Cross that Bridge

Mile wide,

just as lazy.

from this bridge i see

both sides,

muddy waters below me.

Mississippi.

Roll on, roll on,

down to that delta,

into the sea.

it’s hot down there,

and the airiscloseandwet.

reminds me of those afternoons

catching the train in Shek Mun,

sweat, and more sweat,

another time, another place.

I still see their faces, hear their laughter,

the ones I would die for still.

God, it hurts.

but hey, we’ll cross this bridge together.

across the flood plains, and there’s Memphis.

my son has no idea

he’s such an international jetsetter,

born right there in City One,

only gweilo that day.

been dragging my family all over the world,

perhaps the wandering life is our destiny.

not so bad, I suppose.

and the ones I loved in Shek Mun,

they will travel with me,

whether they like it or not,

each one a precious moment of my life.

but tonight,

I cross the Mississippi.

Under the Weight

while sitting under the weight

            of slights real or imagined

i noticed the scenery never changed

unless you count the loss of color

leaves on slate trees, gray like

elderly skin, and just as thin

as mine

flutter about this patch of ground

i chose to sit upon

what i believed i must trust

            was a bust.

            and my soul

turned red with rust.

so i dig a hole in the shade  

to bury this picture of you

Merciful

sticks and stones do what they do

while your words cut

like a nick while shaving

and blood circles the drain

you claim your Jesus

with lips bearing false witness

and i -

i have done the same

“blessed are the merciful”

i have not felt blessed since…

well, my memory fails me…

let us remember

together

what mercy means

as if this was the 4^th day

future tense

future.

i thought i knew you.

fast friends.

knew my place, knew your face,

this was supposed to be IT…

well,

it was.

it was.

then it was a dream.

up and gone,

far and fast,

trying to make beauty

from yesterday’s trash.

like a so-called artist

making murals with bottle caps

with a smile and a tip ‘o the hat. 

that is his future and he knows it so well. 

started with a mission, ended

in bottle cap hell.

oh well.  i bought into the

hard sell.

became a salesman myself,

selling an image of righteousness

i am wearing with selfishness

like designer shoes - over-priced foolishness -

so that you might shine bright.

But you burned me

returned me

to a harsh reality.

so future,

i gotta be up front:

your number is up, finished

like my coffee cup.

and if i know anything for certainty:

spiritually, relationally, and rationally,

you will not control me.

Play On

Here it is, a poem about poetry

Like lines without symmetry - everything we wannabe

Here

No fear

No tears

Just a cheer - then I stop

And I turn

And realize life cannot remain

Be contained

Sit restrained as is, in a few lines

In a few rhymes.

Renegades with a pen,

scallywags all,

not belles of the ball,

but cursed by the Fall,

found wisdom in the folly,

drew life from the well.

Let us not sleep, let us drink deep.

Because inside me

Inside you

There is a heartsong.

It sings, and it swings, like pretty things with fluttering wings.

Sing your song,

play the tune He’s given you

play on.

play on.