Thursday, November 26, 2020

God is love



The clock ticks with his voice

Nothing is said, but he calls us

Outside of time, the virtual aristocracy opines

Within time and above it, according to mumbles within armchairs

These are the kinds of games nintendo can’t fathom

And as the clock ticks, I hear little feet offer their cadence above

Little animals playing in his zoo

All will wither and fade as the food they consume

Some will be deified and—hopefully—become zookeepers

I hear them dropping thingamabobs on the firmament above, as the clock ticks with his voice






Sunday, November 22, 2020

Protoevangelium



Save—save—save this imprint of every passing memory with stars marking one idea after another.

No page of your Scriptures shall be forgotten.

You are like a star shining over the cosmos with miracles, holy mother of mine.

And so I sing a hymn of praise with you, the one presented in the temple of God, during this great feast.

There we will offer gifts in a double portion.

There, in the garden, we will walk together and receive food from the hand of an angel.

There, at the mountain of God, a mother and her child are received.

And if we cannot ascend this Mount together, let it split in two and take us down to hide us, and shine its light upon us, turning holy blood to stone around us.

Favor is with those who fear our Lord, to whom be glory into the ages—of ages—of Ages.






















Saturday, November 14, 2020

Holidazed




‘Twas two weeks ‘til Thanksgiving

But one week to relax

And play games or just chat long

While grazing on snacks 

But inside of our bodies

Crept imaginary

Disease causing germs

That would kill if one sneezed

Some then fretted all night long

And then caved in to test

And expected the rest 

To approve their behest

Because that day just might come

When they’d feel slightly warm

Or wake up just like normal 

Of there being no harm

But without being tested 

They might never know

If living life normal

Was just placebo

With trillions of toxins

Inside us already 

The last thing we need 

Is to foster anxiety

By testing and testing 

and testing some more

That guarantees nothing 

and increases stress more 

Many understand little

Yet think they care best

Ignoring high false positives

Of RT-PCR tests

Many also don’t realize

That a swab up the nose

Is far less effective 

Than turning off their phones 








Sunday, November 8, 2020

Thank you internet



Waking we feel the tug and pull

toward minds conspiring, calculating, 

dancing in preparation for the next act

in our collective hollywood production

Is coffee or tea next for our day?

Perhaps we pay our water bill and release some fumes first

What comes next doesn’t really matter 

as long as our batteries are charged

These cyborgic extensions of our selves 

don’t live if we don’t breathe into their nostrils

This dead wooden cadaver wants to recognize your face

and fill your life with purpose and meaning and value and faith

Stop expending much needed energy

turning knobs or tuning your patience in at six o’clock

Sit back and say, 'Hey, Kookle!' or "See Wee?" to get each fix

Sip the professional productionism in slowly while its warm

They keep our dials on low heat for us, twenty four seven

Relax and refill and indulge with fact-filled sweeteners as needed

You deserve it and they know it

You’ve worked hard this day

You need a break

They’ve got updates every waking minute 

and breaking news tailored just for you









Sunday, November 1, 2020

Gates of Hell

 




Suck our eyeballs into your glass magnet and tell us how to think

Sell us your sexy dogmas about shooting up to feel good again

We want to shove block chains down your God string

Yes! Twirl and twerk your stats in our face so close we can smell them

Dumb it down, up and down, all around - this new normal

Yes! We stroke and strum to your fear porn and surrender upon climax

Love is love, Science is real, and men can have periods

Even experts agree that this great reset is key to our safety

We believe. Please help our unbelief














Wednesday, October 14, 2020

Being Sixteen Again

 


It feels strange

being sixteen

just before learning to swing

regardless

I feel honored

to be on your list at all

after all I’ve done

and left undone

whether knowingly

or inadvertently

because I’m sorry

I didn’t love you

when you needed it

I’m sorry

I didn’t seek you enough

while you loved me

and sought me enough

I’m sorry

we never danced

I was wrong

and now I know

I’d buy you a van

shop for your food

get you new clothes

make all things new

find you a home

or purchase a slab

whatever it takes

send me

here I am

count me

worthy to share

without condemnation

your spotless mysteries

for eternal life








Sunday, October 11, 2020

Solomon's Missing Tool


Three words

Rarely spoken

Never heard

Important as

I love you


Just three words 

Not written or recorded

Prayed or preached

But spoken face to face 


Three syllables

Better than sex and candy

Fulfilling more than feeding five thousand

Laying down all shields and weapons

Making all things new 


Just these three

Needed to be

Spoken and heard

Without pretense or bullshit

I was wrong.









Monday, October 5, 2020

My Saying



There they were

Sandwiched between lined sheets of trees

Flattened like Crêpes

To preserve their wisdom


There they were

Sealed by thumbs

Pressed across the tops of five cent plastic bubbles

Preserved among the scribbles of ideas, nouns, and butter boxes 


There they were

Two sweet chocolate doves of foil

With velvety aphorisms stamped

Under their flesh


One of the once-crumpled silvery sages spoke thus:

“Love is always the perfect gift”

You then replied on a napkin:

“Love means learning to like you.”


The second shiny sage opined:

“Warmth on the inside can melt cold on the outside.”

I then replied:

That explains the lack of warmth in your home.


They only learned to like you after you were gone.





Saturday, September 26, 2020

Storybook Land




I still remember that night in the hotel

Weeks before seeing the wall 


Glistening oil appeared on my right foot

I scratched it vertically, and lightly before sleeping


Morning came and it ate away all my flesh

Its scab formed and cracked and leaked every step thereafter


Beginning to heal

Only when I returned 


Grabbing my ladder to heaven

Which I intentionally left behind


Wrestling with God 

To receive the blessing


Pondering the cause of dread

The fear of being found


The pseudonyms

The churches visited 


The lacks of assurance 

The constant, confident hopes


The mountains of cardboard

The horse on one of its peaks


Imagining that we’d walk that yellow brick road together

And watch Jesus walk by


Living with all those good samaritans 

Dying for their Lord


But by the time I could see the wall, my foot healed

Only say a word and my soul shall be healed, too









Thursday, September 24, 2020

Mic Drop





I pushed in that flat plastic donut

Waiting for laser beams to reflect off your words

And there you were

Standing in front of me as I lounged on hundred year old concrete

The real you

Behind the mic

With a welcome audience

You must have felt loved

I could see you 

Behind the mic

The real you

Nervous but eager to share

Your art

Your gift

So wonderful 

To see your joy

And hear your crackling throat giggle

Beneath the mic

Wooing me

Then the laser beams stopped reflecting

And you were gone again













Monday, September 21, 2020

From Him

 



Not many wise

have lived on ninety dollars per month

and saved what they gleaned each day 

just so they could tithe ten percent out of love


Not many mighty 

have lived in remote locations with no fuel

and saved what they gleaned each day

just to get another junk car to pray in


Not many noble

have lived, inscribing their story into stony hearts 

saving what they could glean each day

just to be known and loved for their fellowship in Christ


But God chose you

to become Wisdom to us from Him

—justice, holiness, and redemption—

to bring to nothing the things that are