So Much Has Passed

In Memory of David W.

Tonight, I thought of you sitting at table,
Eating from these same plates,
Remember your hands that held this glass.
No longer are you here. So much has passed.

Music playing was your favorite music,
Now more than simple music to my ears.
It brings tears to eyes, vibrates, imparts
Not only to ears but touches longing heart.

I smell the apple pie you often made
Each time I taste orchid’s fruity sweetness
Mixed with honey of your eyes.
Sad we never said goodbye.

So many times you moved my heart,
Touched my life in ways I never knew,
Now remembered daily…. Your face that cast
Laughing smile, alive in memory and does not pass.

Twists and Turns

Some days the sky fills with clouds.
I do not know why some are dark,
Some are white, some every color,
Blazing, amazing, confusing.

Do clouds cloak the truth,
Hide the Sun or face of God?
Or do clouds show the way—
Another sign that life’s a-maze-ing….

So many twists and turns,
Most I cannot see or sense—
Looking for an entrance,
Exit, portal to mindful presence.

Sometimes I feel all alone in this.
Then suddenly there you are,
Beside, behind, above,
Fluttering within my heart.

Without Hope, Still We Resist

Yes, there were some who saw
Into the Dark Truth that was descending.
But regrettably, they were few.
Most were living within delusions,
Not realizing how blind they were.

I know you worked hard to see—
Felt the tremors within the Earth,
Hoped for a cure and not a curse.
Who among us does not struggle
With our own addictions and false myths,
Hoping that hard work and prayer
Might change the world for the better?

Now the Ogre sits upon the throne,
Undoes all the good done in past years.
All we do is wonder where we went wrong.
All we can do is resist and resist.
May we learn that though we
Be weak and poor, together
We can be strong—overthrow
The Darkness that envelops the Light.

Let us attend the redeeming work
as we begin to understand
a call for selfless mission,
bringing not death but life
to each other and the World.
Can you be open to the hidden vision
found deep within your heart?

Beginning or Ending

Under a waning moon,
I lay in the grass before dew had formed—
Though it was cool and damp,
Like quickly dried hair after shower.

Sky darkened and stars went away,
Birds were asleep and out of the way.
I sensed calm descend along with piercing sight
Not known in heavier heat of day.

My tongue was wood and my limbs were stone,
Tired eyes were about to succumb to sleep.
Under my head were strands of grass,
Clear in my mind, the hair of the Earth.

The lawn was a carpet that stretched to the end
Where trees towered unseen where they bend
Like willows that reach to bring their arms
Swaying in breeze as they work their charms.

This is the World I inhale into lungs,
Absorb into skin and take deep into bones—
This is my place, this is my home, this is my time….
Beginning or ending, my rock and my peace.

I Find Myself Everywhere

Last night, I woke in darkness,

Discovered I had become drops of rain

Falling hard upon the roof.

This is not the first time.

Last year, I opened bottle of vintage wine,

Breathed in bouquet, realizing

I was not only the wine, but crushed grapes,

Even vine on the hill, warm under Sun.

 

On Fourth of July, I am always

Shooting stars exploding in night;

Or the red canoe covered by winter snow

Down alone on the shore of the lake.

I am the bull in the meadow;

Sometimes rout swimming alive up streams.

More than once in cities,

I was paper blowing down windy streets.

 

The cracked china plate in the cupboard is me,

More often than I admit I see.

But never am I afraid to acknowledge

I’m full moon behind the clouds or the trees,

Candlelight flame on the mantle….

Singing cricket on summer’s evening—that’s me.

 

But never am I the big sharp knife in the drawer;

Never the rifle waiting hidden behind the door.

Please, God, never the weapon that wounds.

See me instead as chipped cup that still holds tea.

Look for me when searching for first robin

Singing in early spring or eagle soaring or

Ancient mountain forever sleeping beside calm lake.

Memories Remain, Tumbling and Polished by Time

Back in the days when I was young,

Winters were long and summers

Never seemed long enough to dwell in

Contemplation of the lightening bugs

Captured in Bell jars, holes in the lids

So they could breath. I hated that they died

By morning light, translucence turned to lead.

 

Some winters there were drifts that covered

Bedroom windows, blocking light morning, noon,

Even cold stars at night. In such frigid temperatures,

How could Jesus find me, covered as I was in

Blankets on the bed, knees askew and close to head?

Yes, I’m sure they had it worse in Saskatchewan,

Though once the paper said it was as cold

As surface on Mars, considering wind chill.

 

Thank God there were no dust storms; no plagues of locusts.

We managed population of frogs on

My grandfather’s farm ponds, feeding a

Childish imagination that eating frog legs

Would permit you to jump higher

Than those who only ate chicken. Back then,

Chickens ranged free, as all chickens should,

Until necks were rung and prepared to fry.

 

In Boy Scouts, I learned to march in time

Down in the basement of the church— left, right,

Left, right as we made a trip around the room.

Camping out on the edge of the lake, we collected

Mosquito bites like merit badges, learned history

On a fifty-mile trek that followed old wagon trails.

I remember unfolding a wrinkled canvas tent,

Finding a scrap of paper hidden inside folds

With “I love you” printed in pencil.

I never found who wrote that note

But wondered for years

Why a Boy Scout would be up to no good.

 

Clear water to fish; flat stones to skip on the ponds.

Mowing grass, riding horses out on the farm.

Memories remain, tumbling and polished by time.

In dreams, I’m still a boy and the small town

Has never changed. Before morning, I know

My grandmother still lives, back in the years

Before cancer destroyed hope that love would last.

 

Then the edges splinter. The dinner bell rings,

Calling me inside for dinner, after which

There’s one last hour for lightening bugs,

Communicating in some silent commentary.

Then as bugs and stars are wearing down,

I say my prayers to Jesus, and the air is sweet,

Dreamy embers of the starry sky and sleep.

 

Feel the Breath of Silent Wind

This afternoon, clouds drifted
Across horizon of distant hills,
Moved not only across field of vision
But seemed to enter into my life.

They did not carry rain.
These clouds did not bring storms
But lingered over water into evening,
Adding color that signaled coming night.

It made me think the word of God
Might sometimes be quite small—
Perhaps as wide and vast as clouds
Or as small as a kiss or song…

If you shed tears when clouds appear,
Then new shadows and effervescent shapes
Haunt your hours of afternoon and enter dreams,
Bring heaviness to waves and dancing water.

Blink once, then twice to wash away all tears,
Feel breath of cool and silent wind
Whispering eternal questions echoing deep into heart
As world embraces, makes love to all of life—

Past the dimness of the dusk,
Toward birth of stars that perhaps
Hold the only answer to the storms,
Brings a breeze that hovers, then gently rustles leaves.