Monday, February 25, 2013
If only on my knees I seek you
Forbidding summer breeze to greet you
If my only song of yours is
Church bells ringing out their chorus
A backward leap then have I taken
With broken wings my heart mistaken
But if by chance it comes to pass
I hear your whispers in the grass
And see you standing right beside me
A twisting crook, a knotted pine tree
And taste you in the salted grains
Grown upon the Western Plains
Then like a telescope to Mars
I’ll see more clearly who you are
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Weeds and vines creep through my mind
Growing faster than the speed of light
Crowding out indigenous thoughts
That need more sun and best be in pots
For now that the weeds have overtaken this space
I can’t hear the thoughts that were in their place
The sweet rose-pedals of love and acceptance
The tender lilies of grace and repentance
The daffodils that signaled the end to all strife
The peacemaking tulips have lost their dear lives.
Now the vines are all passing their judgments so vile
And the weeds have free reign to fret for a while
Alas, my tools are no match for fecundity
Of the sort that cause rabbits to blush in envy
Hands tied by a vine, a weed ‘cross my face
I am ready to give up on tending my space
When all of a sudden I recall with a cry
There is a Gardener with more tools than I
Not made of hand, but of Spirit and Word
He’s wise as a snake and gentle as a bird
And he’s willing to come and fix up my garden
Whenever I call, because he can pardon
Me, and the mess I have made
By keeping my flowers alone in the shade
And letting the weeds soak up the sun.
But when he comes, the work will be done
With nary an effort, he’ll convert my vines
Into fruit bearing ones, makers of wines
The weeds he’ll gather with just one stroke
And place them upon the fire that stokes
Our faith and hope in a life ever after
That tastes of fine wine, and sounds of sweet laughter.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Can love be kindled on this stone
Hardened by its time alone
While placed upon forgotten shores
By destiny’s unquestioned chores?
Can love be kindled in some fashion
Despite my oft misguided passion
Which leads me through the thorny fields,
Abased until my spirit yields
To the Potter’s hands, or the thief’s
Seeking change or quick relief?
If change it be, His hand will thrash me
And in His kiln He’ll neatly stash me
Until I’m hardened to His liking
My spirit’s features much more striking.
If it’s quick relief I opt for
Gladly shall the thief provide more
But in the end he shall require
Instead of kiln, the funeral pyre.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Late December’s shallow gaze
Echoes of some foregone days
Whose dim reflection now reminds us
Never is the past behind us
When snow-filled meadows catch the eye
As swiftly we go passing by
The veil that often keeps them hidden
Fades, revealing lives forbidden
By the constant march of time
And with it, man’s ambition, blind.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
The sins of my fathers,
Like rain on the waters,
Trickle inside of my soul.
As I stand, saturated
By what was consummated
Many generations ago,
I note my resistance;
Despite the persistence
Of forces beyond my control;
To forego the conclusion
That it’s all an illusion,
Preferring to bear them alone.
And in so doing,
I am really eschewing
The shelter of my fathers’ home.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
So hazy and muddled
My life at half-mast
Can’t stay out of trouble
Or escape from the past.
Not likely to forego
This earthly pleasure
To live like some Zoro
And bear with the pressure
Of being a hero
Which nobody wants
Amounting to zero
Til death change the fonts.
Monday, February 11, 2013
To gain a deeper sense of union
Tirelessly I’ll ever seek.
Separation does too soon come,
And guides me to that shallow creek
Where, limited by gravel bed
I dare not dive from lofty heights
To land abruptly on my head
And find that I am dead to rights.
In seeking, it’s true life I’m after
Found in streams of deep blue laughter.
To swim amongst these joyful throes
Love’s symphony I shall compose
Each note resounding in full measure
In concert finding greatest pleasure.
For, as long as I am still divided
From whom has my life provided
And, by extension, human train,
In shallow creek I shall remain.