12.19
I fled my joys down through the years
they haunted my long days.
Lest they not be the best I thought,
the noble planting ways.
Until my misery grew so hard
I could no longer flee.
And when I stopped and broke
my heart,
my joy first found and then
saved me.
———————————
12.18
large black ovoids move in step
through the snow pack, wild turkey
feathered brutes spreading out
as in a hunt.
Franklin’s noble bird in charge of
their own lives, primal, ancient,
direct inhabitants of territories we
think of as our own.
when we leave, will their spectral
dinosaur selves still stalk the
landscape, stepping in tandem
roving packs across the land?
houses and electronic life-lines
mark our grounds. snow, cold, rain
and trees mark theirs, where time
seems to have changed nothing.
————————-
12.17
a face across the table
comfortable, warm,
heart giving.
hands holding utensils
fragile, strong,
familiar.
how we gather together
the pieces of ourselves
over time
only to find them
already
found
in another.
———————-
12.15
a little goat boy sits
on the toy cabin porch
that I built when a
child was on the way
and we counted down
the days and times
pasting wallpaper,
circling round clocks,
until the water broke
and we raced to the
holy cross of name
and deliverance
where the child arrived
after the rush to surgery
that left us spent and
numb and stunned.
the little goat boy sits
there still and the child
now goes about his life
beyond us
leaving us spent and
numb and stunned
at the fleeting of
moments.
——————————————
12.14
writing names on christmas
envelopes, faces, families
emerging to affect my choice
of card.
not all the same, the couple,
the baby, indian wise men
from afar, telling of hopes and
fears, friends past and now.
to choose a word, touch a
face, if only in memory.
movements of grace in
the moment of cards.
——————
12.13
New England church, snow
falling outside clear glass,
simple white openness strung
with greens. Words and music.
Low mystery building, altar,
candles, deep and sensate,
incense, dark wood, glass
aged in prayer. Heart.
The triune sender speaks into
each, formed by the inner
life of the receivers’ connect.
Incarnation incarnate.
————————————-
1211
Willy had him no idea nor
either so did Biff. Until life
forced the one to find. And
one to fall beneath the cliff.
——————-
12.10
crisp and clear, I shovel
a path to the baby Jesus
manger scene in our front
yard.
snow topping high upon the
plastic brows. wiseman,
wiseman, joseph, mary,
wiseman, baby Jesus waits
yet to come and make his way.
oh sparkler night, O decorations
simple, tell me that story now,
of why we wait and gaze
of why we stand and hope
for something in the darkness,
shining in the darkness lit by
the crystal way
waiting for those angels
shining in the darkness,
lit ever by the starlight
that fills and leads our stay.
———————
12.9
friends come by and
we talk. about bodies
and tests and pains.
big words go unspoken,
like cancer and chance
and statistical odds.
we play cards instead
and eat and joke like
everyday people.
because life and death
and odds and cancer
are just part of the deal
and we are friends, in
this together, day for
day and night.
———————————
12.8
the road to the hospital
is a lonely one when the
subject is yourself.
you need to do tests, you
need to go there right now
thank you.
so you let out the dog and
make sure the cat has water
before going.
and try to leave a note on
the blackboard that is not
too scary.
out, call me when you see
this. love and hugs, love and
OMG.
on the way back after, the rolling
disc-harrowed fields are all the
more beautiful.
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PoemsPerDay 