via Puzzled into Coherence.
I found myself looking for a phrase and this popped up. In what story do I find myself in? You? God reminds me.
Puzzled into Coherence.
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Pressing On
I can’t describe the journey and faith of Bill and Mary Sweeney, but here’s a post to read for yourself. So encouraging.
Happy New Year!
I believe 2020 will be a great year.
Regular readers of my blog know that I’ve had ALS for twenty-three years. I’ve been on hospice for the last fifteen months, and in that time, I’ve had three close encounters with death. I don’t mean to make light of this, but I think you could say that I have one foot in the grave, and the other is on a banana peel. Knowing this, and reading that I’ve declared that 2020 is going to be a great year, you might be questioning the state of my mental health. I get it, but please hear me out.
I’ll admit that my mental health is not as good as it once was. I recently watched a movie for twenty minutes before realizing I’d seen it before. I don’t know if this is related to the ALS or just getting old…
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Rose
Call me rose,
And I will answer.
Stop and smell,
For I see to the senses.
Do not fear
For the thorns which stem from me.
I am only trying
To make the point, a remembrance
Of the sacred head,
Wounded, bled red, like petals
That fall.
Fall on me O Rose.
Cover me as a blanket
And I shall be warm.
Monday Morning
Monday Morning
Coffee and creamed,
truth and grace,
or so it seemed.
That mixture of
strong and soft,
and how oft
I wanted to slip
into a week,
geeked and tweaked.
But it’s Monday.
A do over day,
to pray, play, slay.
Another new mercy say.
although nothing new,
but everything.
“I’ll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness,
the taste of ashes, the poison I’ve swallowed.
I remember it all—oh, how well I remember—
the feeling of hitting the bottom.
But there’s one other thing I remember,
And remembering, I keep a grip on hope:
God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out,
his merciful love couldn’t have dried up.
They’re created new every morning. (Even Monday morning)
How great your faithfulness!
I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over).
He’s all I’ve got left.
Lamentations 3
Pay Attention
Why? What do I owe attention?
What service did attention ever give me?
I keep ignoring the bill.
Will it go into collections?
Will late payment fees be charged?
This will affect my credit rating.
Why am I giving attention
this much attention?
Paid in full.
Single Spaced
Sometimes we don’t walk the line,
We walk line by line,
Single-spaced.
The words between us like linear
Gaps, unsettled, tucked in white,
Double-graced.
Breaks aren’t so bad as they seam,
Little quiets where our bodies
Single space.
One Resolution
It’s not that a year is new and all,
but looking back is a free fall
of hair, long, with strands of grey,
sprinkled, as if to say:
remember me, remember when?
I used to search for them, pluck them,
Now I comb through to see
the silver lined memories of you and me.
Like tinsel, they reflect, stand out.
Yesterday you said this is what it’s about.
Owning age, thankful, line after line,
Mapping our faces, tracking our time.
Under this sun there is nothing really new,
Except our hearts gleaning what is true.
I will run my fingers through.
Yes, I will run my fingers through.
For Barbara January 2019
The Death of a Poet and Other Clichés
I will write a poem
if it kills me.
Even if the line
breaks me.
Even if love
counts its ways.
Even when a
lesser path emerges.
Even if I lie
etherized on a table.
Even if roses are red,
with each petal a cliché.
Even if to be or not to be
isn’t the question.
Even if you tread
softly on my dreams.
Even if there’s water
everywhere but no drop.
Even if I wander,
lonely as a cloud.
Even if no word
rhymes or I
double over in
entendre,
this is a poem,
and I live on.
The Most Interesting Man in the World
This one made me smile.
Yeah, you might have seen the commercials. I think they’re advertising a beer, anyway, I got to thinking… Would I really like to be the “most” in anything?
Even the most interesting man has to accomplish the most uninteresting of duties. Take a leak. Brush his teeth. Eat some eggs.
I caught myself thinking “I want to be the most humble man in the world.” I don’t know if that is a paradox or an oxymoron. Maybe it’s simply moronic.
Maybe I want to be the most “telling-it-slant-poet” in the world. I would lay down lines which echo for a hundred or so years.
Being the most… Most. Most. Most. What a funny word. The more I ponder it, the sillier it sounds. Say ‘most’ out loud enough times and well, what do you think?
Honestly, have you ever met anyone aspiring to be the most UNinteresting person in the…
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Any Other Way
Come Lord Jesus.
Oh God, come any other way,
but not as a child.
Come in a space ship
so we can claim you as an alien,
as a figment of our imagination.
Wash up on earth’s shore
so we can claim you as a castaway
an unknown, scraggly and salt soaked.
Walk into town as a vagabond
so we can look and call authorities
to distance us.
Stand by the side of the road
so we can decide if your thumb up
is necessary for us to stop.
But please don’t come as a baby.
Don’t come and coo and cry
and take our breath away.
Don’t come as we did,
dependant and humble
and wrapped up tight.
Just don’t, don’t be so vulnerable
as a wonder from a womb
bathed in the liquid of humanity.
Don’t come as a child, please.
For then we would need to
hold you in our…
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