Wednesday, September 23, 2009

this slow rainy day
is slick with silver
sliding off the roof,
plinking and running
down the pane
in the eloquence
of nature's hand

Saturday, September 19, 2009

what lives is what we feed

all tucked in, neatly folded
between the cold sheets
of where i was last sunday
and where i am now,
safely home, absent the exiled heart
seeking solace outside somewhere
rafting on the river of this endless night...
it doesn't matter.
you are not here.
you are unable to make this journey.

eventually i will welcome the solitude
more as a corm for survival
than for relief from keeping up appearances.
and although leaving the conversation
works against me,
i'll journal on, writing exercises on the
flimsiness of hope in the spartan night
and parsing with care the
excellence of my defeat
while words still come
rather than submissively to lie down
on the daybed of despair
making love to the prideful muse of silence

i wonder what you think this is,
this not-saying-anything time,
this letting-time-pass thing

i wonder if you think i've moved on
and left it all behind.
vacated love.
i haven't.

that stuff lives inside me forever.

Monday, September 14, 2009

when we talked truth to his arrogance, and love to his vacant heart

wasn't there a certain elegiac grace
in our halting voices, telling out our truths?
a room full of precious many-colored birds
of the same sacramental spirit...?

just so, love's bounty was slain by fear this night

spirit linger
until no sky is left that doesn't mourn the light
until nothing comes but the comforter's voice
to wash off the stink of my disbelief

and, replenished, to love wastefully the vacant heart

Sunday, September 13, 2009

through a glass darkly

the face in the mirror, the one
that is hard to look at with it's
vague stepford smile, is not you.

your face is not you.
your fear is not you.
you are not your monkey.

you are in here. come inside.
look out on this day
with your feral child eyes.

look out from the warmth of your own true light,
the soft you that was made in the image of Love
Who made the first morning of the world.

you are not your legs.
you are not your painted fingernails.
you are not your borrowed face.

Monday, September 7, 2009

the courage required

smiley and rosey, her morning face on
and earphones, garrison keillor online
bananas, bluets and flakes, spoon by spoon

at the farmer's market, company face
primly erect in her jet black walker
as if pretty is as pretty just is

so much for the watchword of my childhood
how long does one fake it, and life is made?
what is the point if we don't find the point?

business face on, she's ready for heaven
but she'd hold up for crackers and cheese, and
a half glass of wine at 4 o'clock, sharp

Wednesday, September 2, 2009


i believe God is the presence of Love
that animates the soul
and shines through the eyes of all whom we behold as loved.

and everything
is profound about that

i believe that we understand a little more each time our bodies die
and we take up life again in our spiritual home between lives...

i believe the enrichment of our own Soul enriches the Life of the Whole

i believe God's Great Risk was NOT
killing the Son to appease the Holy Split Personality--with Hate for some and unconditional Love for others out the Eternal Snit: "They Done Me Wrong In The Garden"...


i believe
Love's Risk was creating you and me
out of Their own Spiritual Image,
and then giving us Free Will
to grow, learn, and live our gifts forward through each life,
or to smash everything to bits and start over.
i believe we have a life lessons plan that we agreed to before we come into the physical world...each time...and that we return to be accountable for the gifts we are given and the goodness we came to increase in ourselves by living in the world for others.

i believe every path is made holy by love
and i believe
it is Good and Life-giving and Spirit-honoring
to love 
consciously, intentionally, freely, without expectation
so to live and breathe and mature in our Being of the Spirit