Category: Poetry

Soldiers on respite

We comb back our hair

Frayed and tattered by the wind

Greased pulled back stumped fingers

sometimes biting at the bit

checking faces in mirrors

is this really me?

Is my tie on straight?…

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It all culminates

Begins

And while battered

And bruised

Blistered and subjected

To cruel worlds of selfishness

We straightened our ties

Exhale,

breathe deeply

Stand up tall

And go back out into it

While in the background

The piano strikes up

A somber tune

Out of tune

Ringing down the corridor

Echoing off of the

“welcome, come again” mat

Springing through ringlets

Primed by fingers with nails

Chewed too low

And we hum along

To the song

Onward we those

Christian soldiers…

Now where did I leave

That war?

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At Bed Time…

After I have collected

Mortal fingers and toes

Wrapped in cotton

Bathed, smoothed down

Deeply breathing

Faint wisps of

day time energies

and ever so slightly

nestled in these

undeserving arms

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growing older that I

should recognize as mine.

They both look like me,

of that there is no

perjured witness.

 

Pointed nose that,

 

Lacking arch and rounded

Bulbous, points its

Finger at me.

Flaxen colored haired

Waves to me as I carry

Them up the creaking stairs.

Treasures come in all shapes

 

And sizes,

Some planned,

Others surprises

Valuable determined

By how much pain

Joy, buckets full of laughter

Handfuls of tears…

These are my treasures

Enfolded in aging arms…

Blessed.

.

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Winter’s Farm House

When the winter winds
Howl beneath the
Bluster of the moonlight
And the snow forms
Sand dunes upon
The frosty plains below
Across the alabaster fields
Dormant and solemn
The little farm house
Stands tall beneath
The dancing pines
Caught by the songs
Of the solstice hour
As they whistle along
To the nameless yet
Ancient tune.
Alone in the forest of snow
And ice
The little farm house
Paint, peeling timeless
Victorian white
Now drab and dingy
After countless harvests,
Famine, the lean years
And the farming family
From birth to empty nest
Not silent after
Seventy years
Orphaned in a potter’s field
Muted against a world
In constant motion
Seeking ever forward
As the old farm house
Has nothing but its past
And old measurements
Of growing children
Long departed
Deep in their heavenly
Sleep on other plots
In other fields miles away
But on this blustery night
A single curtain
Blows in a broken window
Frame…waving
To long lost souls
Under a solstice moon
Of winter.

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Tomorrow’s coat

Some days,

bulldozer like

knocking down the rubble

picking up the fallen pieces,

discarding the divided walls

and broken foundations.

On other days

tender as lambs

bleating meekly at

circumstances and second

chances…

yet as evening falls

as it will today

gathering  up more

dustings

of the winter snow

on these weathered

leather shoes,

I will enter into my home

once again, greeting my

beautiful bride with a tender kiss

and hang up these worries

on the coat rack in the front hall

so that they can dry

peal, fall from the sleeves

and like freshly laundered clothing

I will gather it up in the morning

lighter, perhaps under friendlier skies

and embrace

a new day

clothed in hope anew.  winter

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At the Orchard in Autumn

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In Autumn
when the cows
huddle together in the
mornings
as the sun dips
lower in the sky
lingering but for a moment
then disappears behind
the snow clouds, for
months of hibernation;
we gathered at the orchard
to pluck the bounty
from fertile limbs
bowing low
leaves, green
and thick like warm
blankets in winter.
We pull the reds and greens
full of juice as it runs
down the chin
capturing purity
with a hint of bitterness
as an after taste chaser
but for just today,
bags hanging from arms
we depart content
with the harvest
though leery of what
tomorrow holds.

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Lose ourselves

To find the missing
sometimes we need to lose
ourselves…
instead others are lost
inside themselves –
not selfless
ever moving for me

To find the wayward
sometimes we need to lose
ourselves…
but many are in the
drivers seat
uncaring
unmoving
unmotivated

To find the unloved
sometimes we need to lose
ourselves…
become consumed in others
not for our glory or
for some kind of reward
but because there is an
undeserving love that we have
received.

To find the hopeless
sometimes we need to lose
ourselves…in the heart and love
of an endlessly loving
all consuming power of
Christ.

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Modern Day Psalm

Oh Lord, you understand me
you have captivated my heart
its love that’s too good to be true
and yet, like waking from a dream
this reality is apparent in the world around me.
Though there is still injustice and hate
I know that You, oh God, will eventually
make all things new.
Find me never lacking, Oh Lord
and If I am, don’t give up on me
I never want to use my humanity
as an excuse for my transgressions
Lead me, Dear Lord
allow me to fellowship with You
all of my days.
-Amen

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