Poem – Drum up a shadow

Drum up a shadow for me
Mister Bones.
Drum up a ghost
of yesterday
or maybe
tomorrow.

Clothe her
in regrets, not rags.
Wrap her
in fear, not fibers.

I need a good scare.
I need a jolt to
my system.

She’ll remind me
with her moans
of forgotten lovers
who left
without saying
goodbye.

She’ll remind me
with her bony embrace
of all the children
I never had.

She’ll remind me
of all the things
I try to forget
and shouldn’t.

Every lesson is
repeated until learned
and I’m tired of being
surprised
and
sideswiped
by
these lessons

so it is time
to make time
for them.

Drum up a shadow for me
Mister Bones
It is time.

Poem – middle

I hate the middle bits
the in-between
the waiting.

I like starting school
and graduation
but not all the days
of work
in between.

I like getting a tattoo
and having one
but not the middle bit,
the healing time.

I hate this waiting
for her to die
from her cancer.
Each phone call, each text
could be the one
to say
she’s passed.

Life on pause,
in the middle,
isn’t a life
at all.

But it is the middle that
gets to the end.

It is the middle that is
the reason
for the beginning.

It is the waiting that
seasons the sauce.

Babies take
nine months,
not just for them
but also for us
to get ready
in body, mind, and soul.
If nothing else to make a room
ready.

We need these transitions,
these spaces between,
these middle bits.

They aren’t in the way.

They are the way.

Poem – three days

Jonah was in the whale three days.
By himself.
In the dark.
He didn’t know if he’d ever get out.

Jesus was dead for three days.

His disciples thought
it was the end.

Sometimes the wait is forty years.

Sometimes longer.

Redemption isn’t immediate.
It isn’t guaranteed,
either.

Trust that whatever is happening
is meant to happen.
Trust that whatever
is going to happen
is meant to happen
too.

Poem- thanks

Do you do nice things
because they are
the right thing
to do,

or

do you
do them
so that
you’ll get a thank-you note
and praise?

We all like
thank you notes.
We like
to know
that what we
are doing
is appreciated.

Sometimes, though,
you have to
recalibrate yourself
and understand
that what
you’re doing
is the reward
itself.

Poem – thanks for the hard teachers

I am thankful for all my hard teachers.

All the mean people
all the hard times
all the disappointments
all the loss
all the grief.

I’m thankful for all that I did not get
and when I got something
unexpected,
unwanted.

I am thankful,
for these are trials,
tests,
especially tailored
to teach me,
to strengthen me.

I know that I am being called
to learn how to

hear
what cannot be heard

see
what cannot be seen.

Know what cannot be known.

I am thankful.

Poem – Space inside

As if God
can be reduced
to things.

God is the
space between
things.

God is the
space between
us.

The atoms,
the neurons,
the quarks,

it is the energy
they have
that makes them work.

It is the stuff
inside the room
that defines it,
not the walls.

Likewise it is the energy,
the Spirit Within
that defines
us,
makes us
who we are.

Our bodies are shells,
our skin is just
a container
for the Spirit inside.

Skin color,
hairstyle,
clothing,
culture

– none of this matters.

Poem – Sad birds

Not every baby bird
learns how to fly.

Not every story
has a storybook ending.

Sometimes the ending
is the ending
and not a beginning.

It is healthy to know this.

It is part of knowing
what is,
of accepting
the truth.

Sometimes people
can’t
won’t
don’t.

Sometimes things break
and stay broken.

Poem – Naked before God

We have heard reports of people who have died
and come back to life
that there is a long tunnel
and a light at the end.

This sounds
exactly the same
as when a child
is being born.

When a child is being born
it goes through a tunnel
and there’s a light at the end.

Death and birth are the same.

They’re simply changes of consciousness.

They are steps from
here
to
there.

The soul does not die.
The soul is a piece of God.

The body is mortal, and decays.

When it is done, we discard it
like last season’s coat.
It no longer serves.
It no longer fits.

The weather is different
in the afterlife,
the other life.

We need shorts, or a skirt, or a sweater.

We have different shoes
for different places we go, too.

Hiking, boating, rafting, work
– all have different shoes.

There?

We need to be barefoot.

This is holy ground.

Except there, we not only
have to get rid of our shoes,
but also our clothes,
but also our bodies.

We have to take it all off.

It is that holy.

Only when nothing separates us,
when nothing is between us
and God
can we really be ourselves
with God.

Poem – the bell tower

The call won’t always be as easy
as a bell,
as a muezzin.

It isn’t always something that
all
can hear.

Is it like marching to the beat of a
different drummer?
What if you can’t
see
the drummer?
How do you know
where to go?

When all hear the call
and all move towards it,
it is easier.
But when
only I
alone
hear it,
I start to think that perhaps
I’m crazy.

But to not respond,
not move closer,
not act
in cadence
with that klaxon,
that clatter,

that is crazy.

I slip into that world so easily now.
It is like I’ve learned another language.
Or perhaps, I’ve finally remembered
my first one.

Poem – the meal of grief

Grief is a meal that must be eaten.

You cannot leave the table until it is finished.

You can cut it up
into tiny little pieces

or try to wolf it down

but either way you must eat it.

It is harder when it is cold
when you have waited so long
that your tears are the sauce.

It is impossible when it is fresh,
when it is raw.

Then your body barely has room
for breath,
much less anything else.

However it comes to you, it is your task.
No one else can do this for you.

However it comes to you
sit down
look at it
and accept it.

Give thanks for it.

For grief blesses you
and breaks you
and puts you in Communion
with God
and everyone else.

Grief is the great equalizer.
And the great humanizer.