the COUNTING (for Burt)

Estimating, Aggregating, Reconciling, Organizing, Analyzing.

I see you filing and recording,
taking meaning from the things you keep in order.

Researching. Arranging. Stacking. Inspecting. Updating.

You stay potent, focused keenly,
sorting pages of your life to find its true wealth.

Lacking. Lamenting. Longing. Needing. Wishing.

You are vexed. I am straining,
for some words of inspiration I can share. That you can hear.

Searching. Computing. Extruding. Reviewing. Informing.

So I paint a pretty picture on your face,
while looking in your eyes. Scanning for clues to give advice.

Preparing. Assembling. Attaching. Unfolding. Declaring.

I fantasize, just thinking thru,
the struggle giving birth to something new. I know it’s true.

Practicing. Staying Close. Waiting. Hoping. Praying.

Breathing slowly, finding meaning.
For belief in us to work I must see you. One must be two.

 

©2016 Christopher DeWinter

Stay Awake

Was it nothing I said
that made you run away?
I’m afraid for my life—
so afraid it won’t be OK.

I’m taking some time,
to feel all the pain.
I can’t give up my light
just to cover the shame.

Do I seem aloof when
I should be alarmed?
Oh, I’m living proof
that there will be harm.

But I’m not gonna hope
for the power of the group
I’m not a bitter flame
gotta do better than blame.

That’s my truth.

We can be more than this
not fall into the abyss.
Its about the choices we make
AND the voices we miss.

Make no mistake
with the path you take.
All this matters now
and to stay safe, somehow.

Stay Awake.

©2016 Christopher DeWinter

desert MEANING

It’s dry and hot
the air is heavy
and I am not
yet ready
to walk from
comforts swollen womb
my tomb
to another spot
in the other room
where there might be
a brighter mood.

This place
so full of promise
has sat empty
for many days and nights
waiting to be used
to be renewed
by my own yearning
for sense of purpose
this early morning.

If when
I settle into Self
do I find a way to walk
across this valley
here before me
then may I
open up my heart
to hear your plan
for me today
though I struggle
to see a way.

©2016 Christopher DeWinter

MIND THE GAP

I took a step and hovered there,
above the path you shared.
Was worried, since I’m insecure by nature.
Not my lack, but a feature in fact,
That’s what you said, My Teacher.

You said ‘let go. You’ll be OK’,
and without care I leapt, without delay.
So when you said to ‘mind the gap’
I knew to trust there’d still be space,
for me to land near you, Your Grace.

Knew you’d take my hand, not let me fall,
since was you who pulled me from The All.
Where I stayed before you beckoned,
across the gap you said, to use or lose
my very own map of Heaven.

The space from Mother’s thighs to destiny,
was a door you opened just for me.
No other map has shown to be as free.
So now I rap when I’m all alone,
still sure my path leads home.

© 2016. Christopher DeWinter

ship of FOOLS

Crossing the river
we were huddled together,
in a small wooden boat.
It was me and you baby,
it was our harmony,
that kept us afloat.

To the waters edge
on the western shore,
there we docked,
near a temple
to the Suns Door.
There we worked,
where we rocked.

By night we toiled
out of sight we dug,
a hidden path to the stars
for his glide home.
His final boat ride,
inside the limestone,
though not alone.

Master promised
to keep our people alive,
by our effort, our toil,
they could survive.
Our freedom the price
for a chance to thrive,
or stay alive.

Guests came
with flowers and rum,
his body wrapped
and named, ‘Holy One’.
I saw his face
through the gauze,
his final quest, our cause.

As they stepped
from his tomb
to the upper room,
stones were rolled in place.
We were all alone,
in a dark space,
it was our last day.

Crossing the river
we were huddled together
in our stone boat.
It was you and me baby,
for all eternity,
not what they wrote.

© 2016 Christopher DeWinter

THIEVES of LOVE’S LABOR

(A tale of theft and creation by the ‘human potential’ movement)

The drugs
that we gave them
were supposed to
make ‘em dopes.
We figured
if they were
high enough,
they’d forget about
the blacks
and the bombs.
We supposed
all this talk
of social justice,
would simply
melt away,
but we were
wrong.

Instead
they discovered
new windows
to the soul,
and that door
when opened,
was not easy
for us to hold.
So many doors
and most hidden,
we made a new patch,
to keep ‘em
chasing after tales,
while we closed
the other hatches.
It’s our Ouroboros,
not theirs.

A wizard’s path
was fashioned,
we made The Wheel
into a treadmill
of potential.
Vast potential.
Our golden mill
a sort of factory
for the soul,
for you’re
becoming whole.
Not an old trick,
nor even Magick.
Through a window
dark, we stole,
and watched
from towers
in the air,
from our layer.

You’ve got
such potential—
human potential.
Don’t ya’ know?
A capacity vast,
so endless to grasp,
now don’t let go!
You can become
as you choose,
just release—
don’t be confused,
about your worth.
It’s not created
when you birth,
you still need
to do The Work.
Yes, that’s Our Work.

©2016  Christopher DeWinter

the CREATION (act 1)

This side of nothing
was such a lonely place,
a ball of something
waiting out in space.

Just a vacuum
and rather boring, that
became a focal point,
for an outpouring.

The lights went on
of their own accord;
a sight to see,
as the fission roared.

In that moment
OUR light was so intense,
what was expressed
became especially dense.

We came together
In all that mattered,
our tears of joy
becoming patterns.

The creation,
was OUR creation.

© 2016 Christopher DeWinter