Concrete Creations

Concrete Creations

(“Even before time began God planned for Christ Jesus to show kindness to us.” 2 Timothy 1:9a)

I woke up with nothing to do and stayed that way
till far after noon. I sip my coffee; I drink loads of water because
my physicians are making sure I do. So, religiously I put ice in a glass,
pour the water and drink four or five glasses a day. If you read this would
you be kind enough to attest to this with my favorite practitioners?

It is not entirely true that I have nothing to do,
my fingers are tapping out these words, aren’t they?
But I forced myself to sit here today although there seems to be
little of the artisan words I desire to punch out of my brain.
And perhaps grace covers that. Perhaps grace fills the starved
and closed quarters in my mind.

I’ve written about these things for 25 years now and I seem to
have less to say the farther I go along. I had it all down pat,
I knew how to write a riddle or parable. I knew how to turn
the ending in such away that you wanted to stay all day, or
sometimes
you wanted to simply run away.

But I never wrote wanting you to be bored, or to scratch
your head
wondering why this word was glued to that one.
Like the disciples locked up in a room after the resurrection,
I have become a hermit, talking to no one for hours at a time.
I confess my words sound hollow because they come from a hollow
mind. I once
knew what I believed,
and now I am not sure. The pendulum has not swung for me.
Instead I find myself in the middle where it has come to rest with
no movement at all. I wait for the breeze to shift. I pray for breath
I can hear. I wait for the Spirit to be bestowed even though I have
no point of reference to know full I can become.

Truth? I feel empty. Other truth? I feel full. Have I been on a diet
that of so much fast food that I slowly make my way to what would
otherwise, have been inevitable. I must fast a meal or two to open this
place meant to be filled renewed. I must open wide the doors for the grace
to flow through. I must not puzzle over nothing to do; perhaps that is the
best way to receive. Yes, I will breathe. And breathe. And welcome the
grace of the Spirit to fill me complete. I will tell you what these moments
create once they pull me into the reworking of the words I use for art,
even when I am listless.

So I hope to become full of concrete creations that paint sacred
landscapes where holy places can be found.  

Scratch That

Scratch That

I would have opened more to you
after you knocked on my window earlier than sunrise.
But, with slumber heavy on my limbs, my eyes
ran behind the thoughts still twisted around last night’s dream.

I would have let you in, let you have your say,
and, after you stayed and understood, we might have
taken a chance at another 20 years of friendship.

But I closed my window, out of reflex, out of weary
habits of explaining why I preferred it quietly shut;

Almost all the time.

And, since it was my window after all, I hoped you
would understand.

Here’s another thing, and I hate to explain,
or excuse my actions on the short-circuited synapses
in my brain…but the tapping on my bedroom window
only increases the flow of fiery impulses that squeeze my brain
like an iron-clad orange peel.

***
You’re not the first, though, maybe not the last. And,
I’ll certainly take my part.
***

No, scratch that. Don’t remember the previous lines.
Delete them, wipe them from your mind.

I am angry. I am boiling over. I want to pour wrath upon
every former friend who wished me dead…them dead to me.
I am tired of the punches unreturned. I am tired of the lies
that set up roadblocks to beauty they would have been a spring of joy
rising up to heal this hopeless heart.

Behind my back, oh the obituaries they wrote; short, to the point;
“He was here, He did, He died.”
And my insignificance floats further back in time so that my anger

Seems entirely out of line. Beware the conflagration of a heart
never allowed to speak its peace. Instead, with every intention
of making me zero; and every false apology reserving a hero’s welcome
for their consideration

Only put more kindling on a fire that could have burned out quickly
in a friend to friend bout of honesty. But, for some, broken rules

So much worse

Than broken hearts or cursed.