Monday, June 29, 2009

Squat

in a corner of a city lot
tucked aside a life forgot
in a brick and concrete spot
a rustling does begin

for in this place left to rot
an elderly woman's plight is caught
digging through containing plot
for just a scrap within

straggly hair tossed in a knot
coarse hands grasp at what she ought
to scavenge for all she's got
tie down straps and tin

a raw ripped sweatshirt never bought
wearing thin for it's too hot
to rummage for possessions not
desired by those who win

in rusted green graffiti jots
she pulls and piles bloated blot
wiping a grizzled nose of snot

and from a distance I begin
to see the consequence of sin
for is the lot of those who've been

fearing to live beyond their lot
settling instead to sweat and squat

– Jason Kichline

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Replete

overdubbed voices ask why
uneasy steps of aged feet
unsteady tottering
testing
the gravity of falling
complete
in partial knowing
the fate of you and I
and still behave discreet
despite natural
suggesting
depravity enthralling
replete
in fully knowing
the state of you and I

– Jason Kichline

Dad

she searches eternal
no candidates are worthy
no man can satisfy
the longing for affirmation
to stroke back hair
to hug her tightly
to say "that's my good girl"
because biology only is
a verification of fact
that under scrutiny
is hardly holds up
of past actions
not of her choice
he calls unwanted
only to belittle
absent always
and so she searches
for an older man
one willing to love her
one wanting to be there
one not of past passion
one of present action
one in her future
always

– Jason Kichline

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Willow

a little girl crouches sullen beneath the dim willow
as twilight dawns upon the day in expected shade
fright and terror interplay as nightmares on her pillow
but still she shakes beneath and behind the wisps afraid

and to this day she is prey
to those who pry inside her
or assume she acts some way
for a love life that dies beside her

she brushes back the blacken locks
cold gaze shift under the lost strands
dark melancholic lace on pallid skin
in rusted chains of quickened clocks
unopened by passing time or hands
but rather remaining trapped within

behind her hair, a child is found
behind her face, a soul is bound
behind her smile, plastered frown
behind her eyes, hope cast down

Many

faces gather in piles in my mind
souls soaring and circling mine
some circle close and others far
but too many for me to define
at least not all at the same time

but what force brings them close?
because I find my heart has already chose
for some are brighter than a guiding star
that pulls me as their nature glows
and draws out love as it flows

to them I focus all my prayers
and weep a little as emotion bears
a nearness despite the human mar
for distance has no effect on where
starts the breaking of empathic tears

to each with whom I've formed this bond
I ask for forgiveness if I correspond
for I can't neglect what's formed in our
hearts and minds and what's beyond
our placement in this pellucid pond

– Jason Kichline

Friday, June 26, 2009

Awkward

timid he hides
as frozen tides
crash beneath
nervous smiles

and she defies
as the truth lies
in a scrubby heath
waiting awhile

silence deafens
and glances deaden
the life and laughter
of forgotten miles

held in his head
old promises said
happily ever after
arranged now in piles

awkwardness broken
and volumes spoken
again pouring forbidden
from precious glass vials

his hand drapes on hers
deep feeling transfers
revealing hearts hidden
since white flowered aisles

for who can control
the way of the soul
wandering unwritten
beyond obliged trials

– Jason Kichline

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Midnight

Pale skin reflects thin twilight from speckles and freckles placid in isolation. Wrinkles crease aged face in anticipation of laced release and freedom. A soft glow of hard light shines bright in her fractured eyes. But here in her new awareness of self, unrestricted, she delves into the forbidden passages that come. Groping ground and slope, choking back tears of lost years and abandoned hope, she journeys in a sticky swamp. Then, stuck. Her hips and waist below the brim in soaking mud of the unchaiste whim and her heart beats harder, fast within her breast. Pressed by impression of an innocent man's indiscretion, she pours herself into the cup of his pleasure. Slow, deep, red gushes of life unmeasured from her veins, replacing the pains of pent up passion. Life blood for romantic release, daring death for stagnate appease, the exchange of faux fluid for solid souls. Soiled and sobbing in thick silence, throbbing rhythms burst from her chest, as a beacon that beckons in the night. Why, as fireflies blink over lake and field, link in random stake revealed of mates among the many. But in one alone there is no home, no rest for hearts apart, darting towards a distant morn upon the crest of moon-born hue. In you the chase will end as circles begin and then, upon their axis ever chase the mending of well worn and torn fabric. They never end. These threads of static existance woven into the restlessness of love unapproved. Uninvited to move in pure truth of the mute midnight glow of laptop screens, gleaming our nature like fireflies flickering, screaming unsure of what tommorrow planned. We land and love in fragile fear. Alone as we, we'll never be of the here and now to never come. To never sear the bleeding where our hearts ever ache as one.

– Jason Kichline

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Cave

hollow halls carved of stone surround alone
the dank dampness descends ceiling heights
hovering helpless mud caked accumulation
hurting from helpless humiliation
curled fetal in solemn solidarity
pitch black beckons meaning
mind hacking hitching posts
to gather chirps and drips of
frigid water soaking up and
unseen flowing deeper
down and deeper my only guide
sliding and crawling to the inside
to find meaning amidst the lost
my eyes defy lucid logic
forming phantoms of light
angels and demons of the dim
fooling frail bodies full of fright
to farther go into the ground
no further close to being found
to only open or eyes we find
that we are blind as a mole
trapped in dark underworlds
not knowing the path there or back
and fumbling and following unseen
learning from pain and falling again
by guessing direction without a glean
but to turn a light to guide our path
but to find a map to divine destination
but to direct and know beyond a doubt
that life caves are meant for getting out

– Jason Kichline

Monday, June 22, 2009

Cycle

days spin on end
emotions fray again
as chasing seasons
in heated desire
or frigid stillness
slow we tend
the guiding fire
and shift subtly
from us to friends
the oneness of
a brokenness of
uncharted love
like patterns
in the sky
or fragments
in the hand
we question why
and comprehend
the way of change
but yet in knowing
the pain of it
we understand
it lingers in hearts
like the lawn chair
buried in snow drifts
stands bold against
the widening rifts
of seasons and stars
in the most vital
of living cycles

– Jason Kichline

Ring

she carries him
light upon her finger
united in her heart
to her beloved papa

are you married?
of course not
but the band
only fits there

delicate silver circles
thin petals budding
a pure rose of Sharon
simple and lovely

it's value not counted
in worth of weight
but measured only
by a father's love

she wears it always
denying her passion
forsaking all others
for her native purity

for her real value
cannot be measured
by earthly scales or eyes
but only by sentiment

and she is not unlike
the ring upon her hand
simple, delicate, taken
pure, real and lovely

her value infinite
like circles and buds
refined from the ground
the embodiment of love

– Jason Kichline

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Parade

crowds creep out of the cracks
pudgey children and scruffy men
and women stuffed in sweatpants
blinded by the sun on pale skin
water dripping from the clouds
wet puddles splattering shins

they flow over cracked sidewalks
thrusted by roots of knotted trees
like debris towards the culvert
floating in the invisible powers
of family, town and tradition
gathering in these evening hours

so stand we on the corner curb
and watch the large diesel trucks
of red and white and yellow hue
grumble slowly up the street
throwing candy from the cab
to the patter of children's feet

and only minutes pass this way
in lifetimes measured by hours passed
on porches spent throughout the day
and years forgotten in foggy fade
in a river town where memories last
at least as long as a fireman's parade

– Jason Kichline

Again

I feel like I've lied, again
a place I can't hide within
a broken trust
written in promise dust
that I'm unable to keep
and still you wait
like a jilted date
alone while I sleep

I don't want to hurt you again
but perhaps this cycle never ends
the heart in it's ways
my body hardly obeys
and cannot follow it's leap
unable to meet what it intends
I fall flat on my face again
because love does not heed
to the life that I lead
the one requiring sleep

I feel like you've cried, again
hands held alone, I offend
will you clean and forgive?
in the muck where we live?
or have I cut you too deep?
because your lone soul
calls out in my lull
unheard as I sleep

– Jason Kichline

Friday, June 19, 2009

True

how can true love break
if in truth it never fails?
yet hurt and broken apart
my tender heart ails

for once upon a time I thought
that fate had once again me brought
a friend that I deemed was true
a friend that it seemed was you

but now I see the ache
that living love entails
as unseen scars impart
your brokenness prevails

but can't you see that you were bought
so that we may love just as we're ought
because I want a friendship that is true
and I want that friendship here with you

– Jason Kichline

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Focus

dizzy spirals
heads cast wayward
faces long sad
cries unheard
smiles flicker
as dim candles
masking reality
unhandled
gaze darts
unsettled stares
shiny traces
of shifting airs
and focus wanders
to the things
chased away
by happenings
so eyes are shut
and turn aside
from the eyes
where joy abides

– Jason Kichline

Monday, June 15, 2009

Blue

painful rhythms flow
jilted brushes of white
revealing simple truths
hidden
comprised of lies
flirting upon canvas
tilted to fool
wide eyes
ridden with nothing
they speak of fullness
and open everything
concealed below
blowing
hurt unveils
shadowy sails
of untold heights
intimate here
in fields of pain
strained tears
stream
blurring imagined
clouds of hopeful
dreams

– Jason Kichline

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Contrast

black and white
tan lines drawn
as sun sears the
stark differences
of worldly reality
this young boy
plays a machine
that costs as much
as a yearly wage
of an average man
working the land
while in a village
three boys share
a plastic top with
three ratty yarns
pulled from trash
just spinning toys
on hot concrete
collecting bulbs of
Christmas lights
to dash to pieces
on the ground
I see the
difference
in the eyes
of the haves
and have nots
and personally
the emptiness
the audacity
the poverty
the illness
the lack
of the rich
consumes
grace

— Jason Kichline

Vacation

walking through the airport
into a sea of white
the rich kids and parents
returning for a flight
all walk in worry
with not a smile on their lips
clutching at possessions
weighing down their hips
I see they have come searching
for happiness I guess
but I notice in their glazen eyes
they have had failure in their quest
still far off is their staring
and tugging at their cash
they try to manufacturer
a joyfulness that lasts
but joy is found in persons
not money, places or things
it's found in children playing
and hearing the heart that sings

— Jason Kichline

Adiós

it's the hardest thing to say goodbye
to friends just met
I wonder why
we now must part
the paint yet wet
with love written upon my heart

so even so with an outward sigh
I push away
the need to cry
and choose instead
to look towards the day
we can hear each other as it's said

I hope in that day that I will try
to talk with you
and not be shy
but rather close
to love in lieu
of saying forever adiós

— Jason Kichline

Hem

at times I notice picture words
unfolded to reveal a view
of life so close and yet so far
sitting aside near where we are
for friendship always begins at two

looking down, I noticed pants
clean and pressed, a handsome mend
but cuffs too long for shorter height
which caught my eye upon my sight
the presence of a simple hem

at first you'd think a basic thing
of needle and thread sewed below
would no more than merely common be
but was much more than eye can see
within the heart where colors show

the stitch was wide and perfect straight
and around her leg it circled true
produced by fingers born to craft
but brought here through a modern graft
to find her life in the city hue

though more than perfect form she had
what struck me most was a misalign
where stitching did not circle back
but no less did perfection lack
at least not in my prying mind

for what this said about this girl
a dear and lovely, joyful friend
was that alone she sought a place
beyond the gravity of disgrace
shifting fabric by herself to mend

her feet so small within the cuff
and black slacks fell to meet with them
as different parts of modest dress
and her humble heart I must confess
was embroidered in that simple hem

— Jason Kichline

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Alejandra

she is sheer joy
wrapped in expressions
surrounded by raw energy
a child that never grew up
and I pray never will
like me

a warming heart
extending across borders
breaking down the walls
compassion for a sick traveler
curing with laughter
and love

she smiles wide
in a way you can't resist
to beam back gladness
opening up your heart
pouring in and out
just like home

how God unites us
across the blue oceans
upon restless seas of time
over culture and language
is still a mystery
to me

but I do hope
the distance traveled
the precious time spent
the laughter shared
will continue on
once again

– Jason Kichline

Friday, June 12, 2009

Tongues

sounds twist inside
   my mouth
   my mind
      wrapping
      mapping
         into memories

I'm longing
   to open my mouth
   to open my mind
      hearing
      sharing
         our histories

to say the sounds
   that match
      the soul
      the heart
      the emotions

so that one day
   I can come again
      and be one
      and be true
      and be open

but for now I am a fool
   saying things
      I can't pronounce
   simple things
      I show my love
   in deep faith
   I will speak
      I will hear
         as a gift
         through faith
            from my Father

Jason Kichline

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Hot

I seek you hot and panting
   moisture dripping from my brow
   sun beating hot and oppressive
I trudge onward to you
   my source of all refreshing
   memories of cool tickling feet
I dive into your depths
   lost in your deep
   refracted hollows etched
I wade inside of you
   soaking in your natural essence
   mesmerized by your earthen fragrance
I drink deep of you
   clear springs flowing over
   polished curves and courses
I want you near
   relaxed and complete
   floating and being
   cradled in your arms
I desire you here
   but I awake afar
   sweating in the heat
   wondering where you are

Jason Kichline

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Tekax

meager people raised from the ground
are called to streets to claim the way
rushing in on scooters and bikes
clamor of music and trumpet sounds
as they enter through a narrow gate
from young to old with little tikes

the place, a courtyard and set apart
as known to be a place of dreams
ranshack concrete walls surround
and thatch covers around the heart
in the center where grace beams
upon the square where destiny bounds

as the worship is lifted high
from hands and feet, lips and soul
heavens descend and take their place
resting on each one who cries
for more of God to make a whole
from fragments of a forgotten place

but in this place a change is seen
that rises like a trumphant shout
an army of joy prepared to move
from the side of love to intervene
to deploy now and at once move out
and fill the land with earthly proof

so heaven comes and meets the ground
and wings of angels flap above
dropping diamonds all around
a gift of a holy, romantic love
to the hungry of this small town
the people of God who are made of
the word of life as eternal reknown

– Jason Kichline

Monday, June 8, 2009

Feet

her bare feet
stomp and dance
brown as earth
in a holy trance
hard and worn
thick and rough
take her upward
to more than enough
jean dip low
around her heel
toes in a row
creased to kneel
she is a crown
toenails as jewels
splashing glory
as it pools
wrinkles form
dust is pressed
veils are torn
worship caressed
feet built for
long worship
strong praise
upon lips
her face pure
as a dove
beautiful
precious
to him
her love

– Jason Kichline

Storm

the sky turns dark
swirling shades of
deep azure and
forbidden gray
pressing onto her
slow and steady

the village
the jungles
surrounding
opening her
as leaves face
towards rain

drops hot
and heavy
saturating
refreshing
as steam rises
from the valley
from the jungle
from the ground
opening up wanting
to accept the storm

the distance
rumbles strong
shaking her
ground swelling
dry wells
wanting
waiting
needing

it encircles her
causing her to
submit and
succumb
as lighting
dives into
her ground
and waters flow
on the thin surface
raging underneath

over and over
the storm comes
releasing it's energy
releasing it's life
onto this village
onto this jungle
into the valley
into the ground

she springs to life
she is not forgotten
she is wanted
all of her seen
green jungles
brown earth
pink, tan and white
tattooed buildings
alive again
for now

– Jason Kichline

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Power

to seek and never find
the flow from sources far
requires the plug to align
or else all that is modern dies

a fit so close yet so unfitting
to charge the core of my word
unable to connect without submitting
and to cut the prong that denies

belief is more than a mental game
and extends beyond us as a cord
to consume energy without shame
a power that comes and abides

– Jason Kichline

Friday, June 5, 2009

Understand

why does the heart not understand?
for it has no eyes to comprehend
that I am now in a distant land
yet wants you here to hold my hand

why does the heart not understand?
that in my quest to quench it's thirst
the pain keeps aching all the worst
and wants you near to calm the man

why does my heart not understand?
no ears to hear the talk of men
just haunts of you around the bend
and I want your words to never end

why does my heart not understand?
the art of patience to wait until
my return again in heaven's will
into your arms where I can stand

to never know the size of love and
why my heart cannot understand

– Jason Kichline

Sweeping

knotted hands grasp knotted wood
a shaft made hard from a fragile life
aching bone and toughened skin
clenching smooth the polished wear
worn from doing what good she could
from rough and splintered strains in strife
existence lifted from depths that have been
through labor sweeping dust and cares

corn husk scrapes the baking earth
spread woven tight upon the stick
she sweeps the heaps of old away
in swaying motions of focused stir
raking cakes of questioned worth
doubts of fears from years of thick
cakes of mud and desert clay
dry and red as eyes that were

winds blow harsh across the plain
delivers pain to this woman frail
she looks with longing in her gaze
as tears of pride well up within
for kin she birthed in pouring rain
a son she rocked in lonely cradle
in the shade of better days
in the cool of what has been

prepared as one awaits a king
she dusts and mops the floor to shine
and prepares the place where he will stay
within her life and together again
this home of joy is what he brings
moments when they both will dine
moments when they both will lay
these are moments to defend

– Jason Kichline

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Tension

words fly hard as shards of glass
fragments shot through shattered pasts
skin thin with age
flushed red with rage
young fighting for the chance to live

volume rides the rising tide
of feelings for too long pent up inside
an unending refrain
of unbandaged pain
friction rubbing raw the chance to forgive

this loud litany lessens as logic is used
but under her breath is excuse and abuse
from a mother so stern
with no respect earned
from a daughter who never did

so where is found a trace of grace
from two annoyed who avoid face-to-face
to heal the heavy hole
within their sinking souls
tangled in tensions to tough to outlive

– Jason Kichline

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Love Flows

love flows
covering the valley
over low hard places
under desolate shadows

love flows
without direction
where it wants to go
the path of least resistance

love flows
rinsing all away
as a messy proposition
spilling and mixing with dust

love flows
dark dirty water
pregnant with cleansing
not fit for the self righteous

love flows
and the priests
step into the stream
in faith and power of spirit

love flows
unpredictable, untidy
fear of dirty drowning
unfathomed by God's people

love flows
eternal nourishment
along the banks connected
flooded with fruit and flowers

– Jason Kichline

Monday, June 1, 2009

Nature

what is the nature of life?
   this life we claim abundant?
to seek after wisdom above all else
   only to find foolishness in the eyes of men?
to seek after love eternal
   only to find it condemned as unforgiven sin?
to desire unity of common soul and spirit
   only to find it tearing in jealousy and rage?

I find this nature to be a paradox
   of the upside down
   of the inside out

that...
   God is bigger than the box
   God is silence embodied as a shout

that...
   to share a soul may cause a stain
   to share a heart may cause a pain
   to share a spirit may ascertain
   to know too deep a love unobtained

unrighteous,
   dangerous,
      foolish

and what then when we find
   a love untamed and powerful?
do we set it free in the mind?
   do we announce it loud to all?

the nature of this beast called Love
   extends beyond the measure of
   the plans of man in follied future
but descends instead from above
   as innocent as the falling dove
   as fallen as our human nature

– Jason Kichline

Halfway

while in this life we barely see
a clear vision of where we have been
it's only in the metered strides
of time and tasks that gives to us
a sense of progress that constant guides
flesh and physical reality
of love in quickening rescind
where knowing is but merely dust

so here I stand in between
the two points I placed progress in
to measure from shore the rising tides
the ebb and flow of heart and mind
and the words that live where I abide
under the shade of this forbidden tree
shaking fallen fruit felled by wind
upon my lap I find what's mine

in tasting it, I find it sweet
as juices flow like punctured sin
my mouth waters wet, my tongue slides
savoring a refreshment of this stray
the nourishment of truth that lied
that grows us grace from effete deceit
and draws us close as flesh to skin
from poems I wrote henceforth halfway

– Jason Kichline