Tie

This is the thing that brings me to you:

The open hand, the closed look, the ring.

Then, while I am here, even every touch ties me;

This is when I decide I'll never leave.

I take the ring, the little hard cold beauty,

It's size a wonder, it's eyes always bright.

Still you leave, and I leave you, in the cool evening,

With only one rule between us, the one that I took.

I glance at it now, thankful to have gained it, yet

Wishing it were able to channel your self.

No, but it is only hard, scratchy, lifeless beauty,

Nothing like you.

Dilemma

How can I open a box with no seams?

I roll it in my fingers, feeling the smoothness of its surface,

Wanting what's inside;

Not knowing how to get it out.

My goal is ahead, but I see no path,

And though I try to step farther,

I am only trampling down the grass

That I trampled yesterday.

This is the circle that I am caught in:

To know the possibility, but have no ability,

No opportunity to become,

The one I know I should be.

Prayer

I really tried to write something tonight, but I couldn't write anything good. So I searched my files and found something I wrote several years ago instead.

It's not that I doubt you, Lord;

It's that I think you might forget some little detail.

You know how I have to have my life ordered just so,

And You might not get it right!

I have to watch out for my own interests.

And what if you don't give me the things I want?

What if you think I don't deserve them?

I'm sure I can get them on my own, if I try.

It's not that I doubt you, Lord, but

God helps those who help themselves.

(You said that, didn't you?)

If you were a little quicker, it wouldn't be so hard.

If you were clearer, I wouldn't need so much faith.

If you really loved me, you would give me what I want.

I didn't write anything today, but I'm OK with that because I purposely did something else. I will check back in next week. Sayonara!

Falling Waters

I'm not sure about this one. It's odd, and may need to be rewritten. But it's all I've got for tonight. So here it is...

The rain pours down all around me and over me

Like drizzles from a coffee pot that never finishes perking.

Snuggled in my house with every incandescent light on fire,

Fortified against the winter darkness,

I allow the simple noise to blanket me.

My life has been like the running water.

It drizzles slowly at times and puddles along.

Slogged in mud, I wonder if I will ever gain momentum.

Later, I am sheets of rain falling,

And terrible winds knock me all about.

Shaken, and confused, I look for a surface to still me,

A tin roof maybe, or a coat to soak into,

Just so I can have a bit of peace.

Like the running water moving from sky to ground to stream,

And flying back again in the great circle,

I am caught in a circle until the day I die.

But perhaps, and this is my great hope,

Perhaps as I run from here to there, I change my nature.

Unlike the water, I can remember and choose,

And at the final day, when I flow out to sea,

I hope I may be a better, wiser drop of water.

The Cost of Freedom

We start with the Public.

That is the outer face, the mask that we wear,

A web of skin that can peel apart at any time

But can fuse tightly when never taken off.

Next we have the Fiction.

This is the tricky fantasy that we believe

It is the world we inhabit, that hides

Corners and holes we trip into blindly.

After that is the Angel.

We seek salvation from this broken person

Or object, or job, or technological gadget,

And only a shiny veneer separates us from disappointment.

The ending is not part of the tale

It could be Collapse

Or a Manual Reset.

But a better ending comes with Truth,

Scraping away the outward sheen until we see ourselves dead,

Taking our life away until we surrender to be reborn,

Not to walk again in the illusions of the carnival midway,

But to breathe the sharp, stinging air of freedom, unafraid.

Inspiration from the Bookshelf

I tried really hard to write something, but my brain would not comply. In the interest of stirring up a poem, I compiled a list of words from the book titles on my bookshelf. I'm saving it here so that I remember to use them next week.

My word list:

Society

Finding

Web

Highest

Journey

Hip

Lessons

Collapse

Angel

Encyclopedia

Model

Truth

Tale

Country

Fiction

Guide

Manual

Public

Perfection

Ever circling

Fears of imperfection

Looming, growing,

Starving the sun

Always chasing

Shades of pink perfection

Panting, cramping,

Loathing the run

Today falling

Losing all protection

Breaking, scraping

Sinking to none

Moment pausing

Soaking up perception

Stilling, soothing

Now that I'm done

Omnipresence (You're Everywhere)

Somehow you are everywhere:

In my cereal bowl I see you,

And at the grocery store

Among the apples,

And in the windows of passing cars.

I can't leave you behind, because

You're there in the pages of every book,

And with any vibration of the telephone,

You are there first, always.

Don't be afraid to walk into this space.

Don't think that I may push you out.

Please know that the door has been opened to you,

And your ghost already lives here.

Photo from en.wikipedia.org

The Fallen

Rain falls to earth;

Earth falls through space

To the sun;

The sun falls

Through the galaxy;

And somewhere
At the edge of the known,

The Master watches over

The fallen, because

He is

The only One

Not falling.

Photo of Earth taken from Apollo 17. Photo from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Earth.

Rituals

There's comfort in the rituals

That rope us to repeating patterns.

Same snooze button, same cup, same coffee,

I passed that building today and yesterday,

And the day before,

With the same thought looping through my mind.

Tiring of the same, I revolt,

Eager to step outside my role.

Yet, even when I abandon the inner circle,

The rituals come with me.

The coffee cup must follow me relentlessly

To any foreign land or domicile,

And while I am deep walking in newness,

The building that I used to pass each day

Loops again through my mind

To comfort me.

Further In

“Further up and further in.”

The place where I began is not the place I will end.

I started as one who had nothing, willing, but not able.

In a dream, in a vision, He came to me;

By night, He sang to me of His love, His home.

I asked Him for mercy, and He made his dwelling in me.

But my dwelling place fades as a blade of grass, and thus

I must travel to His.

He said “Further up and further in,”

And so I chase the God who made me

Into the shadows, across shaky ground, and

Over hills that hinder sight of my destination.

Never can I stop to build a home here;

Always I must move ahead to some other place.

I ache for you, my home, I ache for you!

My hands, my feet, my heart, these are real,

But not as really real as what lies far ahead.

Stepping onward, I dislodge all that holds me here,

And follow, “further up and further in.”

Teaching

School starts tomorrow. Need I say more?

This is actually the most prepared and least nervous I have felt on the night before the first day. I hope that is a sign of good things to come.

A teacher friend told me not to quit teaching until I have taught for five years. Then, he said, I would be able to truly judge whether I like it or not. And now, here I am on my fifth year!

I would write more, but in the spirit of procrastination, I have left work for myself to do that I must get done tonight.

Good night!

The Wide-Eyed Innocent

I like to play the part

Of the wide-eyed innocent.

I cut off the cynical

Voice that commentates through

Every situation with the kindness of

A jilted girlfriend.

I drown the mouth that punishes,

Shooting barbs cloaked

In marshmallows.

I stuff the third ear,

The ear that only hears snakes

Hissing in the symphony:

Then I am ready.

A caution to you

If your aspirations ask for acting

The part of

The wide-eyed innocent, it

Is played best when,

In your heart, that's what

You really are.

My Excuse

I'm really really tired tonight. Tired the sum of a two-day trip to Oklahoma plus a one-day trip to southern Arkansas all within a four-day period. That's why I'm not posting a poem. Maybe tomorrow?

Road Trip

Sweet Baby James,

Ray, you and me,

Traveling fast,

Talking faster.

Young and impatient,

Traveling fast, but still

Traveling far enough to find

Where the words end.

The words went up, down, under, and through,

Rolled out like dice on a table.

Grabbed up, dumped in a cup,

Shake, shake, shake, ro-o-oll...

Until all the combinations of word were spilled,

Then there was silence like eating powdered donuts

With you, me, Ray,

And Sweet Baby James.

Photo from http://www.gribblenation.com/flpics/vintage/

Temporary Format Change

Well, folks, if you are interested to know, I recently returned from a vacation in Paris. Yes, and I'm not trying to brag or make you feel bad about your life at all. Promise.

Anyway, on said vacation, I took several pictures. Three hundred and sixty-seven pictures, to be exact, not counting the ones I deleted because they were blurry or sideways or otherwise unacceptable.

I did not write any poetry in France. Since I was trying to absorb the French words and become accustomed to the French accent, my usual English word play took a back seat. French in, English out. (You know, it's funny that I even found myself copying the French way of using English.)

Thus and therefore, there is no poetry this week. Instead I am posting photos. Fortunately for both of us, I am not posting all 367. You may thank me in the comments.

The Arc De Triomphe. I walked down the Champ De Elysees toward this arch, thinking that it was very near because I could see it. I didn't realize that it only seemed near because it was gigantic!

The Eiffel Tower as seen from the aquarium park across the river.

The Eiffel Tower as seen from the terrace of my hotel (The Holiday Inn, Paris).

Yes, it's moi, on the terrace. French people are very accommodating to tourists who want their picture taken.

What I saw through the fence at Luxembourg Garden. I think it might be a mosque.

The model version of the Statue of Liberty that is in the Luxembourg Garden. The sun was helpfully near the torch and I didn't have to contort myself TOO much to get this photo.

 Pickup basketball in Luxembourg Garden. Here we have the French Michael Jordan.

 Notre Dame is such an amazing building.

 Here you can see the famous flying buttresses of Notre Dame.

The Louvre.

 The Louvre (so big that you can't get it all in one photo).

I can understand why the Eiffel Tower is photographed so often. It's hard to take a bad photo of it. I'm in awe of how such a large structure can appear so graceful and light.

A view of the Seine from the second level of the Eiffel Tower.

I visited Pere Lachaise Cemetery, only because I like cemeteries. I was not disappointed by this one.

World War II concentration camp victim memorial. There were several of these in the cemetery. Standing there, I felt an overwhelming sadness, almost to tears. It's hard for me to comprehend how incredibly cruel humans can be to each other.

The Hotel De Ville

A bridge across the Seine. You can see from my photos that I like to include as much of the sky as possible.

 I can't even remember what building this is, but I like the photo.

 Parisians dress to impress. I was impressed. Look at those heels!

 

A delayed plane allowed me to stay the night in Montreal courtesy of Air Canada. I even had time to visit the downtown area, plus I didn't have to go alone because I ran into another hotel guest who was also going downtown. Similar to Paris, they have outdoor art and ornate buildings. But you can also see a more modern influence in the art, like this piece of art. From the side it appears to be a jumble of letters on poles...

but if you look from a viewing stage, you see the letters spell out a phrase in French. My rough translation (helped by a kind passer-by) is "We believe that our differences don't divide, but enrich us."

I think that makes a good ending for this post. Wherever I travel, I meet people who are like me. Maybe we speak different languages, maybe our noses are different shapes, and maybe we have different political views, but as I communicate with these different people, I realize that at the core there is no difference.

Bees

I am in a jar of bees
BZZZZZ, BZZZZZ - they hum
As they motor through the open spaces.
Most of the time they are calm, peaceful,
Even gentle.
They tangle in my hair, land on the cup of my ear, or
Walk up the bridge of my nose.
Oddly enough, they make me
Uncomfortable,
And so I swat them away, until

I am in a jar of angry bees,
Angry bees who want to sting me.
I wish I could get out
Of this jar
Of bees.

Photo from http://inventorspot.com/articles/bees_battle_crows_skies_over_tokyo_15980

My Brain Is A Zoo

My brain is a zoo, a vast menagerie:

The skull contains space unseen from outside the skin.

Lithe tigers roam here, lurk in the limbic system;

Troops of kangaroos hop across synapses,

Stopping only to drop a joey at a diverging path.

Giraffes and elephants ceaselessly travel the cerebrum,

Tilting it off-kilter as they exercise their roaming instinct.

In the temporal lobe, torpid turtles of mythic size

Catalogue each memory and compose each speech.

An orangutang squats in the frontal lobe,

Pondering his existence, carefully picking at fleas.

Photo from http://www.mustseephoenix.com/attractions/phoenix-zoo.html

Pinocchio

Pinocchio sat down on my front porch steps,
Wooden as a pool cue, clunking on the boards.
He talked a while, and as he babbled on,
I wondered was there anything under the paint?

I poked him to be sure, and yelled in his ear:
He could touch, but not feel, talk, but not hear.
I peered toward the roof, saw the cords snaking down:
These ends attached to his puppet hands,
Those ends controlled by another.

Still he prattled on, unaware how I altered.
I sighed. He looked at me,
(If you can say those flat eyes see.)
I'm no Magic Fairy, I said,
But don't you want to be a Real Boy?

Picture from http://askville.amazon.com/condemn-Pinocchio/AnswerViewer.do?requestId=58816586

Suspension

Suspended in air, I'm walking the rope again,

Knowing there's no close-knit net below.

Times before I cried out in desperation, grasped for assuring hands,

And crabbed the way back to my small safe platform,

But now is not times before.

Stepping out free is exhilarating,

Intoxicating, tasting the breeze – perching on a roller coaster's peak.

This time it doesn't matter,

It doesn't matter if I totter over and splatter into shivers.

I am now entirely everything I was made to be,

And the fall cannot ruin me.

Limerick

Some days, the poetry muse doesn't visit, no matter how much I beg her. Today is one of those days. All I could conjure up was this limerick.

There once was a fellow from Nare,

Who invariably fell down the stair.

He finally had hope

And walked down a rope.

He stayed perfectly balanced on there!

 Photo from http://www.edp24.co.uk/news/tightrope_walker_steps_out_1_511085

Oil and Wine

And wine that maketh glad the heart of man, and oil to make his face to shine, and bread which strengtheneth man's heart. Psalm 104:15

I staggered, looking for the wine,

A bottle of chemical joy, the oil

That lubricates the mind and breaks the heart.

My heart was crusty and cold;

My heart could not relent;

Wine was my desperate need.

Get a grip, I told myself, you don't need

A crutch, a prop, that's the wine.

The cloud of doom can hover, unrelenting,

And malice pressurize like unclaimed oil,

I have no quarrel with the cold,

And what lasts longer than a dehydrated heart?

I petted myself, pleased with my heartlessness.

I was proud because I did not need

Wine nor oil to keep out the cold.

There was vinegar instead of wine,

And barrels empty of oil.

I kept myself closed, and would not relent.

Though starving and dry, I would not relent,

Chopped and dusty, pieces of my heart

Chafed, longing to be oiled.

The bitterest heart owns the bitterest need,

The need for new wine,

A thaw to dissolve the coldness.

Strangely, a flicker of heat endured the cold,

A flicker that softly pressed me to relent.

Though half-choked, I begged the Lord for wine,

Wine to make glad my cheerless heart.

The tiny light illuminated my need.

Pour out, pour out on me the oil!

He poured out on me rivers of oil

That soaked into the crevices of coldness.

He loosed to me utter joy in my need.

He whispered, repent and relent.

Good God, I feel the flesh of my heart

Refreshed, soaked with new wine!

Oil of gladness covered me when I relented.

The cold, deadened organ reddened to a beating heart.

In my need, I drank the best wine.

Curtains

Baby, take your bow.

You've reached the close of the show,

And the stage curtains are falling.

Baby, what now?

You didn't plan for the end of the show.

The act that consumed you is concluding.

Baby, where to?

You step off the stage, step out of your shoes,

Wipe off the make-up, the costume is fading.

Baby, make your move.

The deceptive acclaim won't show up on the sidewalk,

Puzzled, you wonder why the limo's not waiting.

Baby, it's over.

A falling star is no longer star of any show,

So crawl in with the good folks who stop to pick you up.

 Picture from http://www.chictopia.com/photo/show/13399-sad+ballerina-tally-weijl-top-h-m-kids-corner-skirt

What I Could Do

I could

Try to overturn each and every rock

To see what lies beneath.

I could, or

I could walk straight toward you and see what bounties I trip over on the way.

I could

Reach for each and every glinting star,

Each star a promise, each grab a chance to acquire something better.

I could, or

I could reach for you and only you and take the jewels you place in my hand.

I could

Hold tight to each and every prize I win

And keep it close and never split my cache with anyone.

I could, or

I could let it go, with open hands, and watch it multiply like loaves of bread.

Lonely

Lonely leads me to places

I never thought I'd see,

Where the misfits throw stones at the stars,

And the smallest tear weighs more than a ton.

Lonely carries me to regions

That I never thought I'd be,

Places where the coins have third and fourth sides,

And every choice has desperate consequences.

Lonely shows me things,

Heavy things that frighten me,

Blank books with no words to write,

Blank looks with no thoughts inside.

Lonely is a bully, a giant with evil intentions.

He steps on my heart, crushing my hope,

Crushing my beating, blood-filled heart.

Lonely, let me be alone!

I will be only alone and not lonely.

Tiny Steps

Reaching out, still frightened,
Eyeing friendly strangers with wondering caution.
Going alone, but looking around, not down.
Another day's sun will shine still brighter, even as
Night falls on the sprouting seed.

I Run To Him

I am clinging to the boat

I made with my self-will and self-sufficiency.

The storm flies quick about me,

A storm that God has sent to set me free.

I see my boat is breaking,

The pieces drift away.

The more I try to gain,

The more I lose.

I look out across the water.

I see a man standing there with eyes as fire.

While the waves are rising higher,

He's peaceful still, and walking on the sea!

I run to Him, I run to Him,

Across the stormy water,

To the safety of His heart.

I run to Him, I run to Him.

Where could I be safer, than in my Savior's arms? I run to Him.

I felt that I was strong enough,

Strong enough to keep my world from going wrong.

Strong and tough and angry,

I kept myself from feeling any harm.

Yet God knew how to break through

The protection that I built.

My careful hands can't save me,

But He can.

I run to Him, I run to Him,

Across the stormy water

To the safety of His heart.

I run to Him, I run to Him.

Where could I be safer, than in my Savior's arms? I run to Him.

The Platypus

He's an odd gentlemen, he

With mouth and tail equally heavy,

Like a teeter-totter on land,

Like a missile in the water.

There's venom hidden in him.

His cuteness notwithstanding, I don't

Want to allow my much-loved appendages near,

For he can strike me down.

Intrigued by him, I will not

Discontinue the research, yet

I hesitate –

Imagining the strike.

Rice

Rice planted, rice sprouts, peeking through bare earth,
Like single blades of grass, bright green against the dust.
Growing, they strengthen until the busy farmers visits,
And starts the well pump. The motor hums through the night
Until all is flooded, water licks up against dirt levees.
In their humid, mosquito-infested home, the green plants fatten.
Green enough to make a Tiger jealous,
A stark contrast to orange levee gates
And the ubiquitous red-winged blackbird
That flutters here, there, among the grasses.
Days grow hot, dry, and trucks stir up dust that settles on their heads,
Heads that are filling out with fruit,
The kernels are fattening, and this too, the farmer sees.
He pulls the levee gates (they are only tarps),
Delivers the water from its prison, scatters
It over roads and ditches.
And now the rice is ready for the final stretch,
The kernels must ripen, this is the purpose of their life.
And as the kernels ripen, the rice begins to change.
The green fades slowly, slowly, yet inexorably
Into gold, gold for the farmer,
Gold for the eater, the harvest.

Ariadne's Betrayal

I met him at a party
He was looking for some trouble
I could see he was scanning the crowd
While I privately admired his meaty shoulders

I circled to him, daring him to notice me
His lips stretched tight across perfect crooked teeth
Ted was his name, he said, grasping me firmly
On my arm so that I felt his fingers
Pressing into my skin

"Do you know," he asked, and his breath stirred my hair,
"Do you know a guy named Mike?"
"Mike!" I said, "Mike, my brother?"
(Mike was a bull-faced man, a scrapper, and yet...)

"Your brother!" That's when he looked my face over
He liked what he saw, his eyes burned brightly
"Yes, Mike is my brother, and I am Alliya,
But why would you care about that?"
"Alliya," he said, "Alliya, take me to Mike."

In an instant I weighed the decision
Heavy for Mike, my brother, often angry, but my brother.
But heavier still for this strong stranger
He might be my one shot, my one ticket out

I chose Ted, I told him where to go
Knowing my brother would go somewhere else
Ted strode in the house, not knocking, not caring,while
I nervously paced the concrete porch
Then Ted withdrew a revolver so solid that it
Killed Michael there on my mom's flowered couch

We leapt for the car, knowing the protection of distance
The Holiday Inn was seventy-five miles away
My heart had no feeling, it must have stopped beating
With the shot that stopped Mike's breath
When I finally slept I dreamed that Mike was still living
And the arms that held me were those of my father
When I woke I was alone

Abandoned, I wept, trying to drain it all
My anger, my fear, my shame, and my regret
I turned in the keys, but I stayed in the lobby
Nothing to move me, I slumped in the chair
My fingers tracing the flowers printed on the armrest

I sold out my brother to a rotten apple,
A car with no transmission, not a star, but a meteorite.
I should try to go back to my father
But why would he take me after what I had done?
I studied my wrists, pale and trembling
I could see the veins, dark with blood
The blood of my life I might drain if I dared
To end my existence, to bring on the finish

Then quietly, softly, a hand touched my shoulder
My wrists dropped, suddenly, glad to get away.
The one who was there offered me a new home
And nothing could prevent me from loving him more
More than father, mother, brother, lover
Because he gave me a second life that grew up over the first

Failed Again

Again I have failed to write the poem I planned to. I wouldn't post at all, but I am trying to shame myself into getting this done. I started it, actually. Does that count for something?

A Lick and a Promise

A poem about the Greek god Dionysus was in the plans for today's post. However, I got sidetracked by a visitor, a phone call, and a facebook conversation. Thus, I am offering you nothing but a promise that it will be forthcoming (that means I'll post it soon).

My Reward

After these things the word of the LORD came unto Abram in a vision, saying, Fear not, Abram: I am thy shield, and thy exceeding great reward. Genesis 15:1

“Fear not, Abram: I am thy shield, and thy exceeding great reward.” What if God had said that to you? If God were your shield, who could penetrate that? Who could ever harm you? If God were your reward, what more could you ask for? What more could you receive than the King of the Universe? What an amazing statement!

But let's look back into Abram's situation. His nephew, Lot, had been captured in a battle over a tribute dispute. Abram, hearing of his nephew's fate, set out to rescue him. Abram's rescue mission succeeded in bringing back not only his nephew, but also everyone and everything else that had been captured.

The king of Lot's country was very glad to recover his losses, and wanted to reward Abram for what he had done. In a very generous move, the king told Abram that he could have all of the material goods, and the king would just take the people.

Surprisingly, Abram refused to take anything. He told the king that he had sworn to God not to carry off even a thread or a shoelace. Why? Because he didn't want the king to say that Abram had gotten rich by taking his stuff.

That's where we find Abram. He was successful in doing what was right; he had conquered the enemy, but he was no richer. He had nothing to show for his work except that Lot was safely home.

Then God came to him in a vision. “Fear not,” He said, “I am thy shield.” Abram had been protected in battle by the power of God. He could not lose against the enemy because God was with him. God was reminding him of this fact.

But the next thing God said was even better: “and thy exceeding great reward.” Abram didn't need the spoils of war. He didn't need anything that anyone else had. Why not? Because God Himself was his reward. And not just a reward, an “exceeding great reward.” Even though Abram had not increased in material riches, he had more than he could ever have wanted in God alone.

When I face a battle in my life, it's usually a struggle to win. If my faith is in God, He shields me and helps me to be victorious. But often I wonder why I seem not to have gained anything from my victory.

It's encouraging to me to read what God said to Abram, because it helps me realize that my reward doesn't have to be something material. It doesn't have to be something I can brag about. It doesn't have to be anything this world thinks is great. After my battles with sin, self, flesh, and Satan are through, I receive a better reward, an exceeding great reward: God Himself.

A Prayer

My God!
I called Him.
Called Him
In need, in my need.
My God! I yelled.
My hands,
My feet,
My mind: these
Were of no
Value.

Unobstructed, the answer
Came to me,
Just to me.
Through the mud-soaked glass,
Not hidden by the pounding rain,
The answer
Came.

I AM
He said.
I AM, and
None else beside.
Not you, nor any other
Can cripple,
Curb,
Or block Me.

You Are,
My will accepted.
You Are,
And I
Am not.
I crawled to You,
Relented me,
Submitted me;
The sum of me
I yielded.

The Coin

This is not a poem, obviously, but is something I wrote a few years ago. I found it while looking for a poem, and thought it deserved to be shared. You're welcome.

 

Every bad thing that happens in your life is like a coin, two-sided. One side is what you see first, the circumstances that you are caught in. They look ugly. Satan is using them to trip you up and make you lose your confidence, your faith, and your love for God. You've got to flip the coin to see the other side, the beautiful side. On this side, you see that God is working in your life to bring you closer to Him. He is making you more obedient, more loving, more compassionate, and more childlike.

God and Satan work at the same time, using the exact same circumstances, but it remains your choice which side of the coin you look at.

Weeping may endure for the night, but joy cometh in the morning. Psalm 30:5

Nothing Left

I'm a week behind, I know. Last week, I just wasn't feeling it, you know? Although, this blog's purpose is to keep me writing even when I'm not feeling it. Eh, I suppose I have room to fail sometimes. Anyway, I do have something to post this week.

Hands against cold steel,
The ridges pressed into the bones of his palms.
Cold metal sneaked under his shirt
Into the skin of his back as he pushed against the other side.
Encircled by steely ridges, he huddled there,
Stuck tight like an embryo.
Rain torrents poured across the openings, and
Gritty water seeped into his shirt and jeans and shoes.

He could faintly see the shape of his hands,
His dirt-darkened forearms, but nothing else.
Rocks, pebbles, twigs, and unidentified objects pinged through the tunnel,
Leaving bruises where they touched his bare skin.
The wind screeched like a demon,
Trying to suck him through a straw.
He heard crashing metal, cracking wood, and the telling moan
Of the twister.

What could be happening above him, he could not know.
And yet, as the juggernaut advanced, he felt
All would be crushed under its wheels, except earth itself.
All else, his paltry house, his pick-up, the oaks and pecans
Must be scraped clean from the ground to burst like fireworks in the sky.

His eyes dribbled tears, cleared dust and mud collected there.
He blinked, and though the fading light was dim, he knew
He did not want to see, and too,
There was nothing left to look at.

This poem stems from a documentary I watched about tornadoes. A family hid in a culvert as a tornado destroyed their farm. I took away the family and replaced them with a single person because I wanted to evoke the feeling of being alone and afraid.

Deep

I don't know I'm going in too deep until I'm in too deep,

And then I panic, because there's not a lifeguard at this pool.

Blowing bubbles with my puffed cheeks, I struggle to rise to the surface,

But every thought carries weight that counteracts my buoyancy,

And I discover I cannot be careless anymore.

Now I'm in too deep, and in this purgatory

I must atone for every time I entertained the thought:

The thought that I'm still thinking – why I can never get out.

Because as I atone, I continue to sin, and as I sin, I continue to sink,

And as I sink, I know that the only way out is to drown.

The Door

She closes the door
The door is closed, the window locked
The walls are thick rough planks
She can't tear through

Now, she won't return
She has abandoned
Everything that could have delighted her
Or everything that could have brought her to desolation

She turns her face back, touching the door with her wet cheek
What has she done? She does not know
Suddenly weak, she falls down,
Crawls to the window
Peers in, willing herself to know what she relinquished

She sees through the glass gleaming rainbows and butterflies
The golden glow of a rosy, uncluttered life
A cry clogs her throat, her head tilts toward the next pane, where she is grabbed by
Another view - of dirt and squalor, a girl with gravel rubbed into her heart

And now she knows that she can never know
What lies behind the door

After Petrarch

How is the world's delight a brief dream?
That from all takers must be taken still?
A dream delights, it charms unconscious moments.
A dream is all to one who lies asleep.
Misty-eyed, its magic he partakes of,
Trusting that there is no other reality.

But as he wakes the dream falls limp around him.
It could not endure, imagination failed.
The cup he drank, greedy, now is bitter,
Its poison percolating through his bones.
He feels around, but cannot touch his safety.
The home he hammered tight has tumbled.

How is the world's delight a brief dream?
A home built on the mud of California?
A smashed promise, a kiss from a flirt?
It floats in and out with the ocean tide.
As the tide turns, it carries to sea
The sum total of the minutes that you breathed so far.

Matthew 7:24-27

Query

This poem is not quite the way I want it. Those last two lines are begging to be revamped. I have stared at it too long, though, so I thought I'd let it breathe a while and come back to it.

If this green tree should branch into your wood,
Produce pale blossoms sweetly dropping down,
Would you protect its sticky sapling blood?
Allow its roots to anchor in your ground?

Would you defend its branches year by year,
From those who'd strip the leaves and peel the bark?
Would you snip off the suckers rooting there,
And teach the limbs to thicken strong, stalwart?

If lightning burns the crown and mars its head,
Would you remain until its boughs replace?
And when it topples over, topples dead,
Mourn its shattered brow and kiss its face?

In time, this tree will give you every fruit,
And when she's gone, she'll leave of you a shoot.

Dying, We Live

Dying, we live

And opening our hands, full of dreams

And dropping them to the floor,

We martyr our lives, living

It's not our deaths he asks for

(That would almost be easy)

It's a daily death inside:

To suffocate my desire, to

Offer my actions, my will to him

Lord, with all my heart I want you

Want your wholeness to engulf my fractions

Want your righteousness to swallow my dirt

Want your peace to obliterate my yellow-bellied nature

I give you myself to be reborn, remade

A new creature, made in the likeness of Christ,

Who by living and dying conquered both life and death.

The Power is Out

I can't hold on to my empire.

Defeat upon defeat shows my weakness.

My dreams loom over my head,

Taunting me, because I am not able to reach them.

Everything has failed, all at once

I try to flick the lights on in every room,

But I fail, because the power is out.

The power is out of me.

The power is out of me.

It's a freeing thought, really.

Because the power is not in me;

It's in someone wiser, kinder, and more than a million times more righteous.

Now that my empire is lost,

I can take my place in his empire,

And trust that he will never lose me.

Winter

My bones ache in the winter
And when the wind whips my ears,
Shoulders, hands, calves, ankles, toes,
I try to hide in my coat.

I am a heat-seeker those times.
If a flame is licking near,
I will find it, its breath warms,
Then roasts me until I turn.

In winter, the dark hangs low,
Leaving small spaces of light
Where I plant myself, yearning
For more as it fades away.

There's little of winter that
Cheers me. I count it down. It's
Prison time without parole.