Category Archives: Poetry

My poetry. Mostly Collects

Today’s reading includes life’s most difficult verses.

The Golden Rule presents itself first followed 
by all those things, yes, things, that create human division
between sects and castes and classes and circles.

Discourses on inequality and the tricks played by those 
who attempt to make us believe in the banality of wealth
divert those already ignorant of Divine ways.

Everyone searches for their hidden motives of sacrifice
preparing for a moving day to Easy Street which never
arrives on individual demand.

Legends fall into trouble once again barely able to keep
us awake through the drip of words leaking from books
read in one sitting of possibility madness.

Peaceful creation waits for the hubbub to waste away
into convention and tradition before appearing and  
glowing like the sliver of the month's new moon.

To Thrive

I said, "I spent the day upstairs
practicing the art of pure escapism
from life's leftovers."

She said, "A noble thing to do when
many spend so much time making
their selves the center of the universe."

I asked, "Do you think it is because
stories of wonder never received 
encouragement in each family of origin?"

She answered, "Or, maybe there was no
tree of life living in the middle of abandoned
gardens behind their houses."

I said, "As they say, Life requires mercy 
not sacrifice, in order for the self
and others to thrive."

She added, "Nothing like encouraging
a bit of anthropological thinking to 
de-center us from ourselves."

Together

The question, When will I see you again?
becomes a doxology of sorts when
the lighting of candles is added to each
rise and fall of praise and of mourning.

Assemblies gather before deadlines
delayed again by postponed weather
arrangements conveniently called
out by experts in front of green screens.

Story and science blur into one myth
before the altar of truth in the long
history of human beings once again
having a difficult and dangerous time.

People cheer the completion of first drafts
with no sense for or need of resolution
that might be recorded in the shining annals 
of the impromptu history of humankind.

Decadent Decay

I said, "The conversation at last night's 
party showed happiness lives in the 
minds of the decadent few."

She said, "Yes.  It also revealed the 
desperate need to create possibilities
for new pools of laughter."

Thinking aloud, I said, "The beginning
of wisdom is just a monster of a text
to digest in one gathering."

She replied, "Human beings have been
gathering for hundreds of thousands 
of years in dark spaces."

I added, "And feverishly painting animals
on the walls of caves and cheering on
their favorite teams."

She said, "Hope only appears to narrow 
when those places are closed and decay
into the ruin that time brings."

“…shall stone him to death.” – Deuteronomy 21:21

Creator of stones,
who places before us
life and death and asks
us to choose life; with stones
becoming metal shooting 
everywhere, even into the bodies 
of little ones playing in yards
and learning in schools
and sleeping in houses;
perhaps as we live in this space
between a rock and a hard place
stones in the desert need 
to be turned into bread.
Amen.

What do you see?

Between running for the sacred peace
of a mourning dove cooing on the fence
and the frantic cleaning and straightening
in preparation for the arrival of strangers,
the way forward blurs into rapid motion,
into a newly awakened day where prayerful 
preparation can wait and, instead, the view
from out the train window at the rushing
cityscape and countryside gives way
to the question, What do you see?