There are many people with stories yet only a few who can tell them. Not all nuts that fall to the ground become old trees. I have walked the middle of city sidewalks on the edge of the holy. Others quote passages from ancient texts to be acceptable and perfect.
Category Archives: Poetry
My poetry. Mostly Collects
The Note
A daughter's note begins a journal from long ago taped to the first page saying I love you. Time and seasons allow such words to guide us into mystery in a meaningful way.
How many hours have I spent reading the final page of books? The moments I absorbed the last words written while the baby napped felt almost stolen. From where, I do not know.
Make the Way
The plum bonsai sits in the window not asking for the sunlight to wrap it in any treasured way nor to be special like the sailboat in the bay requiring wind to move across the water. To be on the fringe of things is not about being accepted or not accepted but requires a certain type of movement like the boat riding through waves. There is nothing forced about the prow separating the path it must follow through the water. The water parts to make the way.
Questions
How many heartbeats pass before something resonates deep within? Why does reading about God leave me with long lists of forgettable quotes? Does the origin of the urge for perfection come from some prior perfect place? What difference does change or reform make to the moss quietly growing beside the rock?
Next to One Another
The vanishing disquiet of my heart reminds me of the sacraments I missed long ago; replaced with sacred moments different from the last. Others may look upon how I search for the symbolic and say, "It just didn't work well," but we never came to any agreement on anything where protecting our own wishes, desires and dreams mattered. How can you tell if people are not interested? How many bad looks does it take before the fascination of slowly coming together becomes, and even overcomes, anything folded into two parts laying next to one another?
Where the Gospel Is Preached
What gospel will you preach? The good news of common ancestry or the fault line of difference? The beauty of the sunlight through the trees or of the setting sun sending light through countless limbs waiting for spring's leaves? And where does this "or" come from and how does it insert itself into the most simplest of questions? People move from one building to the next avoiding the embarrassment of discipline. Sharing lists with one another along the way we are amazed at what can and should be done. Certain combinations of humans continue to take care of their own as if a collective birth mother had never died. The pleasing shape of conceits generated by the particular grows with each new encounter knowing that outside where the gospel is preached the pieces still try to bring themselves together.
To an Unknown God
It has always been a challenge to bless and uplift without pointing a finger. The signs that honor our gods are posted all over the town square. Underneath any beautiful morning lie colors waiting to be thrown into the sky. My hope remains suspended between nothing and infinity waiting for the divine particular. One day there will be a way to bring all the pieces together without fear.
Hopeful Embraces
Someone once asked the question, If I am eager to do what is good then who can I harm? Did they not hear the interesting news that the sun rose through the horizon and into the sky without any aid? I called a friend in search of numbers pleasing to the eye only to learn that the letter I submitted for recognition had been destroyed because the issue was dead and no longer used by those who were afraid to dance. I wish there will be an announcement forthcoming about the self-imposed resignation of those who failed to follow the fixed paths of their own plans. And, I hope for the moment when embraces are placed at the top of all personal agendas.
Once
Once, I had danced at the edge of it all and felt nothing at the end of my fall. I found courage and strength of heart to know now that nothing plays a part separate from any constructed whole. I must not be intimidated by nor console those who disregard gentleness as a way. The human urge to stand and downplay the other as if the other were fodder for machines feeding upon what we most adore pushes reverence beyond any known protocol. Once will be enough to hear the new year call.
A Thread You Follow 