Family Time

We put the music away,
invited silence,
shifted our gaze.
i saw him, and him, and her, and her,
and you.
and you saw
me
and him, and him, and her, and her.
together.
individually.
we thought about
what
who
how
you are.
a ragtag band of miscreants and
a Holy God.

some stains

some stains refuse to be washed out:

mustard, wine, grease.

blood.

there are those that will swear to a remedy.

i have yet to see one

fully work,

fully clean.

out damned spot!

you proclaim my guilt as i,

head low, voice lower,

ask God

to attend on mortal thoughts.

i smell flowers.

i smell grace.

and i see on that ground

somewhat ascending

the wooden instrument

that laughed its way through a dirge

is that God’s blood i see?

oh scandalous joy.

for some stains refuse to be washed out.

The Reason

I saw those things you did,
      what you said
                      thought
                      felt
before they came to pass.
From up there on that mountain I looked down,
     saw the wind blow,
     saw the waves swell,
     saw your boat.
You were there, white-knuckled and scared and soaked.
I was there too - only damp shoes.
     I came to you - not to fuss
     about your poor sailing skills -

just for you.

Reflection on Strength

strength.
is that what we need?
to fight on
forge ahead
leave behind.
whatever.
is this what we have come to?
too weak to fight
too weak to resist
too weak to walk on
on our faces more than feet.
strength.
he told me it was what he needed
to stop falling for the same old 
temptations
trials
but more than that
strength to stop seeking
that which should not be sought.
strength?
i think not.
the more we lack
the more we gain.
His 
is better than
ours.

ashes and devils

ashes and devils.

battling the one

has made me the other.

struck a match and the pyre blazed.

i am no more than dust

and the devils laughed.

i expected (as i went down in flames)

to see them all red, with goatees

            pitchforks and tails and horns.

but alas…

            they looked - like me.

and where were you?

dressed in black, crying over my

            self-made urn

with your son sighing, “why did i bother?”

i lied.

they lied.

my eyes lied.

the only one that told me the truth -

            you.

but the devils (my evil twins)

they sounded reasonable, didn’t they?

“nothing matters.  you are damaged goods anyway.”

so i burned.

billows of smoke rising to an overcast sky -

even the stars found me ugly

and closed their rain-filled eyelids.

if i am resurrected, won’t the devils

live again?

such a circle of comedy.  of tragedy.

no.

no phoenix-dream for me.

scatter the ashes to the wind.

let my dust and devils blow away

to make room for something new…

not a father

bitterness stood on the mountain

            opened its hand

                        let the rock

roll down

it struck another

which struck another –

in the end – complete devastation

the girl

            alone

is under that rubble somewhere

God is dead

(it could be said)

by the girl

            alone

who would want a father?

            they cheat

            mistreat

            leave

and righteous anger

ignites

burns bright

            leaves a block

            of ice

but he has many names besides Father

            there is one

            meant just for her

a name she can trust

we must

help her find him

she is done with fathers

the rumbling rolling rocks

bounced battered bruised

            each cut, scrape, purple mark

            the result of what a father is like

            to her

what she needs

            mud in her eye

            the hem of a robe

            the stirring of waters

            a handout of fish and bread

            a “peace be still”

            a simple word

            a calling forth

            a miracle

perhaps of the bulldozer kind

to move the stones that cascaded and tumbled

down the mountain of her heart

since you are in the stone moving business

nickel wound, earth bound

nickel wound

stretched across the wood

bound and pulled

as she was

sharp, flat

whole step, half step

she sought to dance

on light feet

but gravity hates flight.

now so does she.

“get your head out

of the clouds.”

and she did.

flightless birds are sad birds

jealous birds

and a guitar strums a

beautiful tune on the

stretched strings,

while those in the package

have no song.