Rests invisible in the hot blood's rise,
Unused before barrage of rage and alibis,
Silently outwaits the soul's angry sighs.

Wisdom, too, holds knowing tongue,
Content to hold forgiveness' hand, while long
The cooling blood is covered with their soothing song.

When right mind o'er-takes the anguished brooding whole
Wisdom and Forgiveness emerge, envelop, and enfold,
Release the hatred, salve the bitter, broken soul.

So find the wounded soul's release;
Wisdom's Forgiveness bringeth Peace
Provides the way to life's new lease.

My estranged daughter,
I wait news of my mother's
Survival or demise.

Holy water,
A crucifix
Wait nearby,
I know the emptiness of agonized prayer,
Of groaning alone in sanctuary,
Of feeling only limbo,
Only limbo.

It's August.
I shudder
January cold.

There's a picture of you holding cake,
White frosting on your nose, wanting more
Your mother and father grinning
As you explore sugar as never before.

Behind the cameras, we laugh and clap,
Celebrating a year and nine months' wonder,
A life that we have come to know and love,
A little girl, on a day you're only partially aware.

The dog lies nearby, watching for crumbs,
In his own way celebrating this happy day.
He does not seem to mind he is supplanted
As family favorite; at least, he does not say.

The balloons, the cake, one candle all aflame,
Join our choral "Happy Birthday" song
Follow in the first of what we hope
Will be many, many more to come.

Crouched beneath March winds
Howl the songs of wolves
Against cloud-scudded skies,
Leafless, bending only little,
Insensate, but howling still,
Straining against night winds.

First cold and wind must pass
Before the softness-es of Spring
Coax life from roots below the frost,
Reminding me that nothing's lost.

Never quite content alone,
Never at home in a crowd.
Silence frightens us, and
So does being loud.
Never here nor there, but
Discontent in the present.
Longing for the past,
We crave a different future.

Who is he,
The man in the sweaty tee-shirt,
Standing in the center
While cars **** round
The roundabout?

He holds a digging tool,
Remains of weeds clinging.
He waves at a city parks truck
Rounding on its way
To the main building.

I know him.
We taught together once.
His doctorate in ministry:
Servant lives and how to lead them;
Mine in words and letters,
And how to read them.

I wonder as I drive away:
The tenuous lives we lead;
No predicting whether next year
I'll be learning with students
Or pulling weeds on a highway.

Vicissitudes of Life...

Some men pine away,
Others pick themselves up, grieving
To shake themselves as if to say,
"That chapter now is ending,
And I must on my way"?

One man mourns her loss as though
The universe is ending;
Drowns himself in alcohol,
Defeated, hopeless, misery unending.

Another plunges into work,
You'd never know an inner ache
Had driven him berserk;
We watch to see a crack or break,
But nothing seems to lurk.

Another builds a monument so fine,
Resurrects her beauty high above
Whatever glory she had once refined...
No ending to his paeans of love.

Other men find loneliness intolerable,
Run off in search of other loves to fill the void,
Besmirch her memories ineffable,
Remarry only to become annoyed.

"Most men must suffer when alone":
A rule to write on stone eternal,
While human love is flesh and bone,
Romantic love transcends supernal.

We pray to align our minds to the mind of God
We read the Word to renew our minds;
The Word changes us,
Never the reverse.

Change the Infinite?
We cannot.

Manipulate the Almighty?
Impossible.

Make the straight our crooked path?
Inconceivable.

Creation cannot become Creator;
Though it bear His Image,
It is merely mirror,
Never Light.

Servants are we,
Never Master.

This the Way.

Broke with the tinkling of chimes,
Bird melodies cacophonous,
And dew-wet sunlight
A million years old, and new again,
As this old world turned round
And brought me back to day.

The dreams and fears of night
Fell all away;
The dog barked out his morning bark
To call me out to play.
Breakfast down and leash a-fixed
W'e were on our way.

A yearling pup's the thing
To take a man's old heart
Right back to spring:
An angle worm,
A water puddle,
And grass to roll in,
The neighbor's dog,
The fire plug....

Who knew the joy of messages
Left on rock and trees?
And joy is found in lifting ears
And nose to test the breeze.

The secret that I think I understand?
It's not the dog who needs the walk;
The leash is for the man
To work out kinks from life
And see the little things
That dogs can see
Without the need to think.

Scripture seems to be clear about the permanence
Of hell's torment, yet we finite human beings insist upon
Superimposing our imaginative emendations
Upon Scriptural descriptions.

Why do we do this?
Perhaps our love for those we suspect
Have gone to eternal damnation,
Or the fear that we ourselves may not
Make it to eternal bliss
Motivates us to create
Heavens and Hells,
Multiverses.

I believe that I am finite,
That I am created,
That my planning and conniving are incapable
Of changing the Eternal plans.
I have no power to create alternate realities;
No temporal holds upon supernal.

Dead ones walking from cradles to graves,
Flesh somehow still living, feeding as it craves
Maleficent obsessions stirring passions rave
Madness in our ravings, sorrowing, we slave
We are the Living Dead; empty souls are we.
Unaware of living death, no living Salve seek we.

Until the furious Light of Grace pierces these cadaverous husks,
Awakens souls long slumbering in the death of dusk.
The Savior calls us from our sleep, "Arise and come to me!"
And those who hear His urgent call awake and are set free
The living dead, cannot awake through anything we've done.
The Living souls are living now through life in Heaven's Son.

Time rolls backwards into a memory haze,
And I am young, and she is young always;
Her beauty turns the heads of longing men,

And I am jealous, once again.

When I remember passioned days,
My soul leaps up into old ways,
And I pursue the girl I love, amazed,

And I am satisfied, again.

When I remember battles past,
I know the one we're in will end at last,
And our old love return to hold us fast,

And we'll return to love again.

Though time retrieve the golden days,
And stamina in all things stray,
Never will it take our love away.

Still, our love remains.
Our love remains.

Grief, catlike inward burrows,
Circles in some lonely spot,
Settles drearily to purr,
Content to rest upon my lot.

I shall not live with grief,
Nor grief hold me, for long,
For life is made for living,
And the living must move on.

The quickest route through grieving
I'm thinking I have found:
Accept the gift of thanking
Those who've circled me around.

Friends who share my sorrow
Don't force, "Seek brighter days."
They know perhaps tomorrow,
I'll raise my paean of praise.

For memories of loved ones,
Who showed me how to live,
For work and funds and sustenance,
Abundances for me to give.

For those who live around me
Host sadnesses, I know;
Because I've lived my miseries,
Others won’t suffer theirs alone.

For faith, for hope, for love abide
While this chest holdeth breath
To spark full joyful fire inside
And route the griefs of death.

At the Sky Ride on St. Thomas
We sweltered in the heat
Waiting for the cable cars to come
Strangers seeking tourist treats

Up the way, a pirate staggered from the depths,
Dressed and drinking imaginary ***,
Wobbling a bit, the player indiscernible on first glance
From one Jack Sparrow.

I couldn't help but wonder to what depths,
Jack Sparrow's character has invaded Johnny Depp.

Dad gave us pliers and their holsters --
Said, "Wear them when you come outside."

At nine and ten, we carried them,
Entering the world of working men.

I wore out pliers and holsters,
Bought new ones and wore out them.

Now several sets reside in treasured spaces,
In boxes and vehicles and other places.

These days seldom used, my pliers remind me
Of my growing up, of everything behind me.

Remember When

You come to the end of those long roads
You've staggered down,
When you have fallen and can only drag
Your sorry self around;
Remember then that home
Still is the place Frost told us
They have to take us in
When there's no place else left
For us to go.

Remember when
You've no where else to turn
Because those bridges you have burned
Will no longer carry you across;
Because you're spurned by friends you've spurned;
Remember then that all's not lost;
A humbled soul still finds
That home remains a waiting friend...
When you remember when....

Tickling the back of the neck,
Disturbing the too still air,
Brooding in silence still
Here on the top of the hill.

Burgeoning, the approaching storm
Clouds, far, but nearing,
Climb the ladder-less sky
To the west, to the south.

Air here does not move,
Stands somber, waiting,
Breathing in to hold,
Tense, anticipating.

Flash erupts up and down,
Meets mid-sky, burning,
Clapping air moves
Instantaneous implosion.

Vacuum reverberates,
Ripples fists of vibration
Out and out and out....
Thunder pounds the chest.

White light blinds and burns
The startled inner eye;
Black and purple threads
Visible in lidded dark.

Air escapes the lungs'
Gasped shock surprise...
Too quick for flight,
Too soon for fear.

The ears reverberate ,
Hammered hard within,
Ringing cacophonic
In remembered din.

Knees jellied move and turn
To take my body from the hill.
Alive, and stunned, I lived to learn
Lightning's not my kind of thrill.

To see another day;
A bloke just nodded at me
While I was on my way.

A lady smiled, and
Genuine she seemed
So that I smiled back,
As if to say,
"You're right; life's not so bad,
Though now I am alone;
Think of the times I've had,
Though now I am alone."

I think I'll stay around to see
What turns up next...
Because an old friend called
To say we ought to see a show;
Called up to say he'd thought of me...
Meant earlier to call,
"But you know how busy life can be..."
(Indeed, I must admit I don't.)

(A little hope is still a little hope.)

Gray,
No blue
Anywhere,
Thoughts of
Going on...
Go far
Away.


When the Wind is

Howling,
No shelter
In the lee,
Standing tall
Interests me
Not.

But, when the Sun is

Shining,
Sunlight all
Around,
The dreary days
Go each and all...
Away.

I the lonely meadowlark
Perched upon the thistle
Waiting the sickled mower to pass

I the cracked egg
Fetal heart slowing, slowing
Death before the hatchling birth

I the hare crouchant
Scarce aware the shadow’s dive
Screeching beneath the talons

I the wind-torn tree
Branches scattered, bleeding sap
Beetles explore the shredded bark

I the fawn uncertain
Edging the splattered highway
Mother shattered in the lane

In a far off country have I roamed
Away from family, away from home.

Chaser of visions, Dreamer of dreams
Long have I been so far away.

What have I to speak?
To whom might I say,
"Forgive me, I have been away.
Remember me, I have been away."

Have you ever done enjoyable work,
But toward supper time,  
After a long, long day,
A satisfaction sets in,
Almost a fullness,
A readiness to stop for the day...

I know this feeling.
I understand Robert Frost's poem,
"After Apple Picking."

I loved haying on the ranch,
But after 14 hours' roaring up and down
Long alfalfa fields,
I was content,
Ready to shut down for the day,
Ready to climb down from the old John Deere,
Ready to walk, dusty, to the old truck
Waiting in growing darkness.

I recall listening for sounds of night coming on:
Crickets rasping against the cooling day,
Nighthawks' screeching, veering for insects,
Soul-mourning cries of coyotes,
All teamed against the ghosts of day:
Tractor's roaring echo in my ears,
Thumping memory of lurching over clods,
Dust clogging my itching eyes and throat....

The old tractor, too, was content
Sitting silently,
Cooling in the twilight.

Wuddiful, Wuddiful

In

Muddiful

Life is

Wuddiful

To make

me

Buddiful

I'll take a

P U D D I F U L

Few of us are blessed to find a calling
While in our youth, before our prime,
To leave but know the farm's the thing,
The earthly place we'll spend our time.

The Thiessen farm is ordered, neat,
Equipment, houses, corrals and sheds,
A visual treat, each row a street
To show the order in Dwight's head.

The old earth tracks the sun around,
Each spinning lap marks coming years,
Sees loved ones laid to rest in ground,
Brings little ones to stem our tears.

A weary circle - life, and few
Are those who see how they are blessed;
Dwight, Diana found that it would do
To farm, raise kids, thank God for rest.

One day, a doctor said the words
No one desires to hear, but still,
This couple prayed, they didn't swerve
From praying for God's sovereign will.

Back to the farm, the couple drove,
Held close in prayer by friends
Aware that good comes from above
Aware that everything must end

Dwight breathed one final breath, was gone;
He left and didn't say good-bye.
But, oh! what air then filled his lungs,
Celestial breath in heaven high!!!!

--------------------
Dwight's leaving reminds me of an old song by Don Wyrtzen (1971)

"Finally Home"  https://youtu.be/sBZe2nWRSjU?si=bTriiCVgoucus8Eb .

When engulfed by the terror of the tempestuous sea,
Unknown waves before you roll;
At the end of doubt and peril is eternity,
Though fear and conflict seize your soul.

But just think of stepping on shore-And finding it Heaven!
Of touching a hand-And finding it God's!
Of breathing new air-And finding it celestial!
Of waking up in glory-And finding it home!

When surrounded by the blackness of the darkest night,
O how lonely death can be;
At the end of this long tunnel is a shining light,
For death is swallowed up in victory!

But just think of stepping on shore-And finding it Heaven!
Of touching a hand-And finding it God's!
Of breathing new air-And finding it celestial!
Of waking up in glory-And finding it home!

I hear your wails;
I add my sorrow
To the howling winds.

Women, like the moon, reflect the light/love
Shone upon them, and when the light grows dim,
They take to dark pursuits
Hoping to find happiness and love.
Essential elements missing: love and acceptance.
Consequences: pain and death.

Advice from one husband of forty years to a soon-to-be husband:
Tell your wife on day one how beautiful she is, and
Keep telling her until the day you die.
She needs to know that you find her to be your all in all,
That you will love her beauty now,
When she brings children into the world,
And in the life after children,
When she has made sacrifices that will change her body
In ways that may cause her despair.

Tell her when she's 30 and 40 and 50 and 60 and 70 and 80
That she is beautiful, and something amazing happens.
You will see her with the eyes that saw her on the first day;
Your love, and her love will grow young again,
Even as the two grow old.

"Till death do us part" is a vow of strength,
Of promise, of comfort as years grow on.
The satisfaction and privilege of loving one person all through life
Cannot be compared with any other love or joy humans can know.

Take this advice or leave it.
It cost nothing, though it is worth everything.

Cause for despair, this...
Dr. Heidegger's experiment gave new life to old bones.
Elixir re-infusing lust and ******
Once the liquid hit the blood,
All bets on again for nothing good.

"Write two poems," I said.

My students left the room.

Some frittered the week away,
No idea how to start,
What to say....

Others found a way to play,
Rolling phrases
Making hay,
Coding words in lines
Testing assonance,
Alliteration,
Anthropomorphization:
A door, a pen, and clouds...
Always clouds.

"Write one that rhymes," I'd said,
And so the rhymers vied,
Stretched morphemes until dead,
Finding words I thought had died,
Bruised themselves with rhythm,
Metered anapests and dactyls,
Resorted to trochees and iambs
And smiled as if inventing fractals,
My little lambs.

"Write free verse; break all rules!" I said,
And though they tried,
No ee cummings Jesus resurrected,
No William Carlos Williams rose
To eat plums beside white chickens,
And no apologies.

Still, when all was finished,
Notes came in,
A treasured, precious few
Wrote to say they'd found
Appreciation for words
Arranged intentionally,
For power of images,
For realization of the value
Found in working words.

On his way to or coming from
Feeding cows
Whistling or singing,
Orange twines tied in bows
Swinging above the tractor hitch.
Bales strewn broken in chunks
Across the hard white ground;
Cattle steaming in chill air
Stoking bellies with summer hay,
Against the cold their only coal to burn.

I'd rather he had fallen,
Smile upon his wizened face
Blue with cold, heart given way,
Just the way he'd prayed to go,
Than to have watched
The helicopter veer away
Into a frozen sky.

Out of paper? Need a trowel?
Use a bidet and dry with a towel.

No way to clean? No toilet paper?
Bidet your stuff into a vapor.

When TP hoarders make you pray,
Answer those prayers with a cool bidet.

My new bidet is a real treat;
I spray the mess right off my seat.

My bidet arrived at the very last hour;
The TP’s gone, but my **** loves to shower.

While friends miss paper and complain,
My bidet cleans me like the rain.

When paper’s gone and you’re a mess,
Think “bidet” for cleanliness.
When water cleans you, life is fine,
So join me on the bidet line.

"You can't hear me!" she whispered,
And I just turned my head.
Sometimes it's better not to hear....
Depends on what's been said.

I know I irritate her;
(I irritate myself).
Hearing aids are waiting
On some hearing doctor's shelf.

While we go on debating,
Because I'm in no hurry,
I sit here contemplating....
Sometimes it's better not to worry.

At the things I heard that peeved me,
Before I tune the wide world out;
Honey, if you really want to catch me,
You're gonna have to shout.

The questions exist:
Whether lock down in this space
Preserves the life or just saves face?;
Why quarantine locks healthy up
While hellions riot and disrupt?

She's 92 and all alone
Stuck inside a nursing home
"No visitors," the Guvner said,
And fear became the COVID dread.

"Bring out your bodies!"
"Bring out the dead!"

She walks a bit from bed to door,
Must wear a mask, if nothing more.

Alone, she rests, though it's a chore
To see faceless helpers on her floor.
Her handlers? Gowned, masked, and visored
As if she's the one who's virus scoured.

"How will I speak my 3000 words a day?"
My mother asked on the phone today.
"Speak now to me," I edged words in,
And listened to my Mom, cooped in.

If COVID doesn't **** her, empty hallways might;
She tries to speak to anyone who passes nigh,
But they are in a hurry to cancel someone's light,
And so the nights and days go crawling by.

"Bring out your bodies!"
"Bring out the dead!"

The imminence of death
Heightens awareness of eternity.
We realize our need to live in the reality
That as eternal beings we must prepare to die wisely
As well as to live.

During the Christmas season,
We return to the Truth:
Jesus is our hope,
Our source of joy,
Our source of peace
Even in the face of loss,
Even in our sorrow.

Jesus is our “Shelter in the Time of Storm.”

"Blackberry Eating"  (Galway Kinnell)
Took my redneck self to early summer,
Late June, Montana sun, and shimmering humidity
Aboard a tractor droning over fields,
Uprooting green, turning the acres brown
Atop a table rimmed in badlands.

Remembering past Junes'
Berry thickets in cool ravines,
I left the tractor idling
To cross barbed wire,
To descend into cool trees.

June berries everywhere;
Blue-black sweetness weighted branches.
I stained my face and hands with plunder,
Then plundered and filled my upturned cap.

Grazing and grasping,
The copse's edge I turned
To meet a coyote on two legs
Berry browsing.

Who yelped, and who screamed?
At the top of the bank, I turned;
My cap and berries scattered,
The coyote's tail down as he left the scene.

I imagine a breath of celestial air;
I say I'll face the ground,
Afraid to see the Almighty.
But how?

If Jehovah is above and below,
Within and without,
Beside, behind, and before,
Everywhere at once...and more,
I'll have nothing in store:
No attitude, no posture,
No stumbling alibis...
No critical questions arise,
No time left to philosophize...

He sees me throughout;
He sees through my eyes;
He's in my thoughts;
He knows my truths...and lies.

I will attempt quietness
Though my mind rushes on;
He is here in tumult & solitude
Present in the garden and in the multitude.

Bryce impressed me with its "hoodoos,"
And we stood on a trail in the heated air,
Wondering how far
To venture into the depths below.

Zion's slotted canyon walls towered over us,
Cooled us in their shade,
Marveled us with seeping rocks,
Clinging lichens, plants in flower,
Tendrils hanging on the wet stone.
We left before a storm.

"Grand" is too quiet, too sparse, too short.
I stood on the precipice,
Miles and miles and miles in view,
Reds and tans and whites,
Clouds hanging virga.
My tears signaled gasping awe.

Whenever I put the phone down
To go walking,
To work the soil,
To garden,

Or ride some river road
Beneath trees,
Feel the breeze...

I realize with Frost
That nothing gold can stay,
That the witching light of screens
Takes fleeting gold away.

Blackbirds have found the feeder;
Lookouts scan from upper branches
While takers pillage cracked corn.

I approach to a flurry of black flight;
Guilt needlessly hangs
With the red feeder.

Meals offered to all comers...
Excepting squirrels
For which a weighted door
Flips down to cover the pans.

Four-footed chatterers declare war,
Express intention to circumvent
Discrimination.

Fewer masks these days -
August, and the sky is clear.
Western rivers still run cold.
Rain falls at last upon dry lands.
In spite of hoppers, grass and wheat
Replenish the living.
Sleek cattle slow their grazing.

So, why this weariness?
Why the onsetting brood?
From whence the cloud, ennui?
This cynic stirs in search of hope.

The wheat we'd planted grew the summer through
Wind and rain and sun all came and just the same
The sprouted kernels rooted down, sky-blued up
Sun's warmth, clouds' rain, wind and calm came

July brought ripening fields turning gold
"Still too early," my father told us as we gazed
Then a week before August, our old truck rolled
And stopped beside bearded fields now hazed

By coming autumn dust. Our father strode into the rows
Snapped off three heads and felt the beards,
Crushed them as his millstone-hands rolled,
Then paused to see the produce of the year.

Phwwww! He blew. Hulls and beards flew down,
Left hard red berries cupped shallow in his old hands
Threw several seeds between his teeth and ground
We heard them cracking, forming gum.

"It's time," he said, and Harvest had begun.

Rowdy girls laughing over dinner,
A thousand miles from home,
Joking about their families,
Their mothers and their dads,
Unwinding after the hard work
Of righting some of Harvey's mess.
Time to celebrate through laughter....

I noticed her brown study stare,
Gazing toward the open court,
And she was tired,
Far from home,
The stress of travel and ***** work behind,
Stress levels coming down,
And she was letting down.
I knew there was more,
And I waved a hand,
And she came back from where she'd been,
Sad smile in her eyes.

I knew she' been contemplating life,
Thoughts of her father, gone two years,
Who'd traveled the aisle silently,
Taken before he saw the woman she'd become,
The nurse she'd be, things most parents live to see.

I saw all these things in her far-away gaze,
I empathized and prayed.

May Jesus comfort her;
May He give her life chock-full of joy.
May His Spirit bring her those who see her heart,
And cherish her for who she is.
May the Father reassure her of His love...,
Some day reunite her with the father she still loves.

I know that she was tired; her gaze was fleeting.
I hope she pardons me an open book for reading.

HI

JUST
came from hair shop.
Toe man is to come tomorrow.
Diane has an appt  for 1:30 tomorrow
so hopefully we can meet outside.
Happy Birthday Sue and Anniversary , etc,
Your card will be late.

Beautiful day today after the rain,  
Did you get enough rain?

Lunch  is here,
Hope you are all well.

McGee is on.

love Mom

In a house awaiting death,
No Monday coming,
No thing to do but wait,
No sudden joys anticipate,
No early chores to distract,
Just a careful sitting back,
In breathless Sunday slack.

"That" is reserved for the cat,
While you are always a "who."

I lift my eyes to the hills/ From where comes my help?/ My help comes from the Lord, /The Maker of heaven and earth.
(Psalm 121: 1-2)

Look higher than the government.
Look higher than the mountains.
Look higher than the world.
Look beyond the moon.
Fix your gaze beyond the stars.
Look to the One
Who neither sleeps nor slumbers.

Rest.

First hunting trip in years
Wondering if I have the stamina,
The fortitude to stay in a cabin,
To hunt in the cold,
To find my way in unknown woods...
To use an outhouse.

I have grown accustomed to amenities:
A steady furnace, heated water,
Television, books, phone,
Internet, WiFi, Cable,
A garage,
You.

For a weekend
I decided to try myself,
To test resolve,
To see if there might still remain
A little hardiness.

The long drive took us out of range
Of television,
Most radio,
Cell coverage,
Running tap water,
Toilets with flush handles,
My bidet.

Gas light, wood fire
Illuminated and warmed
Dimly, slowly.
My bed frosted until midnight.

At 1:00 my bladder sent the signal;
I arose, donned boots and coat,
Forayed to the shack outback.

Wind rushing in the tall trees,
Snow crunching beneath me,
Ice on the door,
Dark of night,
Dread without,
Within.

In minutes, business done.
Outside, breeze soughing,
Sighing in tree tops.

Singing ice stopped me
Beneath the stars:
Siren song of resonating ice,
Ice-glazed lake's expansive song
Filling me with wonder.

Cold, I could not linger,
Walked back
To hunker in blankets,
Old and wool,
As the ice-song lingered.