallying Bullying Warts get
Mad enough to come out and place a bet
On who's going down, you or the Wall Mumps?
Who's getting a shoe imprint on their rumps?
But whistle me hearties a gentle tune,
And soon they'll think you're a right old fat loon
Who jumps atop the cow jumping the moon;
And other names, like right frightful old goon!
Yet don't get cocky when you whistle so,
Otherwise they'll come back and lay you low.
You'll find yourself in a blue humor, black;
You'll know, them Walluping Mumps are all back.

Walluping Mumps, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Said and Done

Ground up inside that tumbler my own heart,
Make sure it's done good and proper to, hear?
For if in the morning you should then start
You'll know it's done, and have nothing to fear.
But do not think that I shall be gone from
You when all of this is said and done, gone!
You may have won, a fighting conundrum
Did ensue that made me wish I had run
Years ago, and never looked back. But now
The light from under the door looks so bent,
A mere glint of silver from waning moon
Light, no hint or sliver of florescent
Radiance underneath. O poor old cow,
He will not be jumping anytime soon. 

                    Said and Done, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Monday, June 11, 2012

The Spinning Top

I thought to meet at the start of day,
But my mind would not rest and was at play.
Tired and exhausted, my mind begins
Upon a journey much akin to a
Child's jump into a pond, who then swims
The length of it, breaking ripples, the way
A storm cuts a path through the white grey clouds,
And without warning reigns with tyranny,
With hail, with lightning, with shackled hounds
Of fury that never cease to bark. Flee
From me lest I should wound you to the soul;
For I fear that in my exhausted state 
I shall have no sanity or control,
My love shall become a most dreaded hate.

                     The Spinning Top, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

A Raging Sea

Bars above my head allow me to breathe
In the life that sustains my children's breath;
But the bars beneath threaten to swallow
All the blood I have in me, to my death.
In league with that beneath my bulwark weight
Is the one I seek to drown, a hollow
Fool that struggles in vein against my hate;
Yet is protected by a force so great
I cannot hope for the strength to borrow
Against it's protection. What little hope
Have I to redeem these things above and
Bellow? What strength is there in my own hand
To fight what keeps me shackled by command?

               A Raging Sea, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Tarry Me Hither

Short winds do tarry amongst the hill crests
While day length tarries not, for rotation
Of the rock we live on gives us it's best
Wishes while frozen wastes begin to win
Over the sprawling plains and yonder hills.
So for a short while I do tarry for
You amongst spikes of cold and bitter hand shakes,
Amongst glances of steel that on me wore
A hole deep into the fathomless lakes
That are my heart and soul. Don't tarry still,
For my grey hairs lengthen with the daylight,
And thorny metals do press my back,
Wanting so much from me that by the night
I shall fade from your arms, fade into black.

                Tarry Me Hither, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Friday, June 8, 2012

What do you do With the Present?

When light becomes the ground with gentle hues,
So as to see the place where you've since stood,
You find yourself, and fall into blues
For the things that you would have done, or could.
Seeing faces you once knew, and still love,
The hand of a belle, the embrace of friends,
Brothers, sisters; none of them fit the glove,
And you wonder still what more what God intends.
You look down the train track, at what has been,
Down the the other side to the future's grip,
Then realize the potential to win
Is within your pocket, next to your hip.
Beads of wood, on a string of parchment twine,
Iron cross, past and future intertwine. 

                   What do you do With the Present? (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Wizened Old Kids

Then we were always dry enough to get
By without an umbrella or a coat;
Now we are soaked through to the bone, and set
Ourselves against the wind. For we are rote
In our habits, determined in our stride;
Although we are now with old age allied.
Then we were happy, and laughed out loud too
Through many a time's gone wrong in the night.
Yet now we smile rarely through the pain too
Hard at our heels, like we were in flight;
But when I smile at you, you know I'm there,
Thinking the same thoughts that we often share,
And you know that I wouldn't change a thing,
That's why I gave you that band, wedding ring.

                   Wizened Old Kids, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

A Revelation

We spoke of many things, you and I, there
In that place; and we all begin to try
To understand this confusing affair.
Yet now, I secretly just want to die.
You spoke to me, and made me laugh so hard;
As good as any poet playwright, bard.
While all the rest of what occurred was good
It is ill compared to what we shared; would
That it were simple to speak on this thing,
What new colors to the palate could we bring?
But what is the nature of our love, you and I?
By which I would suffer, and surly die?
Speaking love is speaking pain, imagining
That you speak poetry, or that you sing.

Yet by and by my heart was confused since
It never was given permission, used
Only half longings, desires, a rinse
Of water, or broth the cook ill abused. 
Unsure of the meal he was cooking he
Sought to make sure his ingredients were
Right; yet he foolishly thought he could see
In each recipe he looked upon sure
Answers that simply did not exist. So,
He mixed and matched each one so that it did
Not resemble at all what was meant; O,
Confusion befell him when he lifted up the lid.
And so am I confused, and perplexed; love
Made, like the fashioning of a new glove.

Now speaking to him I catch such a glimpse
That is similar to the one you wear.
Such a glimpse shows me now that ever since
We met he also has loved me; a care
Shoots through my mind, asking if it's the same
To love for loves sake, or sake of the name.
What is love if not tenderized, like a steak?
As cows are made to suffer before the kill
To give them the currency they will make
Upon hitting the counters; they will fill
Their buyers with great satisfaction. Take
Comfort then, I say to myself, that he
And I, and you, share between us a lake
That is deep; steeped in love of eternity. 

Yet still, I wonder, looking to the girl now,
How it is that I can sunder my vow.
For by my life, as I am a man, I
Am sworn to give of myself err I die
To a woman I love: to one who loves me;
Even though that love may never ever be.
A marriage I'm required to undertake,
To uphold, to defend, to never break!
Yet looking back to you I see problems,
For I don't know what I can do! These dens
Of lies that haunt my soul! This company
That drives me up the wall! Don't set me free!
And so I wonder if the love I'm in
Might well be a near occasion of sin.

Last, not least, of borrowed sheen is the name
Given to the one who speaks out her piece;
Sure eyes, a gentle smile, bashful, the same
As I in times of uncertainty. Brief
Was my thought for her in time, yet I thought
Quickly, as though painting a rhyme that ought
To have taken an eternity to
Paint in it's fullness, as a lifelike brew,
As a child from birth until deaths oar breaks
The dock upon which it sets, and so wrecks 
All thought of further details that were meant
To have been, but weren't. In her I see now
That my love for all four is the very same,
My love of another sort is now tame. 

There we were, all five of us, speaking up
Like grown adults, no longer sprouts in back
Yard habitats where parental control
Gave us leave to run, but not through the whole
Of the land where we might fear such attack
From an angry dog, or a mangy pup.
There we were, hand in hand, as friends do stand
Upon the brink of doom without a thought
For turning back upon the others. Ought
I to stay, to remain in this band? Take
For myself a wife, be no common flake
That highs to another town where there are
Better prospects to be found? Loyalty
To one may cost me, I may not be free.

Now I am alone, by myself, my mind
Turns to the darkness inside, and the strife
Begins to show upon my brow; when kind
Words are spoken out of their mouths, a knife
Pierces my soul clean through to the very
Core of my being. Yet strange enough I
Now feel as if I can breathe, the airy
Words that once filled my mind,  that bread of rye
Which I do despise to eat is disposed
Of, and I am able to fill my head
With treasures. But through the hole is proposed
Another thought, one long since repressed. Wed
Your heart to that which gives you joy, and be
What you've wanted for all eternity.

               A Revelation, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

A Helping Hand

Bother me with another sad story,
The kind where I glaze over and don't care;
For I am filled with my own sad worry,
And couldn't care less about how you fare.
Walk up the street, and then, come back again
When the arrow of sympathy turns you.
But no matter how sympathetic, when
You return it's because you  too are blue.
Stare into my eyes and look for pity,
As I stare into the depths of a far
Of place within your mind, a grand city!
Where the wind blows me higher, and I soar!
Yet to get there I require your help;
Without you I am alone, a mere whelp.

                   A Helping Hand, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Thursday, June 7, 2012

The Voluntary Mute

Go with ease, to the place where restful nights
And singing choruses upon the flights
Of an angelic ladder, and there find
Peace within the silence you do bear; bind
Your tongue with unblemished fire, derive
From silence the hidden song, comes alive
At midnight, that lasts until five o'clock;
When morning dawns with the sun at the dock.
Yet while you stay and listen to them, these
Souls of the just, bright men and women, please
Note that the knot above your throat is gone,
And when the last note has finished, and wan
Is the night, and stark is the morn, that song
Shall be your gift, from night's own silent gong.

                 The Voluntary Mute, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Deaf from the Silence

Virtuosity by nature is mute
From the callous hands of justice gone bad;
From the wandering vagabonds who loot
The inner linings of middle class add
Watching fools. How can one speak out against
That which it does not condone without such
A scathing look from it's enemies? Angst
Sets its hold, cords are broken from the touch
Of strain, as brother fights brother with fire;
The cycle of woe that will never tire.
Yet hidden in some obscure corner lives
A man from a far off place, one who gives
Virtuosity the example it needs;
For when they beat him down the fifth it pleads.

               Deaf from the Silence, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

The Four Winds of Song

What hope is there for me? I who live in
Circumstances far removed from living,
Where not a second thought will be given
To the needs of those around me? To sing
Is a gift, a melody; it transforms
Dark streets into a summer lit day where
Oppression, uncertainty, doubt, life's norms,
Are scattered by the four winds of song. Cares
Are sent by train to the sea, worries by
Car: where they will accompany by boat
Anxiety and depression; to die
By any of these things is to live rote.
For men have it backwards, hope is not seen
As a gift; yet towards it all men still lean.

                      The Four Winds of Song, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Tidal Wave

When the sea seeks to devour the sky
It ruins the land that is passes by.
It's yawn sucks in the masses of the sea,
And spews them forth in a current that's free
From the restraint of nature's caution tape;
Such is the fury, the crowd unleashed
By this monstrous army, this giant cape.
As it grasps for a hold upon it's foe
It struggle to defeat currents we know
As wind, it batters the ground with it's legs,
It's feet linger still in trenches, the dregs
Of battle that never got of the ground;
And when all was over, the land was found
To have suffered; debt to it was bequeathed.

                   Tidal Wave, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012

A Cannon Ball can Only Break

Mango you are, sweet, and tender; ripe for
The pickings in summer time heat, where heart
Beat matches incoming wafts from the shore;
Yet to you these things cause your flesh to part,
To heave a sigh of sorrow and of woe;
How could this sense of life to you impart?
Do you sense the love of tomorrow, know
The adventure that waits for you? The lark
In morning times sings joyfully, but night
Sends a gale of broken stars to my park
Of dreams. And though this end is quite the sight
It causes much pain to you, and you mark
It with tears and bitter groans. For your plight
Makes sweet mango's grow sour in the dark.

Yet what is known by what is gleaned to be
The truth, that is what we see as set, done,
Finished, a comprehensive review, tree
Chopped down and roots torn out, now becomes one
With reality; for though the mango
Breaks easily from a piercing claw, falls
To the ground and has bruises then to show:
While all of this is true you are not, calls
A man standing in a tree, a mango.
But you are subject to the pains of life,
And the perils that come with burning strife,
The war and toil that is man's lot to bear,
And in all of this your own life may tear,
Like so many miles of man's concrete walls.

Like a wall that's grown a door by a mean
Instrument, a cannon ball, a bucket
That slings large boulders, weapons that men dream
Can break the heart and spirit if men let
Them, so too is your heart broken by means
Outside of your control. Yet you are set
With determination to face the foe,
Who races to meet you, fight toe to toe,
And no matter the love behind the wall,
You'll fight to the death for your ancient hall!
But as they reach the breach made clear as day,
A shadow comes along, is in their way;
Although you cannot see the hand that stays
Their armies from your home, in such a daze.

Now suddenly comes thunder, clap of sound
Makes imminent the approach of spring rain;
And you turn in surprise, for you are found
Unprepared for such a sight, you do strain
In the mind to understand, comprehend,
Why it is that your wall is on the mend!
Now water rushes round in a moat, made
Deep by lightning strokes that routed the foe,
And caused them to flee in their pomp and show.
Now light shines forth it's splendid ray of hope
And gives to the ground another show of
Faith, prompts tree's to come forth, as with new love
That shows forth in pregnancy. Now, you cope.

What is this feeling? Is it joy? Gladness?
Abandonment? What could give such a maid
As one that did cry in remiss for bliss
To be given her in the hour that staid
Her growth? Yet for all those cries now her tears
Are of joy, and do employ the scent made
Sweet by the fruit of her prayer; her fears
Now routed and fallen to the dust, staid
By the hand of one who is greater than
She. But what is the name of this great man?
All dressed in white, who says he is I Am?
For he has unlocked your heart like a dam,
And what once was kept in store by pain
Is released so as to praise his great name!

            A Cannon Ball can Only Break! (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

A Grey Day

Shades of ink make fast upon my forehead;
Half covered in black, half covered in grey,
And the rest of me is white light instead.
A picture do I make while at my stay
Amongst nobles, gentry, Kings and Queens: May
Flowers seem to mock my duo ink laid tread,
Peasants mock me as they pass me by, say
Foolish things, illogical; I'd not wed
The black ink of the court with the white ray
Of Cloth, for grey suits me poorly, and red
Waits for the rest of me whatever they
Decide amongst themselves. Yet were I bred
In white halls since the day I was born, rays
Of black and grey would not adorn my head.

              A Grey Day, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Monday, June 4, 2012

The Ship

That trust was found becomes me like a fish
Out of water's grasp; so much so is your
Tale to me. A mast wobbles at sea
And follows a precarious wind; to
The death of all on board. Yet I'd board it
Still for the sake of life, despite it's crew.
What promise was given that was not broke
By some sailor? Where yonder in the blue
Of the ocean vast did he betray trust,
Take fast his own life without knowing who
Would be watching for his betrayal? But
Though the bulkhead succumb to holes by shrew
Made choices along the way I'll save her,
And stay on board; or else the day I'll rue. 

               The Ship, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012


Caught between my searching glance and her touch;
Unable to escape this curse, this lance
Within your side, my presence, will you glance
Within the wardrobe, go through the door's hutch?
Or is it enough to see one who cares
That you are given what you need, and spares
Not a thought for time within timeless halls,
Will you run away from what catches shirt
And grasps upon the purity you girt?
Is a glance enough, or must you hear calls
In the night, tremble at the chill of hell's
Own fury that crawls down the nape and tells
A story wrought from willful ignorance?
A voice that was full of life and love...once.

                 Willful, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Last in Line

Walls of stone, pillars of wood, doors held fast
Against a foe upon marble, and such
Antiquated weapons do I hold, last
In line to hold them, last member to touch
Them in a long line of family dreams
Now broken by the enemy who deems
Us unfit for rule. Inner room of glass,
Stained by rays of gold, blue, red and green,
Painted with color's so that we may pass
Through a world untouched by the woes of he
That breaks us in two. Yet now he comes near,
Baring his teeth, uninvited to tea,
But heeding no law save his own I heed
The call I've always known and take the lead.

                Last in Line, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

The Everlasting Journey

Quiet night begins to bore upon me,
As stars, the silent sentries of morning
Gaze ceaselessly upon the ground and sea;
Such disquiet within my heart will sing
Out in the sea of shadows before dawn
Louder than the simplicity of a yawn.
Yet though the pounding waves of blood begin
To overwhelm senses, unwavering
Gaze of sentries joined by faint silver trim,
My mind still holds the picture of a ring,
A bond held fast in everlasting hands,
As sky and sea do hold apart yet near.
So do I walk with sea's disquiet; fear.
But wind's grace still warms my heart with cheer.

                The Everlasting Journey, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

In Response to Your Smile

When I look upon your face, and see you
Smiling back at me, your visage makes me
Trace upon my mind love's pure light made true;
And there I look when I'm asleep, to be
Free from want and pain that causes distress,
As surely it does, to this I confess.
Yet no words do I find to respond here,
Your smile widens still at my wide silence:
And here I insert the words of a seer
That spoke many years ago of reverence;
For what you love shall remain in your heart
And cause it each day to wake up with start
Akin to starlight. And basking in grace
Of a friend you love you will know your place.

                   In Response to Your Smile, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012

Saturday, June 2, 2012

Playing into Your Hands

Flame amid matches on a glorious
Summer day, in June, yes; nefarious
In nature, gifted in ruin. Yet like
A wise and caring sage, a soldier's friend
Amongst the carnage of a battle dike
Where bodies do fall and crumple, their end
Like a paper doll's in the hand of kids
That know not the fragility that's hid
Within the image of love made present.
Some present scheme keeps me safe: like peasants
Who bid for freedom making a hell,
Causing chaos; I did not desire
Such a purpose in your hands, such fire.
And the consequences I cannot tell...

                   Playing into Your Hands, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012

Friday, June 1, 2012

Upon the Stool

Who denies the Fate his prize caught eyes? Those
Blue set beauties he did hew from a corpse
Devoid of sight? Such a man might well hose
Down the toes of a giant, he knows hopes
Do dwindle fast, that fate has the last laugh
Amongst the living men; unforgiving
Are his cruel eyes, upon a stool hath
He ever been, fishing for mortal string
To replace his failing sight, and he does
Not take kindly to those kingly souls who
Stand between his immortal hands. But cause
Enough you might have to right a wrong: flew
To her sight without a thought for safety.
Yet beware, the matters truly weighty 

                Upon the Stool, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012
Where distant fields meld a chorus blue,
Of violets, daffodils, and yellow
Daisies of brightest hue: there we met, two
Lovers, hand in hand. I was a fellow:
You were a dame; and though gentle refrain
Kept us apart from one another's being,
As water droplets caught after a rain
In summertime's sunlit vapor, we in
Mock display of gentility stole kiss
After kiss underneath oak tree. Such bliss
Was better not condemned by Holy See,
But t'was done so, and we were not to be.
For where two lovers lie without a pact
Their love becomes a fiction, not a fact.

                 Fictitious, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

Marvelous beginnings

O for a muse that would give me fairy
Dust! But I smell the effects of dairy
Cows in a field of daisies. Common rust
That coats the soul, unwholesome as the dust
That flies by day. Yet you say to me now
That this dust, though common in form, is how
The great visitation of dawning light
Is seen as such instead of the black night?
That the color of rust that is the sand
Fill's the sky with contraband, doth command
With it's proportions that the sunlit rays
Do shine forth with a most beauteous gaze?
O that I could see the smallest portion,
That glittering sea that makes sunlight run.

                   Marvelous beginnings, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

A Sea of Dust

Broken stones don't feel the scar; but alone
And scared, running from your bizarre show I
Found myself broken, and the pain was hell.
Stone's grow still, and are still until touched
By forces outside of their own control;
Yet I remain in motion, and my soul
Still flees from what it can't face. Cracks, crannies,
A million fissures within this dusty
Piece of earth: forged from the deep recesses
Of a jungle; their are stones thrown and caught,
Crashing through the midst of so much dust, that
Gleams from the sun, but emits not self warmth.
So my heart emits a chill from the pain;
The sorrow felt when I utter your name.

                A Sea of Dust, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012

If is as If does

If evil be as evil does, then I
Should flee from you! because of a great fear
That I have, an aversion for death's hand
That would cripple me err I spent one night
In your company. Yet if good be as
Good is said to do, not many a man has
Been as good as you. For though you took me
Grudgingly, unwillingly gave me food,
Mumbled and grumbled that I lived a day
Longer than the night you took me inside,
Still you comforted me with your presence,
And gave me a bed where my head might lie.
Yet all of this is if: for if's sake I
Hope you are good; lest for if's sake I die.

                     If is as If does, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012

A Question of Mercy

What shall we do to the wrongdoers made
Present in our sight? How wrongly they bade
Us come at night, to take part in revels
That clearly fight the good. O such devils;
Would it not be better that such beings
Be put to death by letter law? Ring
Them in by the light of day lest they draw
From you a bitter fear, as night's own maw
Is want to do, a sitter of hatred
That watches over the pups until dawn
Comes over the ridge with a gentle yawn;
Then does night grow hungry with such a dread.
What then stand between us and the dread law
That would end at day the night scarecrows caw?

                          A Question of Mercy, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012