I imagine the man across the alley judges me
but I don’t know
I think she likes me
but I don’t know.

I feel sad about the thoughts of him and her
that I don’t even know
my imagination captures me in an I-loop.

Then I read Edmund’s poem
                      he takes me on a spiritual adventure
                                    into peace, love, life, nowhere, somewhere,
                                              dancing in the rain

I think about dancing in the pain
               and here I am still waltzing
                            dripping and glistening.

Poetry invites imagination.

Being wrapped in your love
feels so good on a wintry day
makes me grateful even for the gray,
for this life I get to live with you
and the spring that soon will break through
the browns and the downs.

Have you ever been the less favorite?
It doesn’t feel good.
It can urge you to jealousy and anger
which can lead you to hurt the favorite
or at least to want to.

But then consider why the other is favored:
more loving and caring
more attentive
less self-centered?

Or is it the favored one just better-looking
or genetically given?

Whatever the case,
jealousy and hurt
can send me down a crooked path
and make me miserable.

Better to just live in love.

Even the most devout Christians
accept that Jesus was a guy
guys get ***** as do gals.

Yes, all of us have a creator in us
starlight
life-creating energy
poetry
and prose.

Maybe Jesus didn’t have the kind of darkness in him
that we have
the kind of drag
of pride and self-centeredness
that I have,
but by God!
he was faced with the same choices
between fidelity and desire
between horniness and selfless love.

Yep I fail in ways he did not
but he failed to get rid of lust just like I do
he failed to avoid selfish desires.
Of course, I act on them
and ***** up in ways he did not.
But do you think he didn’t feel ******* up at times?
Of course he did.

All of this humanity
is what makes me like him.
Jesus was a guy.
That he was more
is what makes me love him.

When I am sad
wrapped in the arms of God
I am also in joy.

Across the burnt field
I carry my load
I pierce the smoky expanse
my energy flags
I yearn for rest
but the burden gets heavier
I am alone
and slog for both of us.

I converse with my mind:
“Please, a small spell
to float this flood
to higher ground.
Find an ounce of push,
then I can unravel.”

A midnight exhaustion overtakes me
I lay depleted
at wits end
I pray
a surrender
concede
abandon
my self
gaunt, frail, devoid.

Before sleep an appeal
to a power greater than me
deliver me from these ashes.

Standing alone you spring to life,
then the warmth explodes you
covering every inch of your arms and bodice
adorned in your full flowering dress.

But as I swiftly breeze by you on my way
and only take a glance
at you among the others of your nature
you blend in your emerald maturity.

It is not until winter
when you reveal yourself,
naked for us to bask
in all the tributaries of your inner world
and I discover your complex truth,
the heart of your loneliness and abandon,
where you have surrendered
your stunning appearance
and reach up and out beyond your earthly roots
for a life beyond seasons.