You think?
I simply want to stumble
Across laughter,
Slip on some silly,
And fall down,
Belly rolling in
Hysterical mud.
Life is seriously funny
Don’t you think?
This smile?…
You wipe it off my face.
If I release tears like race horses
which one will fall into the lead?
The gate opens and they’re off!
Anger gets out at the jump,
with Dissappointment a nose back.
Loneliness makes a run for third,
edged out by Rejection.
Grief settles in between
Laughter and Loss,
While Joy brings up the rear.
The track of the tears
comes alive as dirt and dust
rise in and behind the pack.
They are neck in neck,
cheek to cheek
as the backstretch looms.
It’s any horse’s race but
Joy is on the move,
but not on the outside.
Joy is moving through
the thick of it, jockeying,
bumping bellies,
smelling sweat,
listening as the hoofs
displace earth while
muzzles move air.
The movement is hidden
within at first, but down
the wire Joy overcomes
by two lengths.
Jesus, keep me from deifying
Gravity with those memories
Of self-pining, pinned down,
Fastened to floors of unforgiving.
Lord Jesus, Come help me defy
Gravity, grant moments
Of rising above
With leaps of grace and mercy.
When I walk, may it be light
Obedient steps
Morphing into a dervish dance
While gravity spirals away.
Words glided across the floor
and rose on toes occasionally.
Gray hair flew and a white dress flowed.
Father and daughter dancing
a private conversation
in front of everyone.
Winged tips shuffled on air
and crystal slippers clinked
like long stemmed wine glasses.
We a sipped on their conversation
of pear shaped tears of joy.
Water to wine.
Written for John Monroe, Father of the bride, June 1st, 2013.
The pill I found
awakened me like
Robert Deniro.
The dancing unfurled
with you in hand
and spectrums rose.
Nerves had no end
and struck like lightning
and I was blind for a spell.
A forty year reverse
to when hiding and seeking
was just a game.
Jesus was counting
against the tree
looking for me.
“O Lord, you have searched me and you know me.” Psalm 139:1
She was thigh high and three.
She turned and saw me stare
and then without warning
handed me a smile.
It laid in my palm
and straddled my life line.
I smiled a ‘thank you’ back
and closed my fingers over it.
It was slipped into my pocket
next to keys and some pennies.
There it stayed all day
like a receipt.
I forgot about it.
A few days later
I was scooping out the lint trap
and it was right next to a candy wrapper.
It was faded a bit and wrinkled.
I plucked it out of the fibers
and got out the ironing board.
I set the iron to delicates.
After folding it nicely
I placed it in my drawer
right on top of the kerchiefs,
neatly.
It waits there.
I will fetch it when
the blood runs
and the sweat beads
and the tears roll.
I will wipe her smile on my face.
I have a child named Zoe. Zoe means ‘life’. It was another Zoe at Sam’s Club who handed me that smile. Thank You!
Take some time today to for some handouts…give your smile to someone, it might surprise them later in their lint trap.
The dance began with the sun.
It waltzed with the clouds
and yellow was sent in pirouettes
lightly upon the water.
The wind put its arms around us all
and led us to each other.
*
We saw “together.”
When it was “I do,” they did.
Our hearts had become a river dance.
Tears leapt and rolled with joy.
*
Boys, close to the floor,
jumped and jived.
Young maidens freestyled
and painted the room with brush strokes
and furls of color which spun outward.
Oldlyweds stepped in and out
and renewed their vows,
slow and tight and true.
*
This was a time to heal,
a time to laugh,
a time to embrace,
a time to love,
and a time to dance.
*
For Steve and Shannon Lumetta, who gave us good reason to dance!
Those are the hand written words for my wife from Ann Voskamp.
This morning I finished One Thousand Gifts and wept.
Here, this grown man of fifty one, weeping over a woman’s ability to form into words the authentic struggle and blessing of life. It wasn’t information passed, but a communion of well chosen words arranged in a book vase and set on the desk of this man’s heart.
I love flowers and beauty and poetry, especially when they are placed within weeds and ugly and the flat sentences of life. That is what Ann Voskamp has given to me over the past six months; her heart. It wasn’t her heart only, but the cadence of every heartbeat reverberating off life authentic.
I cannot add words to this book.
Ann summed it up when I handed my wife’s copy to her…
Joy can be taken!
Grace is everywhere.
Gratefulness precedes the miracle. Eucharisteo!
I will come back to the poetic prose of Voskamp. Have you read One Thousand Gifts?
Then breaks a day
like an egg.
Sunshine in the pan,
golden bubble
clouded ‘round.
Crack us open
to bend rays of hope
on this new day.
May our joy
be easy over.
Dance, song, laughter,
and tears of frosted glass.
In and through it I remembered.
There was ice water and a straw.
Our only duty was to keep vigil on her lips.
Her mouth would motion us.
Silent smacking and we would reach
for the cool cup.
She would sup and the arid places
were moist for a moment
until the cycle turned.
I remembered when we shared
our tears and held each other’s
in the bowl of our hands.
The salt water reflection
of Joy.
Yesterday I took little sips
through the straw set on my lips.
Thank you for giving me a drink.
The Verve’s first line in Bittersweet Symphony is one that underlined a day of celebration.
“It’s a bittersweet symphony, that’s life.”
I was overwhelmed with the joy of family and friends in celebrating life!
There were moments when I saw the people who were missing though.
The tides continue whether I hear them or not.
God, grant me the grace to keep sipping as the tides come in and out.
