What is beautiful?

What is beautiful?
Is it an aesthetic ideal?
Is it a certain shape or colour?
Can we tell it from another?
Do we pass it every day?
In the streets we never see?
Do we miss what lies beneath?
Do we see what shows up front?
Can we tell if we touch?
Is it something to compare?

What is beautiful?
When Eve was first upon his eye?
Did he think to ask for more?
Or different?
First of women she was there
But surely beauty isn’t this:
“better than a goat.”

But what is beautiful?
I’ve seen a baby make me cry
Just because of beauty
But some are fat and some are thin
and some are round and some so small
And some are sick and some are well
but everyone I ever saw touched me in my soul
with their beauty.

What is this beautiful?
It makes you want to cry out
and sometimes cry
it cannot be denied
and does not care for explanation
and somehow seems connected
to Truth.

But what is beautiful?
Am I tuned to see it here?
Could I sift it from the pain?
Could I even say a word,
That made it clear to see again?

It is here but I can’t speak
It is there but I can’t say
I know it when I see it near
As I pass it every day.

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A Waiting in the Dark

Call me here in time of war
That you might see what I am for
For all the times you’ve wanted more
As you lay with your sweet whore.

Listen well as I draw near
Waiting with your lurking fear
Afraid of all that you can hear
Drowning in your bottled beer.

Let your shaking sobs you rue
Bring you closer through and through
As the night is hard on you
Crying just for something true.

Brown Beauty

This is not a poem about a black girl
This is about a horse.

Have you ever seen a wild horse galloping across a field?
Have you ever felt the presence of the beauty of God’s creation?
Have you ever looked into her eye and felt a peace you could not explain?

We people like labels
Or at least we seem to–
given the amount we use them.

We pigeon-hole and judge
and stereotype and then prejudge–
all before lunch.

We act as though political correctness
(so we call it)
has something to do with love, understanding, and respect.

Of course,
it does not.

But a horse has majesty
It does not need our words
It does not need my words
does not need these words.

She does not concern herself with race
She is beautiful.
She does not concern herself with names
She is beautiful.
She does not concern herself with groups
except her band.

She is beautiful and her dignity is beyond what we with our pride usually can see.

When she runs it is as though the whole of creation rejoices
But we care about names
We care about colour
We care about money
We care about power
We care about ourselves and we pay so little attention to our band.

I have seen the brown beauty in the wild and she is wonderful.
We have thin skins and selfish hearts and we do not see each other hardly at all.
We care about fat and thin
We do not see.
We care about tall and short
We do not see.
We care about black and white
We are blind and we run away from the things that would heal us.

Brown beauty,
Who gallops across the plains
Is a gift that we should cherish,
And from her learn.

Rest In Peace Oh Gentle Soul

I placed my hand upon your shoulder
As you lay there bleeding out
Your breath was shallow your pulse was slowing
And I felt your warmth before it left.

It was hard to see you die
I heard the crash and crunch and screams
So young it seemed but here we are
I feel your spirit even now.

The shot seemed quiet in the night
But I have been desensitized
The world does not realize just what you were
And you did not complain.