Last Night's Reverie

Last Night’s Reverie

(“Naaman walked down to the Jordan; he waded out into the water and stooped down in it seven times, just as Elisha had told him. Right away, he was cured, and his skin became as smooth as a child’s.” 2 Kings 5:14)

I know you said your dreams never live up to their billing,
promising you neon and pastels well into October;
I heard you describe the him and the her who stroked your forehead
at just the right time.

I know you awoke with no hand on your brow,
I know you remembered only the introduction to
words that spun silk around the span from your hands
to the offers of help.
By the time the last act opened, the moments just before
your eyes made it morning,
the offer was withheld and someone was pulling you from behind,
grabbing the loop on the back of your favorite denim jacket.

Waiting to understand the meaning of the dream,
I remember you couldn’t decide to cry or arise to
wash your face. So you wasted the morning (your words, not mine)
on the couch and holding last night’s dream
wishing the hand that touched your nighttime would
knock on the door and offer something more than
you’ve been waiting inside and outside for.

I know you think it’s creased and masked,
a latex buffoon of who you used to be. A caricature
with a bigger nose and open pores, while you spent your morning
wishing for the relief that dreams recited like
serenades on a back porch summer.

So here are words to tell you, after last night’s reverie,
I am here, always; late or early, smooth or wrinkle,
some or every; to say or silent the time when
waking seems sadder than last night’s dream.

Doctor Please

Doctor Please

(“But the wisdom from above is first of all pure, then peaceable, courteous, congenial, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and unpretentious.” James 3:17)

I leaned over to hope the source was evident
in the etchings scratched like question marks
on the tile at the foot of my chair.

He carried all my complaints, aches and pains
in the manila folder, tattered and dog-eared;
triplicate sheets with the back page barely legible,
history and templates, blood drawn from my arms and legs,
radio waves knocking around my brain,
and every answer to every test
that left no answer, gave me no rest.

I sat up to beg for a well-ordered friend who
had time (is $100 per hour enough) to stop talking
and put his hand on my head. I know he would feel nothing;

But I would.

Coffee at Holly's Corner

Coffee at Holly’s Corner
(“Jesus replied, ‘What is impossible with man is possible with God.’” Luke 18:27)

“A trip would certainly do me good,
along the rails watching winter coast to coast.
Life isn’t too quiet, and the noise needs not abate,
it’s children and friends too far away that have caused
my heart to feel cornered in such a beautiful place.”

She nearly finished her conversation with the customer before me,
nodding “cappuccino 2%” my way. I nodded too, and she took a cup
empty from its stack
and landed it with a question on the counter.

“I shouldn’t feel this way,” she whispered and asked,
tick-tocking between the first customer and me,
“Life is balanced now and the river runs silent,
so why am I
unnerved like lonely, unsure like the last child upon the playground.”

I couldn’t help her, no magic wands can chase the blues,
(it was my snap-diagnosis; it may have been the weather or
a song on the radio, or a latent early morning dream).
I couldn’t help her, no magic words can change the moves
(there are no transplant drugs for geographic upheavals,
loving one place so long and landing new a little).

It might pay to wait, defer the hope,
wait out the winter, visit the kids,
or offer conversation to the barista
who never meant to bend an ear so personal.

For all the children, happy and 80, who played together
on summer swings; it is hard to explain, this tedium that
looks so sad when the birds are a-wing on a late October sky.
But I’ve looked for friends I loved (did you get my call)
before I knew to be blue over no one left to talk to.

Last week two 85 year old school girls giggled about
looking for boys in sixth grade at the Grange.

I couldn’t help her, our brand-new barista,
but the sky turned bright by noon today and rain
was suspended while the editor, artist and daughter
sipped like a family at the front table where the morning shafts
always fell.

On the Bus

“…and you pay attention to the one well-dressed and say, ‘Have a good seat here!’ and to the poor one you say, ‘You stand there’ or, ‘Sit down on the floor by my feet.’” James 2:3

Did you ever ride a bus to school or an event when you were a teenager? I’m not sure what the appeal was, but the seats of choice were the two in the very back of the bus. (I’m being fake naïve, by the way, I know very well what the allure was.) You could just about chart the pecking order of any group by observing where they sat on the bus.

Some People Never See

Some People Never See

(“God will bless you, if you don’t give up when your faith is being tested. He will reward you with a glorious life, just as he rewards everyone who loves him.” James 1:12)

Some people never see the figure, blurry gray,
that trudges against the bluster like an eerie wraith
pacing itself through the wind, the snow, the
blizzard begun well after the final thaw of spring.

Caught unaware, and without fellows to chat away the
bellow each open-mouthed gust, he must plod alone,
blinded by a new storm that refuses to relent.

If someone caught a glimpse of him, they would be certain
he was running…from something…seeing his determination that
seemed to take him away from every visible tie,
leaving convenience stores behind,
and headed, (judging by his current direction)
somewhere out of town.

All he knew (though few others did), was his orders expected him
to follow the trail he started a sunnier and younger year ago.
He was not lost, he could follow the course, and facedown to
avoid the screaming dusts of ice, he walked straight ahead,
the only path he knew.

Days without sun, weeks like the days, months at a time with no
change, no long range outlook to restore the way he used to walk
imbibing the sky.

What was the shame that made him change his name,
why was a single cup of coffee and a smile enough,
when did he start, and didn’t the blizzard hurt him more,
and thinking again, maybe his depression made his plod,
a hidden sin made this walk his epilogue.

Some people noticed him, and more talked about what
others said must have been in his head to make him
walk when he should be safe indoors.

It was not apparent,
was not clear, but here and there you could swear you heard
someone say he walked this way, and started the same, out of
love.

Stutter at Jewel

Stutter at Jewel

(“Don’t forget about your leaders who taught you God’s message. Remember what kind of lives they lived and try to have faith like theirs.” Hebrews 13:7)

How many tags can adhere to one life,
notecarded a word at a time;
capitalized for punctuation,
handwritten for affirmation
that our opinions are true
(not me, you, in the background, trying to silence the
sounds of your own name broadcast too loud).

Where do we place the labels after
the lapels, threadbare, can carry the adhesive no more?
How do we write the names that never blamed
forgotten appointments on feeble and constant
distractions, or fractions of duty less than whole?

Some definitions do only justice to one word at a time,
some words cannot contain their meanings, adding syllable to
syllable,
suffixes appended like a trainful of cabooses.

Some stutter at jewel brilliance and hue,
while others babble, sputtering around the helix
like a vine repeating its circle up a frontporch
pole.

We repeat the dictionary and still starve for more to
serve guests gathered who wonder how we got so far.
We could repeat the name, him or them, her or those,
and a few closely following the local news from day
dawn until near dusk
could nod as we file the gratitude where it
fairly belongs.

A Great Chasm

 “Besides, in all these matters there is a huge chasm set between us so that no one can go from us to you even if he wanted to, nor can anyone cross over from you to us.” Luke 16:26

Jesus tells about Lazarus, a poor man who used to sit begging outside a rich man’s gates. Both of them died; Lazarus going to “Abraham’s bosom” and the rich man to “Hades”. Abraham speaks these words to the rich man after he asks if Lazarus would simply dip his finger in water and place them upon his scorched tongue. “For I am in torment in this flame” the rich man says.

Celebrate: You are Invited!

Celebrate: You are Invited!

(from our church's monthly newsletter)

“But we should be glad and celebrate! Your brother was dead, but he is now alive. He was lost and has now been found.” Luke 15:32

Our young people were gathered in the parking lot preparing to leave together for Youth Convention. I like to meet with them and pray for the group before they leave. After praying that they would all have a fresh encounter with God, meet new friends and be kept safe as they traveled, their leader explained the rules.

We Do Mostly Ache

We Do Mostly Ache

(“But now they are longing for a better, that is, a heavenly country; accordingly, God is not ashamed of them—of being called their God. In fact, He has gotten a city ready for them.” Hebrews 11:16

It is difficult to find a chair to sit in hours at a time
that will not leave your back in knots wishing for a bit more slack on the line.
When it is more painful to sit than it is to walk in the sun
the brain should alarm the legs and arms about vitamin d and
dogs’ needs for walks along the riverbank.

There are homes we have slept in, rooms where we ate,
a bar in the kitchen, a table in the salle a manger,
a desk where we composed our essays last minute,
exposing our procrastinated love of backs against the wall.

There are yards unmowed, a quarter acre I was told,
dog runs never cleaned for weeks at a time,
There are picket fences in the front, neat rows of a
middle class pose, with a support in the corner
and two pickets along the street with finials missing;
one day would fix and paint it, but 10 years it stayed
incomplete.

Next door was a best friend, we learned boxing and
girls in his garage not mine. Ours was a flood of boxes
kept, mostly papers, of four children’s records, crayon alphabets
to eighth grade diplomas.

Further up the street, a brown-eyed beauty, a first crush,
and the first inspiration to write of love after a front-porch
talk with the moon tickling her reflecting hair.

But we cannot return, that home is not our own,
other have bought it and sold it and finally mown
the yard let go, the pickets removed, the garage the dream
of a cabinet-maker’s gear.

Home is not where our feet are planted, nor the floor underneath
morning meal. Home sometimes seldomly return after we
leave behind the chores we never quite finished at parents’
admonition.

We do mostly ache for at least a reflection of the loves we
found and lost in the house where (fire or frost), safety was
first discovered when we reflected full grown on the provisions,
the contentment, the awkward age and growing pains,
the favorite meals and cartoon bandaids,
all provided (looking back, yes, again) freely and
without cost.

Ponderings on Knowing God

“You deserved to be punished. But I will treat you in a way that will bring honor to my name, and you will know that I am the Lord God.” Ezekiel 20:44

We Christians refer to “knowing the Lord” quite often. It is sometimes used to discover is someone truly belongs to the club. “When did you come to know the Lord?” Sometimes it is a defense when someone threatens our faith. “I think I know the Lord too.” Other times it is a place saver for “keeping the rules”, “going to heaven”, or “and I’m not sure about you.”

Loving Protection

“Jerusalem, Jerusalem! Your people have killed the prophets and have stoned the messengers who were sent to you. I have often wanted to gather your people, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. But you wouldn’t let me.” Luke 13:34

Was there ever a more poignant cry? Jesus love for the city of Jerusalem is transparent, from the twice repeated name, to the expressed desire to protect them as a mother hen does her chicks. Jesus’ affection for Jerusalem is all the more moving, considering He acknowledges up front that they have killed the prophets and messengers God had sent them.

I Should Be Done

I Should be Done

I should be done by now,
over the unrelenting flow by now,
of days on end punctuated by tears in the morning
when no one watches,
and pain the same from first to last.

Will you remember me if someone mentions my name?
I know I shouldn’t ask, but would you meet me at the door
so I won’t stumble to the floor walking in?
I know you’re tired of pitying me,
You think I like this pantheistic game that sees
eyes evaluating every breath not drawn from the well
of a new repertoire of song.

I’m really not dressed to go to lunch,
the cinders from the last fire are still on my hands.
I’m really not ready to try to retrofit
a friendship I invested in with new window panes.

I thought you might be the one and only in
the long flat past halfway between then and there,
the only wayside station for miles upon miles of days.

It matters less than it used to, but it still matters mostly
more than the pep talks I try to use to fall asleep.
Morning brings the reminder of harsh winds whining
my blame for every blizzard on the prairie.

I want the couch again, the hidden language friend
who prescribes zero, reminds little, rewinds nullified…

Never mind, I am merely depressed to the core and
shouldn’t cry anymore over separations, reparations,
mistakes and antiquated relics that couldn’t help but
point me out publicly while trying to enjoy a meal.

I’ve tried the pills, and I slept a little better;
I’ve tried the prayer, over and over, and no echo.

And the God who I know loves me more;

I am weary as war.

Did You Hear?

Did You Hear?

(“I will treat them with kindness, even though they are wicked. I will forget their sins.” Hebrews 8:12)

Did you hear the sound like invitation
coming over the mountains, no imagination
could conjure its message, could synthesize its bliss;
layers of laughter mix with the tears,
when we hear music like this.

Enchanted and earthy, the song makes us pale
at first blush. Our knuckles are white, our heart
forgets the beat, while we await the refrain that
we hope will resolve complete the hopes we’ve carried
inside our regrets.

Pulling up to the courthouse, nervous about the verdict,
I can’t complete a sentence without wanting to admit
each crime I’ve committed, each failure I forgot.
Paying my quarter to park a bit longer
I climb the steps where my past meets me the last
workday of the week.

Unsupervised, I walk up the steps on my own,
holding the banister I am an amateur at self-defense.
Still the usher (I thought I would have to open the
door on my own) looks me in the eye (He must know the verdict,
he heard my fate). Still the usher

Looks me in the eye and
swings open the door behind my back when

The song comes gushing out like a Mohave Desert
flash-flood. Where is the judge, the bailiff, the jury,

My peers?

I thought I was alone in my crimes, and banished to
having to stare down every accuser along the way. But
the song melted the shame, dissolved every claim to
innocence and ever mounted defense to judge me

(joyous adjudication), a freer man that I had become.

True or False

“(Jesus is) there from now to eternity to save everyone who comes to God through him, always on the job to speak up for them.” Hebrews 7:25

It astounds me how many words like “always” and “everyone” are used about God’s gift to us in Christ. When taking true or false tests, most of us have learned to mark “exclusive” statements with false most of the time. “It rains every day during fall in Washington,” might, at first seem to be true. The later in the fall that we wait for a patch of sun, the more convinced we are that the statement is definitely correct. Of course, if we looked at the weather charts, we would discover that it doesn’t rain “every” day; there are actually a few days without precipitation, despite the webbed feet we have sprouted.

Battle Ping Pong

“Now Solomon loved the LORD, walking in the statutes of his father David, except he sacrificed and burned incense on the high places.” 1 Kings 3:3

There are times that changing things up causes no problems. In fact, it can sometimes enliven something that has become boring or humdrum. The summer after my High School graduation my best friend Dale and I played ping pong almost daily in my family’s recreation room.

Toss Away

Toss Away

(“But alas for you Pharisees, because you tithe the mind and the rue and every vegetable, while disregarding the justice and the love of God. These things you should practice without omitting the other.” Luke 11:42)

I’m not ashamed to say I’ve watched you change the way
you use your intelligence to ferret out the truth. Predilections aside,
it’s the predictions that make me wonder why no one takes you to task.

Like a sci-fi novel gone bad, we’ve suspended our disbelief so far
there is no resemblance at all, your world to this one, no mirror to the moon,
no twin for the sun. Only baloney that tastes like rhetoric and
and dust devils that look like a daydreamer’s wish of the opponent’s
final demolition.

But there is an elixir sweet, that distills every law and prophet down
to palpable drink for the ready; a panacea of pain for the smug.

There might be a chill in the wind next summer, I’ll grant that
stones might roll across the sand;
But on the other hand, the sun may smile as it did summer last,
and the conspiracies we hear, the ones only the whisperers
conceive, may fail to appear. Unborn, they die the death which
no one trumpets who predicted them last year.

There is a recipe ready for the masses, pleasant consent to order:
a seasoning that hits the palate and awakes lingering hope for
something more comfortable than institutional fare. The recipe may
look the same
as our memories of home, but
the taste, the suggestion that the food is less about perfection
than relishing the hands like mothers who made it

Helps us toss away our apocalypse prophecy to
enjoy the spread meant to feed the world hungry
for more

Than another conspiracy that makes God out to be
a spice-counting pinchpenny.

Last Time I Spoke

Last Time I Spoke

(“The LORD lives! Praise be to my Rock! Exalted be God, the Rock, my Savior!” 2 Samuel 22:47)

Like I was saying the last time I spoke, I’ve changed a lot in 40 years,
do you remember when, and then again, I’m not sure my memories are true.
I sometimes wonder if my recollections are just an image salad
dressed up to suit my mood.

I swear I still care whether people read my poetry. But when I empty myself
on the paper, hurt by words of narcissists, as a rule, I do not mean you,
and would prefer you do not think so. Irony is, please, that the pleasantries
I’ve written for those who heal me well, seldom read my words at all.

So, do you remember me? Can you recall? My hair is shorter and
my head aches pillow to pillow. I’m weary, silent too often, and wish
one or two
would apologize for their misreadings.

Nonetheless, I yet am blessed, I will say it above the sad cloud globing my heart,
for having known you, a few, and many years later, gladder still.

Would you recognize my voice, my name, my theater, my limp, my lame;
would you see what I paint, my morning, my grief, my hope, my belief;
would you credit my faith that weeps more than laughs, that wishes,
grinding teeth privately, joy dance more often, and less before
catastrophe.

I should have ended that strophe with a ? but chose to leave the
.
intact?

Living, though You do not breathe my air,
will You take my tears, reinforce them with phone messages
from the few I do not fear? My search continues, river views or
backward glances, for the happy few I knew unenhanced by
this poly-marathon.

Rock unmoved, I moved too often, at Your bidding I believed,
except the times when rhymes failed mortally, and the dessert
swallowed me mid-family.

Savior, was I born again the way they say? Nearly 40 years ago
You knocked aloud and, apart from the crowd, I nodded assent,
and now below the clouds I need the happy hours I first knew,
a friend, a band, songs and branches, to accompany me
until headaches and heartaches cease this unwelcome dis-ease.