Tag Archives: Life

Jazz musician, army grunt,
married three times, retired,
dressed-up every morning
for a day of aloneness,
still practices on electronic 
drums in his bedroom while 
watching cable television,
waiting for the evening meal 
to be delivered and open the 
door with a welcoming smile.

We all hope to be admitted to the formal program 
of eye surgeries and getting groceries, returning
from distances traveled where blessings flowed
on Sundays and phone calls were made to
remember truths inspired by change and disrupted
before stable time and mask-wearing.

Some transplants work better than others
allowing a few to become busy once again
making holes in roofs for friends to drop in
unexpectedly, challenging the most
difficult adage, Play can be work, and serving
eggs and toast with strong coffee for breakfast.

And still others grow tired of the noisy routine
of taping window signs to glass demanding
guests cohere to a set of guidelines created
by those who talk a great game but fail to enjoy
their favorite snack and continually wander 
around the block of anxiety in need of weeding.

Is it the long winter 
which makes 
my poems 
so serious
and keeps 
them buried 
in cold, 
methodological 
longing?

Divine word,
who appears in the dullness 
of our days like lightning
and shakes the ground,
move the stones away
from our heavy hearts,
for the guards we have placed 
around the perimeters of our
lives number in the thousands.
Amen.

I sat down on the edge of the bed.
"I don't want to give the words 
of the prophet any chance 
to ruin my day today."

She rolled over and, waking up,
slowly said, "Was that you yelling
in the bathroom?"

"Yes," I answered.  "I stepped out
of the shower and turned to the spider
in the corner above the door and asked,
How do you get food?"

Yawning while arching her back to stretch,
she said, "It helps to remember that
creation and completion are two
very different acts."

I agreed.  "Such a strong feeling threatens
to overwhelm me."

She sat up.  "All the more reason
to recognize your need to be in
the midst of people who stimulate you."

The introduction of body trauma at the age of six
draws ghosts and demons out of dark closets,
like a ruinous rush of children onto the playground
before someone gets hurt at recess by falling
off the monkey bars because, given the chance,
words can become tangled and powerless to prevent 
this spring morning day to come crashing down
around any intentional steps taken beyond
the timbered bark confine enclosing the days games.

Loneliness is not an issue
when we're born into litters.

God chooses things that are not
to reduce things that are to nothing.

Meaning can be found in the land
beyond where stone writes on stone.

Create and record the task placed 
at the center of your garden.

God of Snakes,
Snakebites,
and Antidotes,
who turns into bronze
to be lifted on a pole,
such weird ways
can be found in the
wilderness.
Is the sin of impatience
worth death?
Look upon us
as we look upon you
to raise us into life
from this place
of being bitten down.
Amen.