house of the warrior
*Hale Koa, Honolulu
waterfalls, pools, waikiki shores
for those who stand and fight
for the rest of us.
arizona resting place where
too many died, now beneath
the phosphorescent waters
and we recline and thank
God for the grace of
simple heroism.
—————————
11.10
the burnt golden color
leaks through the glass
and ice gives the illusion
of more or less
depending upon how my
taste buds are feeling
about temptation at the
moment
choices, choices, sitting
by the fire.
————————–
11.9
birds are huddling on
the feeding tube perches
for food and protection
as the blasts chill in,
shivering in the shrubbery
to generate body heat,
as if the fire of life was
not enough on its own
to make the difference.
my heart aches to bring them
inside to warmth, but they
would only flail against
the captivity and die.
we do most anything
to live free.
——————-
11.8
he arrived on a bicycle, wool
hat, scarf wrapped, and we
shared coffee.
santa without elves anymore,
a life of jolly business overrun
by the mistakes.
and then he found Jesus, or Jesus
found him. so he is not dead
or homeless.
reaching out to others who’ve
hit the down, while he scrambles
and prays and thinks of plans
corn flakes for food banks, meditation
books for friends in jail, new
families at church.
santa without the elves. a mixed bag
of tricks upon his shoulder. he used
to build railroads.
buddy can you spare
a dime?
———————-
11.6
he asked for a hat.
I was there to give out
someone else’s peanut
butter sandwiches and
bag lunches on the first
snow day.
and the cap I thought I’d lost
was there, could’ve given it.
but I said no, don’t have a hat.
and like Peter, the cock crowed
for the third time
on the nobility of my caring.
not Jesus yet. not even
close.
——————————
11.5
first snow flakes dingle
down like visitors from
another planet
the walk home is soft
with expectation and
reverie
liminal time.
——————
11.4
her smile broke me
open the very first
time
sitting on the back
porch when I drove
up
and lighting up the
whole sun in my
sky.
years in the doing
asking, loving,
making
I only give thanks
that God sent her
anywhere
near to where I
lay.
——————-
11.3
the squirrels’ nests dangle high above
now visible in the denuded limb crooks,
pine needles, leaves, twig snips made,
they will sway and cling through winter’s
roughest blasts standing the tests
of wind and fury, cold and time.
how will I know when I have cobbled
together enough rings and wires and
gadgets of my life, to do likewise.
————————–
11.1
brass boxes, ashes and
names, surround the altar
where we gather to recall
into our midst those who
surround us
or is it they who gather
us into their circles of
presence when we
stop running as if we
knew all.
————————-
10.31
all saints eve
when the veil is thin
and long leggedy
beasties and ghoulies
and ghosties
make their last call
before the saints
flood in.
so where are the
zombies now, as if
we have lost our
human way and step
only through blood.
arise o saints and
bring us home to where
lives are whole and
souls no longer cry
in the night.
—————–
PoemsPerDay 