Harmonious winds furrow around inlets of the ears of perception,

Encasing its whisper, a message from the ancients.

Muster all of your strength, gather all of your pride,

Surrender the mighty ego, to ascend, absolve, and then subside.

The pensive performer thrums their string-ed instrument,

Interweaving. Dark to light.

Inside is abundant safety, while the show remains lacquered outside. 

And light to dark.

May you watch what you do, wary of the ones who lie,

May there be courage when faced with the task of insight.

Within you will awake, without you will rest,

Withheld, you will lose, with, you will rise.

The balance hangs in the divots of his palms,

Collecting drops of sweat from the intention and the song.

Are you prepared, afraid, and anxious?

Are you aware, atoned, gracious?

After an eloquent finale, the dressing room is silent, but a buzz of frenetic lights,

Between calloused fingers, the smoke of a rolled cigarette curls into a luna crescent.

The simple chair may as well be a throne, as the performer kicks off their peeling boots,

Eager for the next show. But all is over, for now.

Lessons never end, unless you are not prepared,

And if that time arises, the balance has been tangled up in grey.

Bless your balance be restored.

This Job Isn’t Big Enough for the Two of US

(Here is a poem from JQ’s upcoming book of poetry, Escaped Energy, which will be released on Amazon on September 4th, 2020)

Quiet down now, beautiful little bygones.
Your melancholy harmony was your greatest allure.
When I walk away like a cowboy into the sunset, you’ll miss
The point, and that’s something I’ll have to live with.

I’ll throw around words of distaste like boulders,
Looking for the golden ruling, but I’ll never be able to speak my heart.
Down by the water hole, I have reflected more than a man does in a
And I’ve found just as much, because there is only one answer,

The past is Four Roses on the rocks, and after a few,
I’m drunk in memories, though it’s easiest to forget.
Strangers will gather and help me sing this song,
That digs me deeper, closer to my grave.

The aces of life I laid on the table doubled its value,
But the dealer knew better and rigged the river,
And all that time wishing for the jackpot,
Left me with nothing but kindly banter from the others being played.

Yes, the fear of untimely change can make a man’s paunch ache,
Biting fingernails, sleepless nights, snappy judgment, blind eyes,

Rest assured, everything will be all right.
But first things first, get through the night alive.

Today I’ll ponder mortality; tomorrow I’ll fight it.
And that’s the answer, every time.
Today I’ll drink and toast. Tomorrow I’ll find a new town,
And call it my own, until it’s time for my sunset again.

This is a Journey, This is a Test

This is a Journey, This is a Test

Comrades, marauders, vagabonds,
This is a Journey!
We’re all welcome to join,
But I must confess-
The mind can mimic a field of crickets,
Chirping in unison.
The mind can mimic a field of mines,
Combusting all at once.

Nomads, wanderlust-ed, and all who are curious,
This is a test!
We’re all destined somewhere,
Whether we like it or not;
The soul in good hands finds a home with company to rest anew.
The soul in bad hands finds no home, no rest, and tries again from learned mistakes.

The Man Alone and His Cobblestone Road

Many times, I’ve lost a friend, and many nights I’ve cried,

Pulling petals from daisies just to let myself know I tried.

I’ve burned a lot of flower stems to bring flame to a candle,

So I can see the past’s picture, though it’s one that’s hard to handle.

And still I can’t sleep until, the slow, heavy rain,

Has hit the rooftop, and carried sounds, that help me drift away.

I’ve walked on many cobbled roads, and maybe hitched a ride,

But still and will I walk along until I’ve aged and died,

All my life I’ve been alone, with hopes of friends to share,

And some have joined, temporarily, now they travel roads of theirs.

And still I can’t sleep until, the slow, heavy rain,

Has hit the rooftop, and carried sounds that help me drift away.

I think about the things I’ve done, and wonder if I’ve tried,

If there was something I could have done, to stop the teared goodbyes.

But the golden rule I’ve learned from life, is people come and go,

I can only hope our paths cross again,

Someday, while I walk with flowers in my hands along the cobbled roads.

Still I can’t sleep until, that solemn, heavy rain,

Has hit the rooftop, and carried sounds that help me drift away.

– Jasper 9uince