Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

The Lost Parts of I

i am the scattered one
fragments cast
across the cybersphere
a million pieces of me
invisible
mixing with you
over my head
in the air
like silent wraiths

i am everywhere
and nowhere
omnipresent
without divinity
immortal
in search of my soul
my essence
sucked from
me by vampire
screens

i am the silent one
removed to the cave
away from the
false gods
of fire and wind
and storm
drawing deeper within
to call
a quiet shout

like bats
the lost parts
of i
hear and begin
their returning
to me
like smoke
in the bright
red morning

Posted in Musings and Reflections

Listening to recess while waiting at Checkers

My Latino friends who taught me how to (really) play checkers called it a “chanchito” (piggy) when you were able to trap your opponent’s piece so it could not move.

The distinctive checkerboard decor of the Checkers where I wait outside for a burger reminds me of those long ago days at the drop-in center playing games, trying to build peace between gangs.

At an elementary school across the street, I hear the screams of children at recess. I resist the urge to reach for my phone which is my goto habit when I am waiting. I would simply obsess over the news of the most recent school shooting.

Instead, I try to remain present to this moment of waiting. I feel the sun’s caress on my face. I think of life and checkers. I ponder why there seem to be no kings on this checkerboard, why it seems we all are chanchitos trapped in an endless cycle of violence.

I mourn.

I remember.

I wait.

I pray.

I listen intently to the joy of children at play.

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

the shadow knows

sometimes i feel like
i am a shadow of
who i once was
captured by memories
of the lives i have lived
remnants of songs sung
play on in my head
and i want to push them
out again into the
light of day

it is difficult
to remain in the shadows
to wrestle with what
is ego and what is call
what to dream of
what to let go
to wait for the summons
and still stay awake
and open to the voice
that speaks in
bright riddles
of silence

Posted in Prayers and the Sacred

I Am

I am the creature crying at 4am.

I am the sleeper who responds with grace.

I am the relief that comes with the release of waste.

I am the grateful lick I taste.

I am the watcher in the chair far away.

I am the room in a healing place.

I am the father who waits for the phone call.

I am he with hands for a face.

Posted in The Sunday Driver: Life in the Slow Lane

This Silence and Crackling Hum

Yesterday, as I was entering the convenience store the guy behind me was singing pretty girl. He seemed to know the guy behind the glass. They did a fist bump as I got change for the vacuum cleaner outside. The car was a mess, having collected the refuse of these troubled days, and I needed to get it ready for a returning passenger.

This morning, the car again empty of recently departed riders, I passed a cameraman and reporter standing in the the glare of the morning sun, waiting for the cue, their time spent in pause so much longer than a five minute story.

I long to keep my finger on play but inevitably it is removed and I wonder when the video of life will start up again. I listen for the sound of reconnection.

Yet often I am left with the silence of waiting, interspersed with a crackling hum as the dirt I’ve collected from this earth disappears into the depthless grace of an everpatient God.

Posted in The Sunday Driver: Life in the Slow Lane

Your Moment Will Come: A Double Haiku On Mindful Driving

In mindful driving,
impatience’s not a virtue.
Your moment will come.

In the line of cars,
if you wait past the small gaps,
there’s a place for you.

11/2007

Posted in Prayers and the Sacred

The End of All Things Broken

image

This waiting is the kind
that stands at table
ready to serve,
these hands filled with
the coming feast,
these feet rushing out
to bring everyone in to this
place of healing warmth,
this mouth shouting
out an invitation,
Come!
All you who are thirsty,
    come to the water!
You who have no money,
    come, buy grain and eat;
Come, buy grain without money,
    wine and milk without cost!
Come!
Taste and see that Lord is good!
     Oh, the joys of those who take refuge in the Lord!

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Heiwa Haiku #32

stop banging your head ~
a hard door will not open ~
you must turn the knob

Posted in Leaves on the Poet Tree (Poems)

Gate 5

image

Traveling
like life
involves
a lot of
waiting.

One must
become
adept at
more than
simply
killing
time.

The
hours
given
to us
are
too
precious
for
such
a slow
death.