Weary from So Much Seeking….

Not long ago, these hands
Planted flowers upon green Earth,
Worked in dirt and raised up beds,
Pulled weeds in hope that beauty
Would diminish distance,
Encompass you and all your pain…
Streams and rivers and oceans
Flowing blindly back into ageless time.
 
Now my flowers are covered with
An early snow and I am old and tired.
Energy is weak and veins are hurting,
Weary from too much seeking…
So many branches broken across the path.
Great distance from the head to heart,
From brow to waist to feet
At times no more immense than grains of wheat.
Still, treasures of love seem buried deep.
 
Shall I spend my life digging in the soil?
Planting new trees I shall never see
Explore the heights of blue sky and clouds?
But what else is there to do but love?
But keep walking, walking, walking…
Moving to heal the wounds
With calloused hands still bleeding—
Close whatever distance still separates
You from me, us from them, until….
We all are one again.

Heavy Laden, Bending Down to Earth

It is not fair for snow to come in late October,
Heavy weight upon branches of trees
Still bravely holding onto leaves….
Evergreens now forced to genuflect,
Touch the ground from too great a burden.
 
I empathize with what I see outside—
Identify with every lonely tree,
Heavy laden, bending down….
Many broken branches lying in the yard,
Waiting for me to drag away.
 
Outside in lingering light
Everything is white
As night looms in pale shadows on
What was yesterday green grass.
All I see is what remains— the poverty of fall,
The brokenness of what once withstood
Strong winds of spring, the August hurricane…
 
Waiting helplessly in warm rooms,
I pray selfishly that some falling limb
Will not take down my power—
At least not in this dark hour….
Hear the thud of falling snow on roof,
Dense and merciless as youth that
Cannot appreciate the struggles of
Old trees, long years in the making,
Now quickly crashing down to Earth.
 

Goodbye to Fall

 Yesterday the trees were splendid,
Wearing reds and yellows before their fall.
Still waters reflected twice their beauty.
Today, I watch a heavy snow
Cover red leaves of the maple,
Smoother all the shades of yellow on the elms.
There is the chill of thunder in the air.
 
Fall dies and winter arrives so quietly,
Except within the heart—
I do not want to say goodbye so quickly
To brilliant color on the hills.
I am not yet ready to welcome winter
White that bends the branches,
Freezes limbs that crack my trees,
Weight of snow more than they can bear.
 
Why does “goodbye” sometimes
Appear unwelcome anyway?
No warning, no sound of footsteps
As wind comes so silently at first,
Then takes my power away,
Leaving me in darkness….
 
 
 

My Lover’s Quarrel With the Church

 Some readers may not see this as a poem.
I don’t care.  I only know it rises as a cry—
Both of sorrow and of joy, directly from the heart,
Through the mind and out my hand, onto page
About my lover’s quarrel with the Church.
 
Recently, it was my honor to preside
At the first same-sex wedding in a Christian Church
In my little town of Ridgefield— where it is legal,
But where such weddings have before been held
Only in the synagogue or a private home or outside,
Under blue skies and blessings of God.
 
The Episcopal priest was only permitted by his bishop
To bless the union, but not officiate at exchange of vows,

                                                                 Nor could he sign the wedding certificate—

A thin line he could not cross, though we crossed ourselves
And said prayers over the marriage of Ann-Tricia and Celina,
Two radiant brides whose love and joy
Overflowed and blessed the hearts of everyone present.
 
Ted spoke during his homily of being in Durham Cathedral,
Where Saint Cuthbert is buried, safe from the raids of Vikings.
A thick black marble line runs the length at the back and
Most of the way down side aisles, to mark the place
Where women were not welcome, for they were not worthy
To enter further into such holy place as this.
 
‘Today, we honor the love and the courage of these two women
As they step over the line….
Witness before us in the saying of their vows
That love is real and eternal and holy.”  Tears ran down our cheeks—
Tears of joy on this historic occasion, whose time had finally come!
Thank God, Almighty.  We have overcome at last
Yet another barrier of hatred and prejudice….
In welcoming them, we welcome Everyone!
 
In every age, the black line is drawn to exclude—
Women, Jews, blacks, gays and lesbians, the outcast of
Whatever tribe is chosen next to receive our shadowed hate.
And it seems the Church is always there to bless the line,
To reinforce the teaching of whatever hate arises within the heart,
Justifies over and over the ugly shadow, the pogroms, the wars
That keep us separate and block our hearts from love.
 
This is my lasting Lover’s Quarrel with the Church—
That in every age we use the Good Book to find a rule
That favors one against the other, causes shame and hurt,
Anger and hate to thrive within our hearts.  She does not stand and
Shout “Enough!”  God blessed this world and called it good and
Every human face, every single one, carries
That holy image in his or her eyes….
When, O God, will we finally learn?
When will we open our eyes and see the Light?
 
 

I AM CATHEDRAL

I am a poet holding a pen.
I am a pen writing on paper.
I am a womb, ready to give birth.
I am a butterfly emerging from cocoon with fluttering wings.
I am an ocean with starfish on shore.
 
I am a bank of clouds ready to rain.
I am a desert, waiting, thirsty for rain.
I am a salmon swimming swiftly upstream.
I am a tall tree deeply rooted in soil.
I am a worm, tilling soil beneath the tree.
 
I am an empty cathedral with stained glass windows.
I am a white marble altar in the cathedral.
I am a gold chalice on the altar, filled to the brim.
I am a stone pillar, holding up the vaulted roof.
I am a hundred empty pews, waiting for people.
 
I am a white bone holding muscle in place.
I am a lung, pausing between each breath.
I am a heart steadily pumping red blood.
I am naked awareness poised within head.
I am a dream, while I am sleeping in bed.
 
I am a word forming in the poet’s mind.
I am a song the poet hears as he writes the poem.
I am the music back behind the song.
I am the rhythm making melody strong.
I am the tongue that helps the poet sing.
 
I am the silence that allows for deep thought.
I am the void filling the cosmos.
I am the calm within the dark storm.
I am the tear running down the cheek.
I am the wild thought, passing and gone.
 
I am a billion neurons flashing in the brain.
I am rays of light allowing the poet to see.
I am feet that move to dance.
I am love that allows grace to advance.
I am the Beloved visible within blind eyes.
 
I am a closed book, waiting to be read.
I am a continent slowing shifting by inch.
I am the Earth orbiting round.
I am the Sun shining brightly in sky.
I am the reliquary for the collective soul.
 
I am alone, sitting in the pew.
I am the bishop sitting on his throne.
I am the flame on every candle that blazes.
I am the prayer which inhabits the space.
I am the cathedral completely at peace.
 
 
 
 
 

Lights Obscure Deeper Sight

 Towns and cities leave their lights on every night,
Hope to banish darkness, prevent wrong from creeping into
Hearts and homes, but all I see are halos when I walk….
Stars more difficult to see as misty veil
Falls over cheeks and heaven.  Though stars are hidden,
Closer yellow ones flash on at dusk, off at dawn.
Are they uncombed, yellow strands of someone’s knotted hair?
Has Mary shined down so long her dark hair now
Blond— love burning, bleached, lengthy strands
Turned to glowing filament, lustrous in night,
Rubbing up against the clouds, electric,
Falling into shadows on the grass, eyelids blinking open,
Watching wild wings beating in the air?
 
How sad we do not stop to think that eyes are open wider
Only in the dark, pupils broad in unstoppable darkness that waits in
Sadness at the city limits… windows
Open or closed, we see white, tiny sparks that haunt dreams
Best when lights are off, in dark woods
Where we either fall or pay attention to small sounds,
Whispered sighs of the world that shimmer, transparent…
Naked encounters where the blind are granted deeper sight.

We Stand So Close We Touch, Yet Stand Apart….

For Althea Sometimes the air seems rich with blue,
A heavenly thing not of one, but two—
Standing here so close we touch,
Yet stand apart, allowing air to flow between.
 
The Earth seems so small at times,
So small I smell your skin, your breath….
Love the way you sometimes kick your heels,
Turn so quickly you seem to dance,
Then stop to gaze, dark eyes upon the distance.
I see you looking and know how much you love,
So fierce your prance, the way you
Sometimes braid your mane.  I love your very name.
 
I see the way you gaze upon the stars at night,
Graze all the way through twilight,
Electricity flowing in your flesh….
The way you sprint toward Sun in early morning.
It is no simple thing I see, the promises made,
Constructed of eternity, running in blue
Laughter through pastures of my heart.
You make me wish I could turn to the nearest star,
Sing a song of this unbearable need,
This familiar, unknowable thing I hold
So densely in my heart….  It is no simple thing.

October is the Time to Remember

As much or more than any other month,
October forces me to remember
That every life confronts eventual reckoning.
Just as trees lose leaves in fading light,
All my efforts stir the Earth,
Fall to ground, decay, enrich,
Work to mend whatever wound
 So growth be served next year.
 
Change advances within my very bones.
Everything I am is part of Earth—
 Beautiful, spinning sphere that alternates
From light to dark and back to light,
Helps resign the impudence of mighty will,
Until my mind lets go to contemplate
Greater wideness of infinity.
 
October is not the dead of winter.
It is time to harvest and be grateful—
Soon darkness comes, when brilliant color is done,
Slowly falling in an asking light.
Teach me what it is to serve,
That I may delight
Without fully knowing
All that is yet to come.
 

When Spirits Linger

I walked the dog late last night
Under waning full moon light,
An eerie mist hung heavy
In the mystifying, starless sky.
The lake’s receding shore
Weaved its way between the hills.
A silken shimmer moved and
Stopped to glimmer among
Black shadow of the trees,
Gave an enchanted sense
As though I had
Stumbled onto another world.
 
Long after I got home
I felt spirits linger,
Travel up and down my spine….
A cry of distant coyote
Crept upon the mountain slope,
Exact location hidden
Among a thousand secrets,
Kept vague and imprecise.

The striking of the clock
Marked hour of midnight,
Gave imagined summons
To the dog’s escaping sigh.
Have you seen a face or
Heard a cry or voice
Late on a misty October night?
Do you believe in omens?
Or merely serendipity to
Bring out of dark an epiphany—
An insight, a single clear thought, a vision
Quivering in the shadows of the mind….

The Wind of Love

A strong October wind is blowing.
I refuse to turn my back
In hope it may be Love
Flowing out of broken hearts
Still looking in the world
Not willing to wait for tomorrow.
 
My heart cannot be broken
By blowing wind and falling leaves.
What else is in the air?
Is there affliction in the feeling
I want more and more?
I love the smell, I hunger for the touch,
I yearn for another chance at love.
 
Tell me about you, about your heart…
Does love leave you wanting more?
Do you really want to hole up tight
And wait for yet another night?
Come and look into my eyes
As I look into yours,
Let’s see the wideness of the heart,
When strong winds begin to blow.