two new poems

A Sunday

I
arrived
to
find
the
Body
dis
membered:

the Feet more than
a few from

the Eyes, avoiding
contact with

the Arms that
couldn't reach

the Mouth, which refused
to speak to

the Ears, entirely
deaf to

the Head and the Heart,
pleading for unity.

We took our seats—
a pew to each—
begging for the LORD to touch
while dreading any other such.


You (you)

You’re You, but from the way i
close my eyes, refuse to get behind,
cover my ears, mutter my lies,
You’d think i thought You were you.

a heavy Hand high above
that could crush, or move, or love,
yet i pass over as if It were anchored
to the arms of a beggar, outstretched:

a sorry feint to faintly jingling pockets,
remorseful smile, (a look in the eye
to let him feel alive)
then passing by, no guilt, no memory.

you’re you, but from the way i
forget that old coat covers the Divine
(which i forget i claim to keep inside)
you’d think i thought you were You.

and what if i unblocked
my ears to You,
who asks me to find
You in every you?

25 Page Poetry Project Sampling

I had to write 25 pages of poetry for my creative writing class. Here is some of it.

York Harbor

Down by the ocean
on the rocks
where the crashing,
rolling, tumbling waves,
the warm breeze
and the night
spotted with stars
took the time away,
we sat in silence.

Down by the ocean
in the dark
where the sinking,
floating, anxious thoughts
spun my head
and the sand
clung to my socks,
we talked it all
into stillness.

Down by the ocean
side by side
where the painful,
awkward, stark truth
remained, knowing we
were only nothing
but still everything,
I thanked God for
airplanes to bring you back.


Highway Evangelism

I was in the third lane
and, in his defense,
the needle was barely
breaking seventy.

I was in the third lane
and couldn’t help but notice
the tiny metal fish
stuck to his bumper.

I was in the third lane
and will never quite forget
the rudest gesture, his eyes
filled with hate.

I moved to the second lane
and quietly considered
removing Christian keepsakes
from my car.


A Cold Night

Smoke and pain twist
Toward the skylight (shut)—
Like the one in my room as a kid
When falling asleep I’d watch
The moon framed by astronaut walls—
And they fill the closed-in porch.

It’s freezing out with my
New coat, the freezing
Where you watch your

Breath (and pain twist
Toward the skylight [shut]—
Like the one in my room as a kid
When, falling asleep, I’d watch
The moon framed by astronaut walls—
And they fill the closed-in porch)

Dissipate into the vacuum
Of cold and marvel that
It’s not already ice.

But the pipe—a gift
From two halves that
Used to (maybe) not be
So halved; who can wrap a box
But keep separate houses—is warm
And something sweeter to taste.

Struck with the sharp finality
Of the interminable:
So smoke and pain
And breath and pain
And anything, and everything,
And pain.


Guilty

I remember once feeling guilty
For having no sad story to tell.

Now I only feel guilty
For having felt guilty.


Constellation
(for Dad)

I still trace Orion
Every winter night
When the stars oblige
And remember the first time
You filled in the lines.

Showed me the belt
The shoulders, the sheath,
The head and the feet, perfect
As if, when I had looked away
You moved them all to fit that shape.

You couldn’t have known,
And you needn’t understand,
But on cold evenings,
I find the piece of sky
My father signed.


Toss-Up

You’re a toss-up between
A flickering bulb and
A closing comet.

The bulb just needs
A turn or two
To tighten some
Loose connection;
Then you’ll be bright.

The comet, on the
Other hand, circles
In slow cycles
Until finally
Burning up.

I’ve seen the way
Your light undulates:
Predictable, celestial,
But hope still sends prayers
For the flicker.


Again

Take me back
To the hill
We’d sled
Between the fence
And the porch
When youth was new
To waste on youth.

Bring me back
To the trails
That wound behind
The town we never,
Never thought once
We’d ever
Ever leave.

But now it’s lost
To time and age
And age brought pain,
Real pain;
Real pain then brought
The drugs that dragged
Those friends away.

And now I’m left
With snowy days
Remind of when
We’d waste our days
Our days I wish
I wish again
Again again.


From “The Dead”
a (found) poem

His soul swooned slowly
As he heard
The snow falling faintly
Through the
Universe and faintly
Falling

(Covering all but
Revealing all
the same)

Like the descent
Of their last end
On all the living
And the dead

(Praise God
For the day
When this all
Melts away).


Poor Parenting

I learned today
That parents
Petitioned
To have the Cookie
Moster changed.

Apparently, the
Obese oaf was
Slacking on his
Duties in rearing
Their children,

Letting them into
The sweets. But
Never fear, the
Veggie Monster’s here
To raise kids right.


We’re Not Doing Any Favors

The paper said
A schizophrenic son
Killed his caring mom,
Believing her to be
A terrorist.

It didn’t note
The psychiatric ward
That stole his sanity
In deeming his state sufficiently
Sane to leave;

Because when he does
Begin to come down,
The grief alone
Is all he’ll need to bring
Him back around.

But we live in a
Humane society
Where we oblige to let
The cancer itself decide
If it should cease,

And redefine
Insanity to mean
You’re fully capable
Of opting for the half-life
You will lead.


And It Will Be the Sign of the Covenant Between Me and the Earth

Sometimes I thank God
for rainbows—

not because they’re
pretty or pleasing,
but because of the
promise to Noah—

because sometimes I wonder
if I’d make it onto the ark.


Sermon

The preacher spoke of
Healthy, wealthy, and happy,

And I couldn’t keep my mind
From wandering down
The road marked with suffering,
To crosses, camels
And the eye of a needle

As he explained that faith
Was a bank account
In which the smart investor
Accrues interest
On his deposits.