SEEING

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

THE GARDENER

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.

CAN LOVE BE KINDLED?

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.

WINTER'S PAST

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.

THE SINS OF MY FATHERS

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.

THE HERO

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.

SHALLOW CREEK

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.

WATER

Send the rains

It’s been too long

With labor pains

We travel on

Through dusty roads

And barren plains

Bearing loads

We can’t sustain.

Something stirs

Within the ranks

A lion purs

Along the banks.