Posted in Musings

The Work of My (Mind/Hands)

i have never been fully comfortable here
a jigsaw puzzle piece that doesn’t really fit
there is much of life i do not understand
thoughts that remain unresolved in my mind
the death of a friend
the revolutionary who has become a dictator
the elusiveness of peace
the responsibilities of life
the exhaustion that comes with striving to remain faithful
the sadness in your eyes
the memories of past lovers
the distance that remains between us
the dissonance between what is and what might have been

so i return to the space below
walk down the stairs
and step once again into the
familial craft of carpentry
the buzzing thoughts do not go away
yet somehow as the piece comes to light they become a part of its becoming
and there is a comfort in the creation
as the dust of wood the world over covers me in a baptism of mourning and joy.

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree

The Words That Arise

when my beliefs
fall around me
like leaves
when my body
aches with the
weight of the years
when i long for
the pains of this
mortal flesh
to be washed
from me with the
morning rain
which runs
down my windows
when this gray morning
is somehow comforting
to the withering one within
i turn again
to that which
has sustained me
over the years
the words that arise
from somewhere and
sprinkle down around me
like an oil of blessing
and in the scribbling
before i begin to fade
back into the
walking sleep
that is my
existence
i find that
what i know i must do
yet am somehow
paralyzed from doing
is somehow
a lighter thing
that alights upon
my shoulder
to whisper of what
it can be

Posted in The Sunday Driver: Life in the Slow Lane

Struck Dumb

there is still so much i want to say
so much i want to share
the conversations
lessons
sermons
stories
play on endlessly in my brain

yet my fleeces remain dry
the venues i sang in have all closed
my phone calls are not returned
my inbox remains empty
the podium is occupied
the microphone given to another

my words are thrown back in my face
and suddenly somehow i am the one in the wrong
my stories remain unfinished
while others form within the maelstrom within

i see what is incomplete
rooms in the midst of renovation
the refuse of life
projects left undone
art that i must pack away because there is no place for them here

unseen
unheard
my body left weak from a week of sickness
my mind ravaged by another betrayal in a long line of them

why i must work quietly here
unknown
i know not
but that is what i am being told

to be silent
to wait
to feed on the bread of life
to let that be my work

out of that labor will come my voice

Posted in Musings

Dear Reader (RE the stuff of life)

Dear reader,

I have been remiss,
lost in the stuff of life,
forgetting my bliss
for I am best when at rest and then when I rest in words.

This exercise is one way I pray,
an attempt to make sense of the nonsensical by simple discriptions of the everyday and so I have returned yet again to my inconsistent consistency,
resistent to the complacency that seeks to keep me asleep and lethargic,
divorced from the cathartic joy of contemplative writing.

So we begin again, you and I, hopefully to engage in the daily conversation I have missed.

That is my intention
in tension
with the stuff of life
and this…

Posted in The Sunday Driver: Life in the Slow Lane

Stranded in Nowhere

image

frustration finds me fuming again
I am not where or who I want to be
but as usual the heavy fuel of self reproach is too quickly spent and I am left stranded in a town called nowhere

the pay phone is missing its receiver
the cord hanging limp with wires exposed
mercy is on the other end but she can’t get through
and I’m stuck here on a lonely highway until I let the rage go like a semi rumbling by

These moments when I am forced to stop and reflect are not a waste.
Pulling back out onto the road I pick up a hitchhiker named grace.