At the Crossroads

The coals seem cold, the flames grow low
Yet embers slumber in our bones
At crossroads we gather though we be few
To light the fire and burn anew

Ode to Proces 2.0

Ever changing ours the journey
Shift we down life’s earthly path
Seeking fresh new ways of living
Alleluia allelu

Moments bloom from wombs maternal
Resurrection present now
Newness springs from ground eternal
Alleluia allelu

Toward your vision lure us always
Incomplete and not yet done
Heaven breaks forth in our own time
Alleluia allelu

Ever present, ever flowing
Fount of life be known to us
Spirit bless us on our journey
Alleluia allelu

Traveler's Syndrome

El Gato - a sleek and nimble animal of great beauty
Cat - the sound of vomit hitting the ground

Side B

Break free if only for a moment
shout, cry, laugh, create, be quiet
Become your side B

Let a drop of it hit your lips and tongue
move, slide into it
feel it, get to know it

Play within yourself
if only for a moment you are 8
playing in the yard
stick in hand
you are King, Queen, Teacher, Firefighter, Superhero

You are not a path singular in direction
but possibilities
A huge limitless vat of possibilities
all mixed into one
try them all in combination
introvert, extrovert, free-wheeling, reserved

Let your other side breath, grow
hear your Side B, let it play
turn it to 11
Your very own Maggie May, Don't Worry Baby, I Will Survive

Break free if only for a moment
shake loose of that which keeps you
as yourself

Ode to Process

Ever changing ours the journey
Shift we down life’s earthly path
God’s fresh new way we long to be

Moments bloom from wombs maternal
Resurrection ever present
Newness springs from ground eternal

Toward your vision lure us always
Though incomplete and not yet done
Bringing heaven forth in our days

Ever present, ever flowing
Longed for constant fountain of life
For newness praise to you we sing

Untitled

No, you will not run from this reality

You will see my pain

touch my anguish

You must see it

I must show it to you

because my pain

is your pain

is our pain

Do not be afraid you will not lose yourself

it will not swallow and consume you

we will find each other

discover the source of

disconnection

Gilman

Wind through Gilman at every opportunity
follow the meandering road
past corn and bean field
down main street
through four-way stops and over the railroad
the path reminds your heart of it origins
whispers of memories stored in a small town

Walk to Class

Most days I look and all I see is cement
cold, hard, ashen, gray brick

not death exactly, but something like it
sterile, harsh boxes designed to separate one life from another
It is not that life is gone
only that I forget to notice it
to look up and see the sun
to look left and see the geese, the pine trees
to look right and see a pregnant woman

to look down and see weeds growing through cracks

I'm surrounded by life, filled with life

born from stars
a part of the web and all that
but life

yes life itself

has become
routine at best and backdrop at worst

The Wind

curse the wind
nothingness that is somethingness

my life was a pile of sand
i held in my hand
that arbitrary yet powerful force
has blown it from my hand
scattered and swirled it
order has flipped to chaos
and now
down on my knees
tweezers in hand
i move to gather once again
the grains of life

i will create a new pile
but it will be different than what was there before

Anchors

a collection of Anchors
Anchors that have never been on board a ship
never sailed out to sea
to drop to the deep
solidify, steady
provide place and assurance

Anchors collected in preparation
for a journey not yet taken
I cannot use them, they do not fit other boats
will not work for another journey
But neither can I let them go

Anchors to past
dreams and visions that may not be

Kenneth

An Uncle whom I
never knew
Can you lose something you never had?
His watch on my wrist
His trombone at my lips
His name, a rubbing, on the fridge
I mourn the loss of
An Uncle whose presence
I've always known

Ash Wednesday

some silence would be

nice

a few moments to sit

and breathe

and be

not a student

nor a leader

nor a consumer

nor a brother

nor a son

just be

just breathe

some silence would be

nice

Contents Under Pressure

a teapot on a stove

i sit and heat

the water inside becoming warmer

and warmer the molecules moving quicker and quicker

unrest inside a calm container

water boils steam fills me

seeking an escape a release

but i am sealed shut

and cannot take myself off

the burner

Dune Sailing

the desert sand never stops

dunes continually shift and migrate

i cannot stop the restless march

the constant journey

i cannot form it into a castle

it will not do what i command

on and on it flows continually

moving changing

i cannot control it

pointless to fight it

the only choice is to flow with it

what a ride and journey it shall be!

The Operation

It was obvious, her eyes had to be
replaced
It was too dangerous to leave them in
So with a procedure as cruel
as it was ingenious
They replaced her eyes with ones they
approved of.

"Now she will see as we see!" They clapped and
applauded one another
They set about programing her new eyes

"Look!" they directed
"You are a woman, clearly you are less"
"Look!" they instructed
"You are dark, obviously you are not worthy"
"Look!" they insisted
"You have no money, you would only waste it"

Declaring the procedure a success the sent her home
Had they forgotten?
Were they simply unaware?

The Heart has Eyes as well
She knew she was worthy, equal, loved, cherished
She remembered the lessons of her mother
She knew what to teach her children
And now, she knew their tricks.

Heads or Tails

His eyes see it
differently than those of the eagle,
its ears perceive
other than his,
when he is up
she is down and vise versa
reality is the edge of a coin
and the coin never lands on edge

Sleep

As I sleep the world moves on
consumed with greed
obsessed with us and them
civil wars rage, men explode
children born weak, die
women are raped
violence marks the path of the world
and blissfully I sleep completely unaware
even in my rising I sleep

I am not awake for I do not have to be

This Old Church

It's a beautiful old church isn't it?

Oh yes, Rich in Tradition
Steeped in Love
Grand in its own Humble way

You have served it faithfully.

I've tried, my Father helped build it
I've served countless, meals, made millions of cups of coffee
I play the piano and print the bulletins

In return it has given you much.

Without question, I've had a place to laugh and cry
a place for family to grow
a place for my Mother to die

But now, what will become of this church

I don't know, families are fading
members are aging
Soon this church will die

And if it does, what will you do?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Untitled

I have not found myself in

brilliant all encompassing flashes

rather in pieces along the road

kibbles and bits of

self-discovery, self-revelation, self-proclamation

Keep Waiting

A hint of spring

a whiff of green

tempting to trust, to lean into it

But Wait, not yet

March has yet to come.

The Clock Ticks

someone sneezes, a pen clicks
the chair creaks

And another second slowly ticks away

a sentence full of noise
paper rustles, a pointless question

And another second slowly ticks away

a sip of coffee
glazed eyes, dull silence

And another second slowly ticks away

a hand rubs a forehead
a doodle, the professor sleeps in the corner

And another second slowly ticks away

so goes another session on anti-racism
I don't think this is quite what they had in mind.

The Wonders of Night

Hey all, this is an excerpt from The 13 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear by Walter Moers. The book itself is silly and surprisingly thick. It's a good summer read. Now I know why I do so enjoy sleeping. And I most definitely disagree with the comments about naps.

"'That's just the trouble,' Nightingale put in. 'The thing is, darkness has such a bad reputation. People always associate it with unpleasant things, but it's simply another - albeit darker - form of luminosity. We need it quite as much as we need light. Without darkness everything would wither and die. There would be no sleep, no relaxation, no energy, no growth. Night gives us the strength to withstand the rigours of the day. Haven't you ever wondered why we feel so refreshed and full of energy after a good night's sleep? . . . It's because of the darkness we've taken on board. A nap during the day is no good at all - you tend to feel more lethargic than ever, am I right? Darkness is pure energy. Your reserves become depleted during the day. You burn them up, grow weary, and have to sleep some more. In the dark you accumulate fresh strength, and so on. . . I'm convinced that a person who only lives at night need never die.'"

Skipping

She bounced really. Hopped and skipped up

the aisle and through the pew

She was joyous, exuberant

Got excited and told everyone it

was time for communion

She was cute, precocious and was greeted to more

than her share of smiles and laughs

In short she was 3.

. . .

In truth the little girl annoyed Her

kids should not behave

like that in church

Her kids never did, they were

quiet and respectful

the way Her mother raised Her

This did not honor God,

it was rude, a distraction

and as She skipped past

Her eyes rolled.

. . .

Few are aware but Pastor Susan

sees everything

sitting in front has advantages

Pastor Susan watched Leah skip

heard the child repeat the prayers

saw Lois roll her eyes

And after, in a quiet moment

Pastor Susan offers a hug and whispers

"You could skip too, if you'd like."

Subject - Object

Are you really like me, little robin?
With your wife you've come and made
a nest in my open window.

Were you waiting patiently? Are you opportunistic?
I'm inclined to think not.

Much more likely that this space simply me the meager requirements
your brain hold for nests

And further more, is that even your wife? Do you care for her in the least?
Isn't it true that your just using her for progeny?

How can we be at all similar?
You don't laugh or cry.
You don't do algebra or read Hemingway.
Where is your pride, your greed, your envy?
Where are your riches?
Tell me, what is the meaning of life, little bird?

And Yet

This nest was not accident was it?
You move with purpose, direction, I dare say intention.

When those eggs hatch,
you will care, provide, nurture.

We both need the same things. We both have hearts, brains and blood.
We bleed. We breathe the same air.

So go ahead Little Robin
build your nest
find your food
raise your young
sing your song
and let's continue sharing the air.

The Nose Knows

Give thanks to God for the Nose!
That glorious protuberance on
the front of my head

Sing glory to the Dive, Holy, Transcendent
Whomever or Whatever
Shout praise to the mysterious congruence of
evolution that gave rise to my olfactory!

Ever grateful for that magnificent
meandering that traced a route
between the memory and nose

How else could I be instantly transported
through time and space? It is only though the
perception of this scent and all that comes with it!

Boy's Dog

It's a famous scene, it's been done a lot.

Dog will die if it stays
Boy begs dog to run away
Dog fails to understand, won't run away
Boy abuses Dog 'til it runs away
Dog returns to inevitable demise

Boy I hope I'm not that Dog.

Return

The house was supposed to be
empty
He'd prepared himself for
that

He thought he'd find it
hollow
Lacking, dry and cold

But no, the house was
full

To his dismay and
shock
It haunted and assaluted him with lights and sounds and smells

The memories oppressed him
'Til at last he laid still and
forgot.