September 20, 2010
There is not a soul alive
that has glimpsed the complete beauty
within a conch shell.
Broken by the crush of waves
and washed smooth by sand
gives a partial and wholly different vision.
The only way to truly comprehend
the smooth darkness of its bright curves:
crawl inside.
Can a man know the tenderness
of a mother nursing?
Neither can remember
the comfort of the infant
suckling mama's breast.
It must be lived in the moment of innocence.
To my knowledge,
no one alive has survived
the internal winds and pressure of a tornado
whipping about seemingly out of control;
dust and debris flung about on the outside,
while molecules of nothingness fill the eye.
But wouldn't that be an experience.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Ghost of Serenity
September 20, 2010
You're not dead.
Just not here.
Where'd she go?
Don't wave bye.
Blown kisses
fill the air.
Echoes of morning jabber
tickle my inner ear.
Toys are scattered across the floor.
No one is playing.
I eat my Cheerios®
alone.
You're not here.
We're not alive.
You're not dead.
Just not here.
Where'd she go?
Don't wave bye.
Blown kisses
fill the air.
Echoes of morning jabber
tickle my inner ear.
Toys are scattered across the floor.
No one is playing.
I eat my Cheerios®
alone.
You're not here.
We're not alive.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Love Poetry
September 14, 2010
1.
She lifted the words of my poem off the paper,
dry-flower pressed them between the pages
of her heart,
carried the meaning in her bosom
between her breasts
where a line of sweat traced her cleavage,
cleaving the sense of the words to and from our souls
like the drop of sweat rolling between my eyes
down the bridge of my nose to drop
upon the page, blurring any trace of meaning
between the careful symmetry
of the lines.
2.
Remember how we used to leave each other messages:
the first one out of the shower
would write with their finger
on the steamed mirror
I “heart” U or
U R SEXY;
words that remained after
the condensation evaporated.
1.
She lifted the words of my poem off the paper,
dry-flower pressed them between the pages
of her heart,
carried the meaning in her bosom
between her breasts
where a line of sweat traced her cleavage,
cleaving the sense of the words to and from our souls
like the drop of sweat rolling between my eyes
down the bridge of my nose to drop
upon the page, blurring any trace of meaning
between the careful symmetry
of the lines.
2.
Remember how we used to leave each other messages:
the first one out of the shower
would write with their finger
on the steamed mirror
I “heart” U or
U R SEXY;
words that remained after
the condensation evaporated.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Wholly You (A Confession)
August 31, 2010
This poem is deeply personal. It is a metaphor of amazing grace in my life. I dedicate this to my God and Saviour, Jesus Christ; and to my wife Lynn, whose love and forgiveness saved me.
It was completely you
responsible for reconciliation.
The fault is mine for crouching out the door,
walking away from the dwelling
we both built with our bare hands,
down the street and around the corner
for a tawdry, no wait,
sleazy is a better word,
affair with a strange woman;
make believe quote/unquote love, no wait,
sex with three x's is a better word,
in the dark fabric of the quilted streets of the city:
certainly castration is a certainty.
Nevertheless you nursed me back
to your milk-laden breasts
with words
of passionate urging, loving guidance, tender comfort.
I stained your back with tears of sludge.
Turning me over
you crossed my heart.
I hoped to die.
I must have been speaking in tongues
when I cried out “Merci! Merci!”
because my lips don't know how to formulate foreign language by themselves.
And now when we make love, no wait,
the better word is love,
your nails painted blood-rust dig my flesh;
Oh, God! I feel the pain you provide—pain not like yours,
in comparison a tingling, an internal cutis anserina.
The foreign tongue you mastered.
The reason we are becoming one
is wholly you.
This poem is deeply personal. It is a metaphor of amazing grace in my life. I dedicate this to my God and Saviour, Jesus Christ; and to my wife Lynn, whose love and forgiveness saved me.
It was completely you
responsible for reconciliation.
The fault is mine for crouching out the door,
walking away from the dwelling
we both built with our bare hands,
down the street and around the corner
for a tawdry, no wait,
sleazy is a better word,
affair with a strange woman;
make believe quote/unquote love, no wait,
sex with three x's is a better word,
in the dark fabric of the quilted streets of the city:
certainly castration is a certainty.
Nevertheless you nursed me back
to your milk-laden breasts
with words
of passionate urging, loving guidance, tender comfort.
I stained your back with tears of sludge.
Turning me over
you crossed my heart.
I hoped to die.
I must have been speaking in tongues
when I cried out “Merci! Merci!”
because my lips don't know how to formulate foreign language by themselves.
And now when we make love, no wait,
the better word is love,
your nails painted blood-rust dig my flesh;
Oh, God! I feel the pain you provide—pain not like yours,
in comparison a tingling, an internal cutis anserina.
The foreign tongue you mastered.
The reason we are becoming one
is wholly you.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Serenity's First Birthday
August 6, 2010
I'll miss you when you're gone:
pointy finger
squint your eyes
purse your lips
slobber drool
wobbley dance
crab walking
waddle down the hall
peek-a-boo
numma numma breakfast
yay--clap, clap
I'll see you in the morning
for our walk among the trees.
I'll miss you when you're gone:
pointy finger
squint your eyes
purse your lips
slobber drool
wobbley dance
crab walking
waddle down the hall
peek-a-boo
numma numma breakfast
yay--clap, clap
I'll see you in the morning
for our walk among the trees.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Do Not Deal Harshly With My Tender Lambs
(Psalm 18:4-24)
October 14, 2009
What happened to your heart
when your baby (insert name here)
got sick and cried all night,
unable to tell you what was wrong?
How did you feel
when your child (__________)
bruised their knee or
scraped their elbow,
and came running to you crying?
Where did your mind go
when that bully,
where-are-his-parents, brat pushed
your boy (__________)
on the playground?
Why did you think
what you thought
when that no good,
holding-my-tongue, boy broke
your daughter’s (__________) heart.
Stir up and recall the feelings you get
when you see the faces on the posters
at WalMart, when you hear an Amber alert.
They all have names.
Arouse and remember the emotions that arise
while watching crime drama or the news on TV
about child abductions and pedophiles and
oh, what you would do if you had five minutes alone with them.
Whose face
do you see
at the mention of
infant mortality,
diseased babies,
beaten and abused children,
child porn,
children used as drug mules,
“adoption” slavery,
my God, how could this be,
this is the twenty-first century?
God knows their names.
You (__________)
are His children.
October 14, 2009
What happened to your heart
when your baby (insert name here)
got sick and cried all night,
unable to tell you what was wrong?
How did you feel
when your child (__________)
bruised their knee or
scraped their elbow,
and came running to you crying?
Where did your mind go
when that bully,
where-are-his-parents, brat pushed
your boy (__________)
on the playground?
Why did you think
what you thought
when that no good,
holding-my-tongue, boy broke
your daughter’s (__________) heart.
Stir up and recall the feelings you get
when you see the faces on the posters
at WalMart, when you hear an Amber alert.
They all have names.
Arouse and remember the emotions that arise
while watching crime drama or the news on TV
about child abductions and pedophiles and
oh, what you would do if you had five minutes alone with them.
Whose face
do you see
at the mention of
infant mortality,
diseased babies,
beaten and abused children,
child porn,
children used as drug mules,
“adoption” slavery,
my God, how could this be,
this is the twenty-first century?
God knows their names.
You (__________)
are His children.
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