He carved a headboard out of pine
And shaped it til’ a bird-shaped thing
Emerged. And then, he thought,
‘One could do worse
Than sleep beneath an angel’s wing’
‘Perhaps this wing will keep me safe
When darkness comes, when lights are dim
I’ll think of Psalms and sleep’, he said
But little did he know
What Heaven had in store for him
Until the day his daughter came
And with her daughter, rested there
And then he knew a miracle
Had waited patiently to come
In answer to his wooden prayer
Dec 10, 2021
Dec 10, 2021 at 4:25 PM UTC
“One of us should say grace”.
“I will”, I said, and then:
“Thank…you” but the “you”
got tangled up in a sob.
And I couldn’t continue.
Like Joseph’s turning away
To hide his tears,
I cleared my throat
Disguising, belying:
A thousand gazes at the soy bean field,
Opening the drawer a thousand times
to see your card: “I love you”,
Taccota played a thousand times,
A thousand silent prayers
that I didn’t know were prayers.
Until you came
And looking through wet eyes,
I watched you sitting there
Amazed that almost everything
That mattered in the world, for me
Could be contained,
In this smiling girl
A sunflower placed
On the mantel In a glass vase
“Thank you”, I prayed.
Sep 10, 2021
Sep 10, 2021 at 11:44 AM UTC
The darkness and the quiet
Are less frightening than before.
Even, as in the world of Poe,
The shroud, the pall, the tomb
Are looming truths in store,
The thing I fear the most
Is not the end, the sad goodbyes,
Tears, or labored breaths.
It’s not eternity or judgement,
Or even sweet oblivion.
There’s a larger tragedy,
A greater loss to me:
It haunts me even now
While death’s still off a ways,
Waiting patiently.
That you might spend your life,
Your family grown,
Now gray and stooped,
Career complete,
With loved ones of your own
And, looking back, see an empty place
Where other’s lives were full
And feel you weren’t enough,
Arms stretched, Innocent,
Reaching out, a little girl.
I fear your life will pass
Not knowing, or believing
You were cared for, celebrated,
Your young life
The greatest source of joy to me.
In you I saw a thing
I hadn’t seen before.
It touched my heart, and brought
A peaceful inner feeling
Whenever you were near.
Clumsily, I overstepped
My deeds and words
And gifts, and more...
Felt right, but came out wrong
I failed, you left, and that is that.
My old fool’s error
(I’ve made my share)
Was what I said and did for sure.
Though what was in my heart
Was bright and clean, and pure.
My fear’s that you won’t know
(Or care to know) the joy you brought,
The calm I felt, priceless, but free
But most of all:
That you were loved- by me.
Apr 30, 2021
Apr 30, 2021 at 2:23 PM UTC
I can’t get the pieces to work,
there’s one part missing,
Without it, I am lost.
Everything swims,
A flotilla of parts,
Swirling around and around.
I reach for one, hoping,
then another,
I put each back.
I cannot settle down.
This bed of despair
Is not a place to grow from.
Determined, I reach,
grasping, letting go.
It must look strange.
I’ll sleep.
In my dreaming you’ll be there.
And I can breathe for a while.
Apr 18, 2021
Apr 18, 2021 at 12:37 PM UTC
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil. “
But I am afraid.
This Sunday morning,
Our world is breaking,
And we’re each alone.
We’ve seen a fellow man
Crying for his mother.
But I can’t breathe!
Friends talk at a distance,
Searching for meaning
In just the eyes.
A mask conceals a smile-
Or despair.
But I can’t tell.
Cities burn.
Flames silhouette a form
With outstretched hands
Reaching for justice.
But there is no justice.
People ask:”Where is our leader?”
But the leader says,
“...the shooting starts!”
And sows to the wind.
Even while we reap the whirlwind,
He sows to the wind.
But there is no repentance.
This is the wrath of God,
Not for sacrilege of crosses,
Or flags, or creeds, or scripture,
But for hardening of the heart,
For looking away.
And I am afraid
John Van ****
May 31, 2020
May 31, 2020 at 5:55 PM UTC
A full century ago
Our mothers played church
Up on the hay-wagon.
They sang hymns
And took turns being preacher.
I can hear her telling me
And tonight one sister’s son
Will stand up tall and weave
A tapestry of notes
So beautiful ...
A heart, or two, or more
Will feel something
Much deeper than
Shining brass, the rustling of winter clothes, or applause
The other sister’s son, well...
He’ll shuffle to the porch,
Look up and turn his head
To see if he can hear
The long arc of a single note.
The silver cord,
Grandpap used to sing about.
And then he’ll cry,
For this is real.
It is no game.
A passing cloud, each song,
a bird, even bread.
Is held a little longer.
Clasped and pondered,
like a letter
Before it is sent away.
It took this long,
and this much loss and gain.
Things held tight and then let go.
Reluctantly
To learn
This life is good,
And why old men
Can cry so easily
Dec 6, 2019
Dec 6, 2019 at 8:48 PM UTC
It’s a good thing
We all left when we did
Or I’d of spilled the beans.
Blithering on
in my drunken state,
You’d of learned it all
How sad I am
That making love
is only history
A withered fool
whose only dreams
are memories
Of indiscretions,
shameful then,
but blissful now
Slurred words tumbling out
would’ve told of
My ‘non-conforming’ love,
So powerful
but misconstrued,
that when she said she loved me
I stumbled to the piano
singing “ thine is the kingdom,
and the power,
And the glory”
(Oh, thank you, thank you)
“For...ev..er! A..a...men!”
Thanking a God
Whose address I misplaced
with words I forgot (till then).
An abomination
Long suppressed by force of will
Might’ve stung your ears,
Thank God I kept
My mouth barely shut
But poised
To betray the little storm
Wreaking havoc in my *****
But not yet my demise
Had I gone on.
But, No.
Good sense prevailed.
Dignity still intact,
I gathered up this twisted history,
This love, this brokenness,
Like so many rags,
trailing on the ground,
And tottered to my car
My dignity’s unscathed.
Oh, it’s a good thing, I suppose,
But, next time, stick around.
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 12:02 PM UTC
“I love you,”
she told him.
At last!
Instead of breaking down,
crying with relief and joy,
as he thought he would,
he whispered back:
(because...
all but a whisper
was drained out of him)
“I love you, too.”
And, in a moment,
the very words
he had waited for,
longed for,
imagined,
became his tether,
a warm vest,
a peculiar fold in the blanket,
one holds through the night.
He repeated them like a mantra.
He pictured them in the ceiling tiles above the bone scan machine.
He heard them in the rhythm of the doctor’s voice,
He saw their outline in the branches beyond the window,
And they were the very last sound,
softly tumbling through his mind
when he slipped away.
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 10:57 PM UTC
Today I saw a Robin,
first one this year.
And part way up
the grassy hill, the cedar tree,
my mother’s grave.
Here it is halfway through March.
I hadn’t even looked
To find the first.
Hopping, flying just above the ground.
But, more than that, to hear it sing.
Robins were a thing we shared:
“I saw one.” ,
“But are you sure?”,
“Oh, yes, no mistaking that!”
Conviction in our voices making fact.
This winter’s roguery
Took me down a peg
Created pause, a looking-back in me.
When robins came
My mind was somewhere else.
Instead of running out,
I held back and sought security:
The bird stood still.
I wondered: Could it be?
Is that her way of telling me?
I try to resurrect her voice:
“It must be Spring!”
But gone ‘s that part in me
that rises up with joy,
at birds, and early leaves
It’s gone and buried there with her,
beside the cedar tree.“
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 5:50 PM UTC
After a neat little bite
She slid his sandwich into its baggie
And smiled,
Never tiring of her little joke.
“See, it’s alright. Im here with you, having a little fun!”
After the bell he peered into the bag.
And there it was
And a note:
“I love you, Aaron. “
This morning’s mixture of boredom and fear punctuated by her love
Then he daydreamed of helping with the clothespins,
Sheets snapping in the wind
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 12:51 PM UTC