Category Archives: Poetry

My poetry. Mostly Collects

This coming year…

I resolve to see the unique events in time
as more spiritually significant than the
repetitive turn of the changing seasons.

I resolve to move through any dualism
that places another as a point on a line.

I resolve to keep my eyes open when they
are not closed.

I resolve to nurture the moss growing
outside around the rock in the garden.

I resolve to smile and to cheer for all 
that is unique and refuse to turn back
in fear of what the other may believe.

I resolve to be open and believe
what is true and share what is simple.

I resolve to ask, Where do I fit?, less often
in the hope of being wanted.

A New Will

Celebration!

The earth has turned 
in circles for a time!

Day gave way to night.
Seasons to seasons.

Looking forward,
spirits will re-weave anew
though we will once again
ask how to find their work.

Theology will become necessary
and the animating power
of one question will threaten
to tumble the great walls
we have conspicuously built.

Perhaps another question
will simply become a form of prayer
busily lost in the mouth of greed.

The drum circle drums 
will strike the beat on the day
when all venturing outside 
will cease and beneath the 
constant thumping of hearts
a voice will cry in the wilderness,
I am willing.

Endings

In the end there will be no study guides
to help us concentrate our way across the skies.

Any successful passage will be marked
with what we leave behind our footsteps.

The one with the biggest concern and
the one with the sharpest complaint
encourage each other to realize that they
have nothing to prove.

The meaning of days being closer to one
rather than another relies on all tomorrows
approaching one step at a time.

The lawn will always need cutting so let
the grass grow in your absence.

Remember, the end never leaves much
time for waiting.

Hunting

A man took up hunting
and gave each of his friends
a feather from the first turkey
he killed.  Gifts can be made 
from loving the something 
that lies beyond any reason.
Try talking about prophecy
while outside the open window
the rain nourishes the spring 
flowers.  There will always be
those who retreat to writing
papers when faced with
challenges to how they love.
Thoughts coming from being
indifferent to brokenness can
break the tradition of the faith
passed down from those who
relied on hunting for food.

Turning Hope

I turn the thoughts and prayers of journals
written decades ago into these poems and 
hope with more attention and accommodation
I do not wander off into the despair always
waiting at the end of the previous evening's talk.

The piece of learning I always hope for
comes from the awareness that toes 
will always be stepped on even in the midst 
of the dance where everyone knows
the next turn is to the middle.

I am reminded of the paradox of fire 
where bringing life whirls in the midst 
of the turning of what is alive to hopeful ashes.

The Valley of Decision

I said, "I had a dream that I was showing
off the latest dance in the middle of 
a circle of family and friends."

She asked, "Did you feel the
watching-centeredness change
from one dance to the next?"

I said, "No.  But the look of love
from parents and grandparents
remained between steps and turns."

She said, "It is not possible for time
to ever get tired of experiencing
moments like these."

I asked, tentatively, "Do you think that
awe in the midst of the grand mystery
will always remain with us?"

She answered, "Remember what the 
prophet said, 'Multitudes, multitudes 
in the valley of decision!"

Again

Come, let us make futures for one another.
Without our knowing
the snow will turn to rain again
And back to snow again.

If all we know of delight
comes from our wishing for
what we deserve or even desire
then being in the presence of the one that loves
will be more than enough again.

Imagine being the only guest for one another
after meeting for the first time
and then to meet again
in some present future where
the rain turns to snow and back again.

Thanksgiving

Give thanks to the gods of many things
For dancing alive in still water
For the smile on faces creased with years
	and for the delight of a first surprise
For sleeping in under soft covers
	and the cracked window welcoming the cold air
For brothers that call first thing in the morning
	and for sisters here and over there
For all those who have gone before
	carefully placing the stones along the way
For the drizzle that gives way to snow
For gathering and not gathering
	with neighbors and with enemies
	knowing despite all knowing
	that there will be another year
	on the other side of this one