Posts Tagged ‘Poem’

Harold, my Friend

Candlelight

Harold, my Friend

I felt him sailing away

Last summer,

Going back

To places he knew, but we didn’t.

If you think demons don’t have power,

You are wrong.

We begged him not to go.

His rope broke free from our shore,

And he is over the horizon now. Our world is so much

Darker today. He took his lantern with him.

Friend. Ambassador. Encourager.

I will hear his laughter echo in my dreams

For a long time. I know he is in

A better place. But I am not.

I am still here.

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Don’t Follow the Breadcrumbs. Follow the Rabbi.

Don’t Follow the Breadcrumbs. Follow the Rabbi.

I was

Wrong. I thought

It was about leaving

Breadcrumbs…like Hansel and Gretel…but

Following those breadcrumbs will only lead you

To the witch.

The grackles have eaten the damn things anyway.

The Way

Forward can only be

Found in imagining

With Jesus…

Asking…

Begging, pleading with Jesus

For a Way

Forward.

Imagining

With Jesus…

The real one, the Living One…

The Way

Forward.

There is

No other way

Forward.

I’ve Heard it Sing

gold yellow wheat field close up with sunset sky in background

I’ve Heard it Sing

I am sad today

Because I feel something that I have loved

Slip away from me. It is just beyond me. Always, it seems. Just beyond me.

I’ve heard it sing.  The rustle of its wings in the brush has startled me. I just can’t

Find the simple word to tell myself and you what

It is. I only know its song

Is beautiful.

There is a grief.  It is always there among

The flowers along the road.

So many illusions knifed down in these fields. The joy is never whole.

There never comes a day when

Every stone is plucked from the pasture

So that the rows grow straight, and the plow cuts

Gracefully.

My friend hasn’t spoken to me of it.    I don’t know

Who I am to him. But from across this gap, I could feel something

Break. What broke in him today, is broken in me, too.

It was a different rod that broke it…there are so

Many that get picked up and thrown. “Count the cost”, the teacher said. But

How could we have possibly known how deep that slash would be?

And if, one day, we finally get to where that song is sung in full chorus, will there be anything left

In us to even recognize its tune anymore?

Fly. You Must.

DSC_4200

Fly. You Must.

These years are

Not enough. There

Is so much I’d hoped

To teach you, to tell

You. And yet,

You will choose

Your teachers and tellers

Now. My place, if it was ever really mine, has

Changed. Instead

Of being

The teacher and the teller,

I am

Now the listener

Who has grown old. But

In my age I have grown

Proud of all you have

Become. Eighteen years and now

You fly. You must.

But visit me

From time to time

And I will learn to

Listen well. And I will

Love you always. These years

Are not enough, and they

Passed by so very fast.

May 20th

rose

May 20th

If I knew

A way (or away)

To make it all

Right,

That is what I would do.

If I could take

The scratches out of things, I would.

I know a way…

But it doesn’t

Make everything

Right.

It just makes it so I can

Breathe sometimes.

I remember Ben.  That is

My way.  Remembering.

                                                                                         – For _____ (Ben’s mom) , May 2o, 2008

Ninety-Five and Today

 

elderly hands02

Ninety-Five and Today

34,675 times the sun has risen for you, though

You may struggle to recall all its shades and hues.

The day rose and set on ninety-five winters,

Springs and summers and falls

Again.  Furrowed deeper now than

Before. Wiser. More sure…and less.

Days and days and days in a row, the sun cast

Two shadows together.  Now?  Only one,

Who sees the days crest differently,

Knowing that neither winter,

Nor even the sun can separate

What God has bound together.

For now, though, let’s laugh;

For we know that the one still

Casts two shadows

Together.

                                                                                                                     -For Jane, April 14, 2013

Darkening

Candlelight

Darkening

Darkening,

A soot-black fog

Creeping, enfolding, closing in on an already graying sky,

Hate gained a body and cut its way

Into hallways, headlines…and lifelines…and so much more.

Are you taking your name off of us, Lord?

Have we so let you down?

Signs of the times…the in-between times;

Is this the world’s last gasp, mocking demons

Rushing to the barricades

In bitter rebellion against you?

Or is it just another gasp?

Cain found a way out of Nod,

Enraged and blaming and armed with rifle rounds.

“And he killed him”…them. The world rages and spits

And fires bullets into tiny children…its own image spilling out in pools

Upon

The tile and grout.  Seeking what? What does Cain want?

To stop

You? Has Herod set his minions loose upon us

Again in this Advent, killing our children to get at yours?

I had hoped

That ours were yours. Have you taken your name off of us?

Did you then?

Choked out through tears, your own murdered child’s plea

Barely can be heard

Among the wails of shattered mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters… and dreams

Echoing from Ramallah to Newtown,

“On earth as it is in heaven.”

Don’t Follow the Breadcrumbs. Follow the Rabbi.

Don’t Follow the Breadcrumbs. Follow the Rabbi.

I was

Wrong. I thought

It was about leaving

Breadcrumbs…like Hansel and Gretel…but

Following those breadcrumbs will only lead you

To the witch.

The grackles have eaten the damn things anyway.

The Way

Forward can only be

Found in imagining

With Jesus…

Asking…

Begging, pleading with Jesus

For a Way

Forward.

Imagining

With Jesus…

The real one, the Living One…

The Way

Forward.

There is

No other way

Forward.

Some Can Fly

Some Can Fly

When I was young, I wished

To fly, and I glared with the greenest

Envy at those who were born with wings.

Now?  Hahahahaha. I long only now

To one day walk truly and well;

To give thanks purely for the shelter

That the earth provides;

To wonder like a child at the author of

The flight

Of others; and to drink in deeply all

The colors of the path

I was forged to trod. Once

One sees even a graceful hawk crash to earth, or merely

Struggle against the frigid wind, it seems quite stupid

To ask why some can fly and others

Not.

When Spring Comes Early

When Spring Comes Early

“What have you to do with us?!?!”, asked the Legions of the Master,

Frantically.

Strikingly, their darker meaning like children doing mischief, “What are you

Doing here?!?! You’re early!

It is not The Hour.

No bud has yet sprung, and the earth is still

Ours. Our game of death is not yet over!”

Oh, when spring comes early!  Like Great News,

An early spring reminds even the addled that

Though winter…Death… still has its grip

On things, spring still arrives

At its hour, death’s game ends, and new life

Springs forth from beneath the blankets of hoarfrost. The victory trumpet

Of the Sandhill Crane high over head reminds us all

That neither we nor death decide

Spring’s arrival. And no matter

How long or short

The winter, no matter

How terrible its bitter grip, there is always spring.

There is always spring. Early

Sometimes, as if to say, “The tomb has always been

Empty. The field has never been

Yours.”

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