Choosing Life

Energy holding back energy,

consuming itself --
reaction sparked long ago
by an adult's mad compulsion
to overwrite a child;
tender buds of truth
cast rudely underfoot
before they could blossom,
spontaneity shamed,
innocence mocked --
theft whose underlying script,
tenacious and annihilating,
continued to plunder the years:

"You, as you are, have no right to be."

But I answer now
(for it is never too late):
I am.

Of Tunnels and Walls

"Today" is like an enigmatic tunnel,

bright and without visible walls,

giving the illusion of

an unobstructed view;

meanwhile,

numerous peripherals
drawn in yesterday's colors

hide behind shadows

that I cannot see,

elusive bricks 

of a forbidding wall

as dense as it is

invisible.

Who can see, after all,

that which one has

forgotten?

Shades of Person

Shades of person

rushing in,

slipping out,

causing a din.

Shades of person

sharing space,

nature torn

behind one face.

Shades of person,

sisters and brothers,

joint knowledge of some things

and not of others.

Shades of person

plus one empty shell:

Guardian only,

but who could tell?

Trenches 101

Face-front, face-right,
face-left, face-back;

or better -- just spin, instead.

The goal:  To scan
all four directions

with eyes in the back of your head.

Do it promptly, do it fast,
do it subtly, do it well --

do it over and over again.

Repeat when you hear a branch break

or a rustle round the bend.

Be alert to shadows looming,

especially back-left or back-right.

Listen for unnatural sounds

as twilight fades to night.

Watch your head and watch your feet

and check from side to side:

Basic instinct protocol

when one can't run and hide.

In the Grip

Awakened! --

to the night holding its breath,

past having entered

while I slept,

air electric

with watching and being watched,

molecules observing molecules observing something (me?) --

something past 

and

something present

jelling . . .

stalkers of empty space

formless, pulsing,

humming mutely.

Hearing their eyes

(through a sense I cannot explain),

I dare not move

for fear of being

seen.

At Bay

The fissure is felt daily

as I move from hour to hour,

an opaqueness in back references

over which I have no power,

a blank between the shorelines

of the old life and the new,

stretching forth to hold at bay

cogent links between the two.

Memory plays hide-and-seek

with signposts abruptly showing

then vanishing all over again --

stashed away beyond my knowing.

Feline Flash

Shadow below,

movement underfoot --

eyes check.

Perhaps the cat. 

But no. 

Silent holder of secrets, 

diminutive guardian
long asleep in the earth,

what (perhaps I should wonder),

did the cat know?

Islands

Fragments of a common source,

islands of awareness --

one near,

one far;

one mine,

one not mine . . .

perhaps hers.

And poetry

won't explain her --

she, who, like a spooked horse,

was stopped dead in her tracks
and remains there,
frozen.

The Death of Curiousity

People often see bits and pieces of something in a person, hear bits and pieces of something from a person, and walk away with just those bits and pieces.

The amazing thing is how often this is accepted as truly "knowing" somebody.

Invisible Chains

Under the roof of an unjust man,

peace is shackled,

hostage to the whims

of an unguarded

conscience.

Imprint

Once you've read a passage
of truth in a face,

that page stays inside you;

you won't lose your place. 

Alternative View

Hives here, hives there, hives everywhere,

running rampant through my days,

new cycle of reactions

spinning wildly through the maze,

that maze of thought and feeling

newly awakened -- present and past;

strange sensations, new formations

of realities meeting at last.

How, though, to stop the itching --

heightened awareness "under the skin?"

Perhaps the answer's not "out there" --

perhaps I'll look within.

The Desert

It seems that the preparation for truly great things often takes place in searing loneliness.

The Seeing

When you find yourself

in blinding pain

and you're all choked up

so you can't explain,

let them think what they will,

let them judge you all wrong --

the ones who care

will see you're not strong.

They'll look back and look hard, 

they'll ask and check twice,

they'll glimpse the tears

behind the ice. 

Thank God for those

who pause to care,

thank God they ask,

thank God they're there.

The Real Question

The question isn't, "Is this job good enough for me?"  The question is, "Am I good enough for this job?"

Am I docile enough to sweep the street, pump the gas, clear the tables, stack the books, wash the dishes, or collect the garbage with the clear understanding that this is the job which, today, God has given to me?

Will I have the integrity to perform this job with honor and cheer?  Will I avoid "cutting corners" out of laziness, disdain, or shame?

If so, my work will become my prayer and source of dignity:  God will be glorified.

Greatness of Mind

Truth, not dependent upon intelligence, is a free gift available to every human being.  The measure of a truly great mind is its ability to appreciate, with respect and humility, truth as it is revealed by minds of all shapes and sizes.

Beauty, Please Teach Me

Beauty, please teach me your gracious ways:

how to bend and not break,

how to touch and not shatter,

how to rejoice, respecting sorrow,

how to weep, still open to joy,

how to love, never counting the cost . . . 

that I may be richer for knowing you.