Armor-Plated

Armor-Plated

Everyone wants to be armor-plated,
Kevlar 3 piece suits and casual wear,
walking down the sidewalks fully bullet-proof.
Fewer connections, a lot more aloof.

Everyone wants breath guaranteed, and capes to wear
shielding the breeze of passersby shooting spit and words
to fill the fragmentary hurts to dust.

Everyone wants painless waking, no limps, no stairs,
no crooked hips or back spasms. Just a jump out of bed
toward the morning Utopia, a wander around
Walden’s Pond.

Everyone needs a piece of safety, a tag unlawful to remove,
inspected by number 103, a gilt-edged certificate and
strain free policy.

Everyone looks like a man on the run, or a shrinking violet
kept out of the sun,
Everyone keeps one eye open, back covered and
mouths unopened. Let the words stay put within their
cells under lock and key.

Everyone stings at the shotgun pops when early morning hunters
grouse their prey. No one follows the resound to its source once
the heart has jumped from fat happy to razor thin.

Bullet proof, rust proof, prove my religion, prove my God;

But the nails matched the holes in is His Hands, the spikes
the gashes in His feet. The cup was emptied fully unguarded, unarmed.

Everyone wants to be bullet-proof, not like our Christ whose skin
was thin as my own.

Button My Mouth

Button My Mouth

(“The Holy Spirit told me to go with them and not to worry.” Acts 11:12a)

Button up my mouth and stop the casual refrain,
I saw the way you looked when I mentioned my alcoholic friend,
so ready to empathize, knowing the lively eyes become vacant
after donning alcohol’s disguise.

You nodded at the need, ready to hear rehabilitation’s song,
you followed my story along the path from meeting to friending,
and the family we became, waiting for the happy ending
of a sober crawl out black molasses to concrete sidewalks
leading home.

I caught your eyes nearly tearing, a lantern in the backwards distance,
a flicker you remember; perhaps of another friend sicker than hopeless.

I heard the hand-me-downs of your own story when you simply asked:
“How did you know him.”

I heard the breath leave your lips too fast when I answered,

“Upon the reservation.”

Love Because...

“We love because He first loved us.” 1 John 4:19

I have never had to experience physical hunger. Oh, I’ve gone without eating, skipped a meal, and heard my stomach reenact a summer thunderstorm. But I have never experienced true hunger.

The Fuel on Which the Universe Runs

The Fuel on Which the Universe Runs

“My dear friends, we must love each other. Love comes from God, and when we love each other, it shows that we have been given new life. We are now God’s children and we know him.’ 1 John 4:7

No matter our physical age, we all can ‘grow up” spiritually and emotionally. But we need God’s gifts to do that. Most of the “good” that comes from our lives is the result of experiencing the wonderful gift of healing and forgiveness we have received from Jesus. He loved us personally and deeply. The extent of that love is shown by His complete sacrifice on the cross for us. He gave Himself to be cruelly mistreated and killed all out of love for mankind as a whole, and each of us as individuals.

Picnics Remade

Picnics Remade

(” The voice came a second time: If God says it’s ok, it’s okay.’” Acts 10:15 [The Message])

Lowered lovesick on the roof of a patron’s lodging,
fullpress prayer was all that was left of the noon devotion;
the only motion, rocking on the knees nearly calloused from
kneeling longterm, late term, before the object of love.

The skies are not enough to contain the passion flowing
from this tiny heart beating fresh, creating new love with
each pulse. The rooftop is not strong enough to
hold the weight of atomic moments where mass is greater
than the volume of words that poetry forms and
soily love envisions far beyond fascination to
strict affection. The code is obeyed for the
CodeWriter’s sake.

Fasting; for love nourishes the empty,
praying; for Divine enables the question,
seeking; for today replays the answer,
hearing; for spoken rehearses the remedy.

And seeing the answer, hearing the banquet
that lets us walk on the grass again, pet the animals in
the zoo,
cross the borders to love our enemies,
rsvp to recipes we had shunned so strictly,

Loving now cheery, the meals we take
are feasts remade into picnics for
cast-offs and relics, non-sequesters
and investors who are allowed now to
bet it all on walks where we once had
to wash our feet days before we began.

My Heart is Broken

My Heart is Broken

My heart is broken, that’s what it comes down to.
And, as if I had broken my leg, 5 years later I should no longer
walk with a limp.

But my heart is broken. And no one helped me cast it,
I was sent to lift more loads while it still burst at the seams.

As if I had broken my leg, 5 years later I should be able
to hike Yosemite.

But my heart is broken. And as with every broken heart,
all are at fault, and all wish someone would stitch it up,
take it to a better time, rewind the emotional health trap,
swath the mental health, retest the spinal tap, and give me the
CPR to replace the spirit that flew out the hole left in my heart.

As if I had broken my leg, 5 years later I should be dancing
like I had never quit.

But my heart is broken. Again. And I just don’t feel like dancing.
Broken hearts never heal in isolation, but ICU was the only room available.

As if I had broken my leg, I would be outpatient and 5 year later
racing to the coffee shop to people-watch with my best friend.

But my heart is broken. I wake after a good day to darkness.
I close my eyes and the good flies from my consciousness only to
have the movie of former times, I mean 20 years ago times, play
in grainy resolution.

As if I had broken my leg, my appetite would be unaffected,
my smile unforced, and the laughs natural walking down the pavement
on a warm spring morning.

But my heart is broken and spring feels like winter, winter never ends
and friends are better than my busted heart believes. But it was busted
by friends and my wasted allegiances, my unwise camaraderies, my
dance with those unlikely to return the favors.

As if I had broken my leg, I would not cry here, 5 years later.

But my heart is broken and the tears still do not stop coming.

Love: Bringing out the Best

“On the other hand, perhaps [this commandment] is new, freshly minted as it is in both Christ and you—the darkness on its way out and the True Light already blazing!” 1 John 2:8 (The Message)

The Old Testament commanded love. As early as Leviticus 19:18 God had said, “Don't seek revenge or carry a grudge against any of your people. Love your neighbor as yourself. I am God.” There was little doubt, at least from this commandment, that God expected mankind to act in love toward others. This love was exemplified by God’s delivering power.

Refresh Your Memory

“This is my second letter to you, dear friends, and in both of them I have tried to stimulate your wholesome thinking and refresh your memory.” 2 Peter 3:1 (The Message)

It was the official dedication service for the new church building we had spent two years erecting. It was a brand new building on a four acre lot and we were proud to move into our new accommodations. District officials were present, dignitaries from the town were in the congregation and even representatives from some of our vendors were there.

Pieces of Laughter

Pieces of Laughter

(“So there was much rejoicing in that city.” Acts 8:8)

Pieces of laughter, shards of joy landed like balloon pops
at the feet of wrinkled adults and unfolding babies.
Never was power more raw and sweet like
sugar cane sucked on by toddlers on the rain forest’s edge.

No one had won an election,
no two were married nor three caught in a criminal conspiracy.

But there was a judge who had adjudicated defiantly
in the face of the tangled mess that tied everyone in knots
when they should have strolled fearlessly downtown,
to the mall late morning smelling the grass along the
split-chip road where the dust and dew design a morning
greeting, a hello for the few who have not heard a hello
before the sun’s right angle.

Everything had been askew since before anyone remembered,
a town like those tourist attractions in the foothills that make
it seem bowling balls are rolling up hill.

But the appearances, the pretences to power were faced down,
by a Name elevated above every reach for fame. So few handle
it delicately; spew it out in anger, or simple surprise, they seldom
think the Name means anything other than “Wut!?”

No matter, the lover of Mankind will prove His love for the
language trappers. As quickly as breakfast had been served and eaten,
up and down the streets of town life was chosen, death’s deceit
brought out into the open. Demon upon demon, rancid fancying
itself lord of the day were swept sky away, wept why away

Until the laughter returned and the Name was the Name

Everyone spoke of again and again

Just as often as before

But with the heart fully restored to utter with carnival clarity
the joy of Jesus full to flooded and more.

Honor has Fallen

Honor has Fallen

Let us register our complaints and let
rank rhetoric die (killer words like to
worm their way into cantankerous souls like
you and I.)

Words like bullets, sprayed across the airwaves,
(and others say it was true yesterday when we
dueled with lead balls and powdered propellant).

Do we justify our deadly rancor by the actions
of a previous generation who calmly shot for honor’s sake?

Honor has fallen too, at the feet of public gossip
parading as a grass roots movement to change things
for the better.

One pulled a trigger and 18 lead missiles flew
into the afternoon Arizona heat. Hit! Hit! And Hit!

Crack! Flack! Hit again and Fling! Flash! Crash!

Ping! Pound! The sound of grease and fire, the noise
of madness and assassination. Hit! Another clip.

The perpetrator
preferred government conspiracies to radio-heads
red or blue. It was me against all of you.

And we prefer to blame rants who can’t keep
their mouths shut,
we like to make it up as we go, knowing that someone
should have known
the sure signals that decode the killing brain of a
20 year old.

And we prefer to defend ourselves, not our honor;
forgetting sorry, and erecting battlements, castles
and moats while sons and daughters have been lost.

Call me a fool, a lone duck, and disqualify me from your
caucuses. I’m sure there are better causes than
blaming the air waves, defending my stupidity
or cracking open every brain to extract the dangerous elements

We think reside there.

It will scare us deeply when we find we have killed more with acid
and vitriol than guns have taken down.
I remember Your words, Jesus, don’t think I’ve forgotten them,
that when I’m angry with my brother, I have already killed him!

Register your words at the door, please. Or at least let us examine
honor instead of defending another misspoken alibi. We are libel

And unreliable too often with the truth.

Resisting the Devil (when you'd rather cry foul)

“Firm in your faith, resist him (the devil), well aware that throughout the world sufferings of this kind are imposed upon your brotherhood.” 1 Peter 5:9

If we are not careful, personal suffering can make us become nearsighted. Think about the effect of physical pain. I experienced second and third degree burns over the lower half of my right leg a year and a half ago. The pain was some of the most intense I have ever felt.

On His Throne

“That being so,” he continued “listen to the Lord’s word: I saw the Lord sitting on His throne with all the throngs of heaven standing around Him at His right and left.” 2 Chronicles 18:18

Whether it is present events, or just the nature of living in a fallen world, life can feel pretty bleak sometimes. For me personally, the mix is exacerbated by a continuing battle with depression. I gain one moment of seeing life from an alpine view, above the clouds, clear skies and clear-headed, and then can find myself dashed into darkness for another interminable length of time.

January Sunday

January Sunday

Likely upon the January grasses, pellets had landed
overnight, translucent and white, pixels random,
in tandem with the dewdrops earlier arrived.

Expectations rise upon the opening skies,
blue unveiled, framed and valanced,
gray and white balanced surrounding the staccato window.

I hear the crunch beneath my soles,
bb’s enmeshing blades of grass and answering
the blackbird’s opening monologue.

No one takes it casually, the ice might make
us a river slide if the temperature falls 2 or 3.
No one dresses up for the occasion, Sunday morning

Waking once more.

Not yet snow, but threatening so, we wait until
the invitation is final.

Be Seated

"Be Seated"

(“I will take my stand on my post, station myself on the tower, and watch to see what He will say to me; what answer I shall receive concerning my complaint.” Habakkuk 1:17)

I have waited faster without hearing the wind bring
a lasting balm to grant the answer

I must have already known.

Feet raised upon the end of the couch,
head sunk into the pillow,
the quiet must be cut by tv
to dot the self-talk, the dialogue, trialogue,
self-cast reruns of regrets I cannot redo or
fewer away.

I need someone to dry my eyes,
I need to know everything’s alright,
(the tears have evaporated since)
I need a word to match the actions,
a lifelong flash in the darkness that opens the
corners to view.

I hate to complain, to sing the blues to a brilliant Master
of dis-Illusion, but I’ve felt for sometime my racing radio plays
crisscrossing in my thoughts height and length-ways

Need a better match than where my bony feet lead me
these days.

So, punctuate me, please, so I know when my first act ceases
and Your intermission:

New paradigm please!

Speak to me, I can’t figure it out anymore.
I’ll say, “If you say, ‘let the vision wait’, I’ll wait”
But I’m rock-sure I’m uncertain which is Your vision
and my screenplay.

Strike the set, already!

I’ll stand stark on the black paint stage floor,
won’t call it a monologue with nothing to say;

a listening play.

The cast is now seated, legs up on the couch,
ready to vouch for every word You might say.

I Cannot Refrain

“So they summoned them and gave orders not at all to refer to or to teach in reliance of the name of Jesus. But Peter and John replied to them, ‘…we cannot refrain from telling what we have seen and heard.’” Acts 4:18-20

Peter and John, as well as the other disciples, were not educated in the elite manner of the ruling religious leaders. That does not mean they were scholarly dropouts, they just lacked the necessary requirements to teach religion. Or so it seemed to the ones who did have the education; the Sanhedrin.

A Temple Honoring

A Temple Honoring

(“My father David very much wanted to build a temple honoring the Name of God, the God of Israel.” 2 Chronicles 6:7 [The Message])

How deep are the foundations, past bedrock, clay and sand;
how high are the girders stretching beyond beams of the morning;
how thick the walls to hold it all, how pure the air to conserve it all

To hold in a single room

One sunset, a single glance, light upon eye the spectrum spread
horizontal past the whitecaps and on to cradle in the westerly haze.

How much larger the room for a nightful,
pinpoints larger than the nine planet orbit,
brighter than the daysweat summer,
added dimensions beyond 2 or 3 and can we fit it all
in wood and lather, plaster and i-beam, so it seems
as glorious as a walk in midnight after aurora borealis?

What made can hold the created?
What manufactured can house universal art?
What hammer can pound the nails for thunder?
What bandsaw can whine lightning’s length?

And with less than a handsaw You have placed
the glory greater than all Your design;

Will the Designer Dwell in manmade houses;

Yet You lodge, You linger, not sojourn but
Eternal humanly housed. Space is laced with
cold and dark, vacuum and vagrancy,

But lively, dense and sunrise embrace,
You chose Your abode, the forgiven human heart.

I Won't Blame

I Won’t Blame

(“Everyone was amazed by the many miracles and wonders that the apostles worked.” Acts 2:43)

I know You are great,
and sometimes miracles wait,
and I’m often late in showing up for prayer.

I won’t blame it on my aches, though I’m sure they make
me a stride slower in finding my way.

I will find the way, today, newest of the year,
to be amazed at what You have done and not
rerun every cry I felt has split the sky without
a return reply.

Blinded eyes healed in front of my eyes,
sick and near death alive and lively surprised,
another job when there were none to be found,
a house, provision, safety without revision,
and rescue when the blizzard tried to impound
me along the icy snow banks.

But I must say, I cannot forget, how lonesome I feel
in spite of the facts and wonders; I feel my soul has been
plundered and my imagination
slowed like molasses. Times are tight, God, and You have
met our needs. I am without complaint.

Except for this uncertain and sad day which has no
hearth on which to place its head. I love You, and love You still,

But I ask for one more, one more miracle to
fill me whole, distill my sadness and reduce me
to love once again.