As Far Right as West Is

As Far Right as West Is

(“I’m telling you to love your enemies. Let them bring out the best in you, not the worst. When someone gives you a hard time, respond with the energies of prayer.” Matthew 5:44 [The Message])

Let’s pick teams like we did in grade school,
the greens with the greens, the cool with the cool.
Let’s fight it out after the last bell,
prove the scholar versus fool
on the steps
behind the gym
underneath the seats
making shadow lengths
of aluminum.

Make sure the crowd gathers circle,
let it begin with verbal (words find their mark
but leave no bruises)
and end with mortal (me against you
settled with black eyes and blue).

Let’s not parade our antique brawls,
or masquerade our sophomore squalls.
We are walled as well as bully in the halls
with better decorum and etiquette.

Propriety quotes unknown sources,
and throws them in the faces of false quotations
smearing names with a righteous incantation
that smells like an electrical fire, like a model
railroad locomotive run too many times past the station.

Grow up new-birthed, wear the wardrobe gladly of
rain disdaining our fences,
sunshine disregarding faces
and washing away the lines drawn in the sand.

How could your Father create
words you rearrange to dictate
costumed hatred (sounds like scripture
the way it is stated).

Grow up new-winged reflections, like the shine from
your Father’s house, the doorbell answered,
the family gathered from as far right as west is,
and east as left is; mud and rain and sun.

Stew Are You?

Isaac asked him, “Who are you?” He said, “I am Esau, your son, your first-born.” Then Isaac was so shocked, he trembled. Genesis 27:32,33

Take this family, Isaac and Rebekah, with their twin sons Jacob and Esau, out of the Bible and put them on television and they would be a top-notch daytime soap opera. Or, if they were a family in contemporary society, they might even have had the Department of Children’s Services pay them a visit.

Cleaning my Eyeglasses

“You’re blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.” Matthew 5:8 [(he Message)

I have worn glasses since eighth grade. The first thing I discovered is the difficulty of keeping rain off the lenses. I’ve always joked that there should be windshield wipers for glasses, just like for automobiles. I’m sure there are some tiny novelty wipers out there, but I’d end up looking like a buffoon wearing them. I guess I’ll put up with rain-stained spectacles.

Straight Home

Straight Home

(“Rebekah ran straight home and told her family everything.” Genesis 24:28)

Now I’d rather play than grouse all day about
far too many holes in the fabric, and how I never
knew the holes were there when I grew up
anyway.

Yes, I’d rather run and split the one meadow
in half today and more tomorrow, and never be
late to strategize the best use for
waterguns.

Low, I’d rather look up-sky than hook my hopes
in half today; simply, sincerely out of fear
I would fall more slippery than all I
undertook.

Pool, the waterfall steepens sharp; crawling fails
the anticipation that waits atop greasy rock
granite, the peak graffiti I had
hoped to scrawl.

This, seriously play than dream I pray about
all the unsewn holes in the old words, and how I always
wished the talk matched the fun of (timeless)
past bouquets.

Winter Clothing

Winter Clothing

(“He is the one mentioned by the prophet Isaiah, ‘The voice of one, shouting in the desert, Make ready the way of the Lord; straighten His paths!’” Matthew 3:3)

I put my gray sweats on into the heavy morning,
air a slight drip, breath a damp hello on
toward the breakfast-view of the river
from the backside of the one block downtown
restaurant.

It may have been too early, I may have been too slow,
words were like the careful boats who heard the foghorn
repeating the same warning before the island split the channel;
deep north and sandbar south.

We may be hard of hearing, we may be easy talkers,
we may want to say it clearly but the waters drown
the spoken ink we fell asleep knowing.

My coat is cow’s leather, not camel brush;
my breakfast Belgian waffles, never locusts
(but I do eat honey)
and I’d like the road ready, the single block I walk
downtown sometimes early, prepared and ready
for better hearing and quicker feet
to follow, fog or not (and trade my learning for
love’s experiment, a t-shirt and sneakers on the ground.)

I put my gray sweats on, my winter clothing
while the adolescent boy I met was short sleeve
white and jeans. One sentence was a door open from the inside

And the rest of our talk (other men and our inventions)
we tried to open with good intentions. Our words are
stuck, our love perhaps not, but we need practice
to cure the bends from spirit to sound, heart to hello
before we goodbye next time we meet.

Another Road

“Later they were warned in a dream not to return to Herod, and they went back home by another road.” Matthew 2:12

Thirty-nine years ago, the summer between my junior and senior year in high school, my family took a camping vacation. This wasn’t unusual, we usually camped. Dad was a pastor, we had four kids, and we rarely stayed in motel rooms. Fortunately, living in Southern California, Disneyland, Hollywood and the beach were all day trips. We didn’t lose much by not sleeping at the most convenient C’mon Inn.

Bowling in the Dark

Bowling in the Dark

“Jesus replied, ‘Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Anyone who walks in daylight doesn’t stumble because there’s plenty of light from the sun.’” John 11:9 [The Message]

There was once a bowling league that consistently scored the lowest in the land. They were friends who had bowled together for years, loved hanging out on bowling night, and knew the game well. None of them rented shoes; they each owned the best pair they could find. They had studied the rules well and practiced relentlessly, sending their 16 pound balls rolling down the oiled lane toward the ten pins.