I thought I was going to build on the first poem – instead this was produced – perhaps another take?

Struggle
Is it possible to be jealous of one’s own life?
To step back and realize you’ve been missing out?
Somehow it’s as if I’m like those people who have described
the near death experience floating

Above
the body watching the family cry, “Don’t
go”
Only this time it’s me who is
crying next to me
Lying, and I
watch above, curiously
removed from the whole situation
Yet still tied in like a phantom body part that itches
“I could have sworn it was there”

Is that contentment
or resignation?
Could jubilation
Be confused with desolation?
Sometimes the faces look the same
Ever wonder if “The Scream” is not in horror?

Is
there an end
to
possible?

This armor that is speedily texting around me
surrounds me
frowns on me
drowns out me
until the coffin closes

Suppose possibilities lie in restlessness?
Suppose
The harm of contentment
The charm of contentment
Is a seduction
of the senses

“You are getting very very sleepy”

Here’s a piece I’d like to work on or work out. But these are the beginning thoughts, and maybe in the next couple weeks I’ll do something with this.
Anyway, I wrote this almost exactly three years ago.  Interesting. I’m not entirely sure that I wasn’t writing what I hoped to some day be true…

I have learned
Finally
To build time into contentment.
I have learned
Ultimately
To contend with the moment
And I am none the worse for wear.

I just discovered this in one of my random notebooks: another work in progress I guess – this is a little more free-flowing thought – and really, sometimes I just miss my Grandma…

Just Socks

I have a pair of socks – ridiculous thin, threadbare socks with pictures of coffee mugs
with a hole (or holes)
in the toe (or toes)

But I hesitate to throw them away.

I inherited them from my grandma in 2004 – (perhaps too official of a statement)
I really just took them from her drawer – the day after her funeral,
while my mother and Aunt Marge sifted through
Grandma’s belongings: clothes, jewelry, books, socks…

My grandpa stayed safely in his study

I don’t wear them anymore – until I forget about the holes and put them on and when I do, I remember why I don’t and then again, why I don’t throw them away…

so many holes
so long ago… eight years

Who knew how long she had them
or where she even bought them (probably at a garage sale)

I’d never seen her wear them

Because really: Grandma always wore thick socks
with big chunky
bright white shoes

She moved in those shoes
like she would
live forever
in those shoes

And we were all surprised to find ourselves
sorting through
her clothes –
the blue elastic-waisted pants
the thin flower-print shirts

And there’s Mitzy, Grandma’s shitzu, panting by the door
mustache-covered in three day’s feeding
watching us
wondering, I’m sure,
where is Grandma?

We too sit watching, wondering around the drop-leaf table
eating through canned beans,
homemade grape juice,
and freezer jam – made in 1994
by Grandma’s hands –
– still good
– still Grandma

Those sturdy white shoes, standing on the iron grate;
the whole house, still Grandma,
always was, always will be

It’s just socks
but I feel sorry as I watch them
float thinly into the plastic bag
ready to be taken away
on Wednesday, garbage day.

It’s been too long since I posted a poem – here’s kind of a fun one I did awhile back…

Reflection on I

A
Mirror: Roar Rim
Motion-less
sell notions
Skirt Tricks (and DNA)

sort
toss
show-woes
school-looks

warm
mmm
raw

bird-priq nets I’ll… I listen

Smeared middim dreams
River of forever

Part Trap

So..it’s been a while since I posted, so Easter is as good a time as any.  Each year, I try to spend some time reflecting on Christ’s death and resurrection and what this whole Gospel thing means to me.  That being said, I have been delaying it and didn’t really start working on a poem until a couple days ago – but here is a product of my mulling:

Once there was despair
a void, a darkness
Now the Word spoken into being
brings hope, filling, light

Once there was the law
the “do”s, the “don’t”s
the punishment for crimes
Now there stands the cross
a reprieve, one word
“PAID”

Once a command to sacrifice our “Isaac”
Our nearest love to prove
our faith
Now replaced by
the last-moment lamb
“Stay thy hand”
there is a greater sacrifice

Once the wrath of God
a necessary answer to that choice
in Eden long ago
Now poured out on His Son
A promise fulfilled
a plan completed
Death’s sting: gone.

Once a forbidden room
the Holy of holies
the throne of God
Now open to all
a curtain: ripped
the High Priest: broken
the distant God
brought close.

Once the law
Now the blood
Once brokenness
Now healing
Once fear
Now presence
Once chasm
Now confidence

Once…me.
Now Christ.

Wrote this last year, Christmas 2010

300 years of silence

Waiting
A star, millions of lives away,
Preparing
Revealing
A path to a manger
Waiting
For all who are seeking
Truth.

Now Winter – the seasons are passing too fast – not sure why this year, it seems so much more so – here is my Autumnal poem:

I have fallen into
Autumn missed the summer
for enjoying the spring before winter

suffocates
I will try to let the colors
paint my soul
the veins of the leaves
imprinted firmly upon

– a druid’s dream –

Now in sweaters
now in hats
now in coats and gloves
they move on by
they move on by

I have failed Autumn for the longing
of the summer
Winter’s layering over spring
the great year’s causeway

Block letters
– strength against the grey –
I am Helvetica Bold

Watching bystanders
swoosh on
plaid coats
fall scarves
glowing cigarrettes
they move on by
they move on by

into a bus station’s silence.

Recently, I was asked to give my “Why?” I work at World Relief.  Here is part of my answer. Kind of similar to the first poem I posted (Hope)  (Also – shameless plug: visit World Relief at www.worldrelief.org)