Hope

“Hope takes us entirely out of this world while we remain bodily in the midst of it. Our minds retain their clear views of what is good in creatures. Our wills remain chaste and solitary in the midst of all created beauty...”  Thomas Merton, No Man Is An Island

Clear and whole, 

the moon waits,

patient,

solitary self

chastly gazing

on the blazing east 

on the new sun,

the good day.

(3 July 2012)

Christmas Eve, After Mass

The light from the tree

throws gold on my

dark wall.

Night lurks, but

thin windows

keep the wind at bay

as day flows faithfully

to day.

So we wait

for the exuberant sun

to spill reckless warmth

over the grateful Earth.

Life is a prize,

a gift of great value

gold given by the eastern king

to the newborn

child.

So receive it!

Your faith

has saved you.

(24 December 2010)

Listen to That Darkness

"Oh, listen to that darkness, listen to that deep darkness, listen to those seas of darkness on whose shores we stand and die. Now can we have you, peace, now can we sleep in Your will, sweet God of peace? Now can we have Your Word and in Him rest?" Thomas Merton, A Book of Hours.

+++++++++++++

I'll wait in this bright room.

Night rages, windows fade

to none,

and trees bend, thrashed

by your love-song.

For you I'll wait -

Oh when, oh

when

will you come?

(23 Aug 2013)

Transition

The generals line-up, war-plans

in withered hands, ready to strike

the children.

But do not fear this transition!

For above the black clouds, know that He lingers,

Ready to strike!

Then will the blind see and the deaf hear.

Then will we leap for joy

As the mute break forth

In song!

Isaiah 35: 1-6A - 10.

(10 Dec 2016)

Stones in the Darkness

stones in the darkness

cold, unseen, the wind above

my wooden fence sighs

silence in the night;

I hear only my hushed breath,

feel my waning life.

(12/26/2013 - 10 Dec. 2016)

Debate

The man of science said
that in the beginning
there was nothing,
when
obeying some quantum urge,
suddenly everything
emerged..

and that was all.. .

that was just
the way it happened... no need
for God...just cold, hard
cosmic law.

But the poet,
hearing his breath
rush deep within his lungs,
feeling his heart pound in anticipation,
says to his beloved,

“Ha! I found You!”

(24 April 2014)

They Seek You in the Storm

They seek you in the storm

riding high above the lightning, striking

the yielding earth with your fire.

In fields of the dead; in

seeds flung deep -

the generations unknown,

they seek you

in the stars

coldly staring,

your imagined face

in the emptiness of

interstellar

space.

But I know you. 

Lurking

in my lonely night,

alone, I seek.

(31 March 2014; 8 Dec 2016)

terminator

In Memoriam John Glenn: July 18, 1921 – December 8, 2016

Thin line of night, 

edge of living light,

inevitable

as God's mighty hand, 

wipes clean 

this dirty slate

to begin again

a clear, new day.

**

New Year's Eve, 12/31/2011

grace

Hail Mary

full of grace

you are

filled with grace,

with grace

fill me

in streams

of yes

draw me

to where you are

to where He is

among wo-

men,

yes,

among men

blessed

fruitful, grace-

fully gliding

through the

dark veil

at the hour

of yes

to my

death,

amen.

(29 December 2012)

Life...by itself

“Life…by itself has neither purpose nor fulfillment.“ Thomas Merton

Fill my day
with soft breezes.

I hear the birds call;
singing bees
swarm
with the pleasure
of the sting.

Oh! Let me breathe deeply
the innocent air!

Minute by minute
force my life
through thin membranes,

for in the end
sleep will lead me
to bright seas, dreams
of fading mist;

then
fill it full
with your love!

(28 July 2013)

silent night

stones in darkness

the cold wind sighs.

O hear my prayer

on this silent night!

the faint breath

of waning life.

November 1978

i.
November lies in wait, violent month
stripping life from the garden
wind ripping leaves from living trees.

So much can happen after the harvest,
life can be broken,
the grave made rich.


ii.


Kennedy rode exposed in the cold Dallas sun
when a bullet ripped the November air, and
dark winds ran riot through fields of heaven,

dirty cyclones scattering dust
into our stinging eyes

and we cried under the black crepe
draped over blank, empty windows.























iii.



November, 1978, loomed large
in the twilight haze as we waited
and uneasily watched the news.

In thirsty Jonestown
the November heat swelled
the bodies of black children,
huddled in the arms of still mothers,
empty paper cups strewn on the ground
dripping purple Kool-Aid, happy drink for a hot day,
poisoned with bitter megalomania.

The stench of fear
permeated Geary Boulevard,
filling the looming, empty halls
of the People's Temple.

Protected by the glass wall of my television
I observed this distant slaughter
my eyes spared from the sting
of personal tears.


iii

But November soon became personal,
and quickly took my father
and left me stunned,
empty and cold as frozen Ohio.




Bad comes in threes,
and in my rented car,
on the way home from the cemetery,
I heard of bloody mayhem in San Francisco,
madness splattering City Hall,
in the thick blood of Moscone and Milk,
struck down on a cloudy
November day.

(22 Nov. 2013)

Changes

Bird song rises 

in pure, liquid waves

as golden leaves

arc, twisting

to the ground.

Heavy gold

must fall.

October heat

will give way 

to winter rain.

Yet inevitably life flows 

like the breeze

rising from the broad sea

to the high Sierra;

grey clouds rise

and heavy snow falls.

All living waters

give praise.

(5 Oct 2010)

Rain blurs my windows

Rain blurs my windows

melting color into color,

green grass merging

to luxuriant red blooms.

Golden leaves

fly wildly to the grass

and make of the lawn

a mottled carpet,

waiting for a brighter day

when my rake will scrape

them all into tall, brittle piles.

But today is a good day

to stay inside,

warm and dry.

(24 Oct. 2010)

She Sits in the Old, Red Chair

She  sits in the old, red chair

feet up, the red crush of the ottoman

giving rest to tired ankles.

At ninety-nine, her face is lined

and thin, cheekbones jut beneath

piercing young eyes, as hands, 

thin, pale skin barely concealing

vein and bone, lie in repose in her lap

as we talk, remembering all the days

and find her mind a crystal stream

vibrant, alive with a life of love

filled with places past 

and people gone.

Chocolate Hills

the green world drinks

the blue sky dry;

life’s tender leaf declines

while ancient cambrian

fire survives.

(17 March 2013)

The Homecoming

When you were in Vietnam

we got your letters, two or three at once

and then the whole house buzzed like a nest

of honey drunk bees as we poured over

your every word.

We kids imagined you, strong, tough,

blazing with righteous American fury

cutting down those dirty commies,

but Mom and Dad

read each letter more slowly

glancing at each other

with darker looks.

Then one day we got the recording you made,

tiny plastic reels, shiny brown tape wound

in fragile loops; your voice!

just like you were in the room, speaking

re-assuring, everyday chat about R&R

and shopping in Bangkok. Finally,

the tape nearly spent, you said that

you were coming home soon.

And one bright July morning

you came home! Your hat was rakishly tilted,

a Lucky cigarette carelessly drooping

from the corner of your grinning mouth,

all paratrooper swagger, gold braid running

through your buttoned shoulder loops,

colored ribbons and medals all over your chest.

As you walked through the door

I stood aside, awestruck, shy.

You sat like a visitor in your own home

and we opened the packages you brought for us,

Christmas in July, as one by one we held

our Asian wonders, and watched

as Mom held your hand and

Dad searched your eyes.

But you were tired, so upstairs in my room

you took a midday nap, and when Mom told me

to wake you up for supper, I nudged your shoulder

and you bolted,

breathless,

down the steps,

into the quiet street

and stood at tense attention,

(the neighbors all gawking),

as you waved your M-16

made of air

and memory,

and waited

for the morters

to fall

and kill us all.

Then the light returned to your eyes.

Slowly you walked back to the house

and gently took me by my shoulders

and told me to never,

never

touch you when you were asleep,

and I never asked you why.

(11/11/2010)

Birther's America

Sit in dark rooms

as Fox news

complains

that the President

is really from Mars,

hell-bent on preventing

our Saturday-nights

from being

special.

We have the Constitutional right

to carry death

like a flask

in our hip pockets.

But this foreigner

wags his black finger

and calmly spews

sense

like spit

on our red necks.

So the plan is to wait

patiently

until the day

all these bleeding hearts

are dropped, one by one,

by lone

assassins,

and in the end,

alone in our darkness,

we…will…win.

(9 April 2011)

Sunset on All Soul's Day

Sunset glows
over sharp, dark ridges

rich with vermilion
and ruddy blush

as gathered souls stretch
incarnadine fingers

in clouds sweeping  down
blessing bleak coastal hills.

For their love arises
from the raw, bleeding sun,

their golden breaths
coalesce
into pure, lucid song.

(1 Nov 2011)

Prayer for All Souls Day

Oh fill me with your

sacred fire.

I long to rise from

this moldering pyre, 

but I'm trapped

beneath the dying sun.  

Your love

is just beyond my reach, 

and sight fails  

as I falter 

and back 

to basic earth

fall.  

O, lift me

with your mighty hand

and once again

I'll live.

(1 Nov. 2013)

Storm Clouds in October

Grey,

torn, and twisted

they fill the sky

with the slow motion

of gods.

Scraping hills

rising past the dry heights

they promise rain

and new life.

(25 Oct. 2016)