Sunday, November 25, 2012

absolutes

in the land of absolutely
absolutes rule the realm
things are always never
but never always will overwhelm

in the land of absolutely
absolutes accent the air
you hate to love anything
and love to hate what's unfair

in the land of absolutely
absolutes shadow the scene
of your bests becoming worsts
and worst best caught in between

in the land of absolutely
absolutes fly on a whim
you are certain of forever
and forever certain it is dim

in the land of absolutely
absolutes control each step
you are least of the most likely
to mostly think least of the prep

in the land of absolutely
absolutes hover in a cloud
the final end of each passing emotion
is in the end finally spoken aloud

in the land of absolutely
absolutes carry no weight
the impossible becomes possible,
the possible is always impossibly late


Wednesday, November 21, 2012

doxology

growing pains.
the stretches
and strains,
that You know i need.
the remolding.
the gentle reshaping,
with Your plan unfolding,
at just the right speed.

hazy sight.
uprooted life:
horizon of midnight,
but Your hand's right there.
past and future war,
the present fights back,
i seek the hidden door,
of Your, not my, answer to prayer.

i must let go
lean upon
and grow
accept Your timing as best.
listen, not speak,
wait patiently,
accept what's weak,
to find Your peace, and rest.

despite distraction
procrastination
and over reaction
and the constant obsessing
i celebrate confusion
praise temporarily hurt
give glory to the intrusion
of my blindness blessing


Thursday, November 15, 2012

bits


it shadows like
stray issues of magazines unread
rows of potted plants grown dead
a hung calendar expired and blank
the glass of water no one drank

it hovers like
dust thick on picture frames
a fireplace without flames
spider webs on a window sills
cabinet full of long-expired pills

it feels like
coins lost inside the couch
a stretch after a long-held crouch
a undeveloped film roll, forgotten
a bowl of fruit, shriveled, rotten

it speaks like
half written love letters, unsent
a room coated in a musty accent
candles burned down to the wick
three coughdrops left from the sick

it echoes like
an empty locket
a single penny in a pocket
the last leaf that falls
a "you have no missed calls"   

it remains like
forgotten bobby pin, lone on the tiled floor
weathered t-shirt, hung on the bathroom door
the squeak of a rusty hinge
a sweater with a moth-eaten fringe

it haunts like
dog-eared, yellowed pages
empty bird cages
a rusted engagement ring
baking soda for a bee sting

it is like
a light bulb burnt out
a dripping leak from a spout
all those books left unread
the tone of the line gone dead

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

rest


stolen.
borrowed time that
none can borrow,
with the silent intensity
of the foreboding morrow

lost.
much to much time
in wind-blown pensivity:
waves of murmurs,
ceaseless activity.

parched.
the shelved water jar
recalled, but lukewarm,
amplifies the thirst
for being reborn.

worn.
wounds become scars
from the bleeding
from the prolonged denial
of deepening needing

recognition.
the voice never lost,
but never quite found,
that whispers
in a most familiar sound

breathless.
silent heartbeats
felt from cold finger tips,
cheeks winter-rosy
as rain slowly drips.

cold.
breath like smoke.
hands pulled inside sleeves.
fearing guilt and regret,
which are ever thick as thieves.

anxious.
horizons shrouded
in fog-blurreed sight,
ground feels unstable
until dawn’s early light.

comfort.
be present. be still.
with knees pulled to the chest
listen. wait. remember.
trust and be at rest