Everyone has ugly
We are blessed who do not see it
But when we do
We do
You did
And the words wouldn’t come fast enough
My story dried up
Leaving cacti in the silence
Sharp to ***** a wayward tongue
My head spinning with strategy
I was busy framing pictures
When you threw me away
It’s not that I lacked an explanation
I’ve just learned to tread softly
In landmine conversations
Your eyes were done with me
Far sooner than you admit
I lied to let hope live
I hoped the lie would live
But ugly is as buoyant
As you are gone
And lies are always dense

When is a word of power
Holding the keys to time
Unlocking doors to limitless wealth
Amassed in the houses of centuries
Our future is naught without us
We are naught without our past
We are not without our past
Calamity follows the unbelieving
Those current keepers
Blinded by trend
Those content to exist on a page
Without ever reading the book
Memory is rite
Remembering is prayer
We are disjointed from our God
In a life purely contemporary
We forget more than we are living
Writhing in the deficit
Slaved to the moment
And the evils of its quarantine
History is sacred
To be held with gentle hands
Revered and cherished
For its honesty

I eat treetops
And moss covered stones
And the mist of spring nights
I eat most alone
I consume this world around me
One eyeful at a time
And when I am full I sit and wait
For poetry poopy time

Blessed is the house
Whose walls pulsate with laughter
Uninhibited
Vibrant eyes and flushed faces
Le joie de vivre
Symbols of security
We will ever call you home

Cool grass between my toes
Smiling at the sun
My shirt hose-drenched
And my mouth sticky melon
My hands hang open
Reading stories of the wind
I cannot see my eyes
But through them
I know they contain the world
Joystruck and wonderfilled
Careless with good reason
There is safety in their porch talk
And danger to be found
I am reaching for the spirit
With faith untethered
Breathing and I love it
Grabbing hold of the tactile earth

Oh some ol’ day these bones, these bones will bid my body bye.
They’ll watch me melt into this earth like ice in mid July.
I can’t think of a reason or a rhyme for all the mess
Except to live a life that might prepare me for the rest.
‘Cause some ol’ day these bones, these bones will rise up once again.
They’ll dance like that ol’ prophet said and jump up with the wind.
And on that sunshine morning these ol’ bones are gonna shout.
Escape with God to glory, all the trouble here without.

In the park there is a bench
Polished coffee metal planks
The inscription reads:
“In loving memory of Alan Seltman.”
And speaks its invitation
With arms wider than I can be
The tree buds are waking
And the breeze finds equilibrium
With the dimming sun’s kiss
I sit
If not for the grumbling of my feet
Or the fleeting picturesque
Then because Alan should be remembered
As one who always offered rest