Showing posts with label Familias. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Familias. Show all posts

Saturday, December 3, 2022

Messengers

 


I cried this morning

I changed the wallpaper, too, because of you

It's the perfect picture of the crazy I remember

    with the glow of love for the Divine


All I could say in the moment was, 'I miss you.'

And thanks be to God that you can receive such greetings

    whispered to angels

        or those seated above them


I picture one of them saying, 'Go! Give this to her quickly.'

And at once each one darts off to run their own race

and eventually comes to your mansion


You sense the urgency, 

and so, rush to the door

    and listen intently

        and respond gently


Go tell my son, 'I love you too.'

That's when I cried

and changed my wallpaper

    to the perfect picture of crazy love for the Divine













Sunday, November 27, 2022

I really mean it

 



I really mean it
I can't believe you married me
I love life with you
I love you with every piece of me
And I will love you until
No pieces are left
After nothing is left
I will still be in love with you
And every piece of you that completes me
I would disassemble 
Just so I could put you back together again
It's the least I could do
For giving me all of you
I really mean it















Thursday, October 13, 2022

Parrot Disease

 

I wish there was an easy way to say this, but John was right about the jailor.

Tireless propaganda tames all but the few whose faith is whole.

 

I remember you well. I don’t remember everything, 

but what I remember from back then is the same I heard today.

 

You are hurt. Nobody responds to your stupid texts.

Nobody calls you, or checks in, or pays you a visit, or invites you over. 


Always deflecting. Always insulting. Always hearing but not listening.

Always gaslighting. Always the victim. Always the expert. Always the same.

 

Fifty-eight minutes is all it took to remember why your four distanced themselves.

In your eyes the four are Stewards. Milk does feed calves and dung does not.

 

Always reformed but never reforming, and trying to make them think.

That milk is the same sort of thing as sweat or dung.


One is always the soldier at war. One is always attacked. One is always justified.

That one is a horrible human being. Not horrible, as in wicked—

 

—horrible in the sense of pathetic, and mean, and hypocritical, 

and self-aggrandizing, and argumentative, and petty, and embarrassing.


This is why your four don’t bother with you anymore.

Tireless propaganda tames all but the strong whose hearts they break.












 

Friday, August 26, 2022

Seven letters plus I

 



I see your lines, circles, crescent moons and stars, all commenting on your new creation

Looking closely at each letter to learn what's in them for you

Of the holy one, the true one, you underline with dark blue ink as one who knew life itself

Vindicate them, you highlight, as one who appreciates the lord's faithfulness to his people

Every page is saturated with ball-pointed feelings of childlike curiosity and trust

You valued the cost of the crown of life more than the acceptance of this world

Over and over, and over again, a star marks wisdom for your own application

Unlike the one who abandoned his first love, you now shine like the son, having been faithful unto death





Saturday, August 20, 2022

Unscramble

 



Seflak is such a strange name

the odd letter functioning like a grade

upon its academic work.

 

I see the CD in the Ugandan’s hand.

And I don’t know how critical I should be.

Will that, too, produce another failure?

 

One can only hope my restructuring in pdf will be read


not just downloaded and tucked away down F’s memory hole

as another box checked to boast and know it all

Perhaps when my publication is for sale


Seflak will start paying attention 

and stop ignoring our differences

and adopt me as a Sealak











Wednesday, July 13, 2022

Dots and Caps

 




The adopted one speaks like her Papa. Always innocent until proven guilty. Always the victim. Always the humble and wise apologist, asking useless questions related to imaginary foundational gaps, accompanied with poor grammar and reasoning. Always tearing down strongholds made with privatized perception within the echo-chamber of Dr. Pops. Then come the dots...

As the Papa is predictably defensive and insecure, yet overly confident inasmuch as he overcompensates with ridiculous anecdotes of self-aggrandizements, so this newly adopted daughter is blinded by her own conceits. Blinded by his, too, they remain an embarrassment to all those who truly care about them. At least for now. Maybe it will remain forever. Maybe it won't. Then come the all-caps.

I certainly hope not. Just as I hope she learns, before it's too late, that she's not his daughter or covenant child, and he's not her father. Her actual father is not evil, as her Papa claims. The only way out of this mess she impetuously plunged into is to think for herself, and question big Papa's authority. That's what his real children did. They grew tired of playing his stupid games, which only won them stupid prizes. Then comes the position paper. 










Sunday, August 8, 2021

Tonsured for Christ

 


In the midst of the congregation the praise of Christ is hymned because of you, O Reader Joseph. Through your life at the kliros, the humble path to exaltation is made manifest, illumined with the transcendent beauty of angelic melodies. By your constancy and loyalty, standing in praise and prayer, the way of salvation is guided and guarded for us. In keeping vigils, you brightened the path leading to our unending joy. Therefore we celebrate your light-giving and holy memory, and we cry aloud in one accord: Intercede with Christ our God that our feet would be made to stand dutifully in all divine allotments of service, with our hearts stationed on Him within the Great Congregation of ineffable praises, so that we, too, would be kept from straying onto evil paths and all attain the unity of faith and the knowledge of God’s unapproachable glory. 
















Saturday, March 13, 2021

—S-E-L-F-C-O-N-T-R-O-L—

 

 


I’m working on it

Nibbles of taste buds at a time

don’t seem to be as effective

as jawbones lopping off lengua

and knitting it back together

with toothpicks


Bite your tongue, they say.

I have, many times. 

See this stitch?

And this one, ad infinitum?

If you pick these sutures apart

I bleed, too.


And so would she.

That’s why I wear the beads of her hands

of gold and white,

elasticated and easy to snap,

suffocating my skin every day.

We actually feel pain, you know.





Tuesday, September 8, 2020

Sincerely

























Dear Katie,


I’m listening now

Twenty two years of vibrations 

And six hundred thirty six miles of string unwound

Now your tin can is touching my ear


I hear that you don’t trust God to change you

You’re not alone

Life feels lonely and powerless

When everything hangs on obsessions of ideas


I heard what you said about fear and depression

But phobias are products of actual organic illness 

You also were not the only person depressed in that household

Everyone was depressed along with you


I heard what you said about needing change and happiness

You’re much stronger than you think

Not many are resilient enough 

To carry such burdens as yours for forty years


I heard that you had a tumor

It’s shocking to learn about that now

Having never heard about it before

Is anyone surprised that David cared less?


I heard your foot was in bad shape

Another summer of fun ruined because of it

Even though you’d like to blame others

The kids were not safe or happy around you, so get over it


I heard that you’re moving to Cedarburg

That sounds like a lot of work to prepare for

Packing last minute sounds emotionally draining

Are you sure you’ll be pleased with any house they can afford?


I heard you really want to choose the house or see it ahead of time

But what if no one can read your mind or satisfy your expectations?

What if everyone is exhausted by your manic depression?

Wouldn’t that be painfully ironic, if true?


I heard you wanted to go home to your mom

That’s another seriously depressing thought

Things were clearly so bad that you just couldn’t stop entertaining

More depressing, imaginary desires


Then there was Jonathan

Did you know he was a drug addict then?

Did you care that he needed help?

Just imagine how worthwhile a drug addict teenager must have felt, too


I heard you mention twice your need to be “productive”

You need something to replace what you dwell upon obsessively

You know, things you can’t change

So you can blame God for not changing you


I heard you mention burnout

You sound exhausted and hopeless

Consider how everyone else feels too

Especially those you blame and whine around incessantly


I heard you want to live, work, and be happy?

Well then, what are you waiting for?

But don’t forget the list you left behind

With dozens of reasons for why you can’t work or be happy


I heard that no one knows the truth about your health or desires

And no one talks to you, and you’re not allowed to talk to them

That’s another depressing thought I can forgive now

Brought about because of your extreme mental illness


I heard that you’re scared, and concerned about anger

You want help but you’re not allowed to ask for it

And you’re “probably” not supposed to accept it

I call bullshit


I heard that you felt hopeless and did’t have help

You had no recourse, and couldn’t talk to anyone

But I know you gossiped to everyone all the fucking time

I call bullshit again


I hear that you wish you could start life over differently

If you could you would surely choose another destiny

Surely, Satan is to blame, or David, or God

They all work overtime, so they all qualify


I’ve really been trying to listen to your prayer

And what I have gleaned is this

The Lord did come to your heart and redeem and restore

Now it’s your turn to pray for whomever


Sincerely,

Whomever






















Friday, October 4, 2019

Between the liens



I wear my emotions on my sleeves
I'm as transparent as it gets
What you see is what you get
Correct me if i'm wrong

Whence did I receive rationalizations galore of righteous indignation?
I got my foolish zeal from you
There I inherited my infatuation for justice

And my great pride?
My boldness in the face of evil?

My extraordinary self-confidence?

All from your example
My phobias come from her 
My pushiness from her
All empathy from her 
My pity from her
My cunning—all hers

Nobody knows as much as you though
She was severely mentally ill
You were completely and stubbornly sane
Her illness would manifest a complete manipulative two-faced bitch at calculated times
You were just a self-aggrandized asshole caring more about the prized stallion more than tony the pony

She received treatments for a time, and then adamantly refused because she was fucking crazy
You never received correction or ever accepted therapy though
Your excuse? 
You didn’t want to lose your kids

Your excuse?
There were no counselors Christian enough for you
Your excuse? 

Secular psychologists couldn’t or wouldn’t empathize with you
Her excuse? 

Does she even need one? 

She was sick
Her natural personality was triune
The frenzied wrath of a father, the fleeting wind-likeness of spirit, and passibility of the son all wound together in one flesh

She was fucked up
She was literally insane most of my life

But you? 

You’re a prized stallion
You’re a former athlete 
You’re a soldier and patriot
You’re sovereign and national
You’re a prophet, priest, and king
You’re a martyr, shepherd, preacher
You’re now a doctor, too

A man after God’s own heart
Look at what you built
Look at what you defended 
Behold what you have sustained 
Your career of presuppositionalist herem had much success
Like the late great Mr. Pink

Sipping communion at home until his dying day because no one was as prized as he was
No one sustained what he had
Not one soul on earth fought tyranny and built walls of estrangement as high as him
Praise Obama 
Remember that letter of her excommunication that my brother and I wrote? 

Me neither
I remember you writing the whole thing and telling us to lie for you to the session 
Remember how good at chemistry, and math, and history I was? 
Me neither

I didn’t have to be
You either left the answer key lying around or you were too busy building God's kingdom to follow through with love and attention
You left all that for an insane woman to take care of—absolutely brilliant

Why did I become an addict at age fifteen? 
She bought me cartons of cigarettes

Bribing me to steal from you

You modeled resentment and bitterness
You sculpted an image of war propheteering
You recited the grace of God's Law
You delivered the real goods nobody else would
You denounced all cowards for their pablum

Whose habits do you think contributed most?
Perhaps that's a false dichotomy?
The great irony of puritans is that they can’t r/e/a/d
The great tragedy: they insist they can

Because they know they’re clever
And they truly are
They wave their God-in-paperback around in ways that would still make John Knox proud

Upon the first blast of the trumpet
Against the monstrous regiment of women

She received the capital punishment you thought she deserved

To which is added
The contents of the second blast

You became sovereign and she became homeless

Death is right here—Be sober o soul, and read between the liens










Tuesday, October 1, 2019

Memory Eternal (my wings part two)



All day I played Wings Part Two on repeat
I didn’t want to hear anything else
Just tears poured out whenever I imagined
You were the light and the way they only read about
I didn’t start the day expecting it to become this way 
I left the post office and opened your purse
I hadn’t seen your face since I was nineteen
And now all I could see was your smile
I wish I had seen it in person since then
I remember it, but from too long ago
I wish I had just one more glance
Or better yet, one hug and kiss
And one for Alison, my angel, too
And one for Jadon, Eden, and Gaius
Or better yet, to spend a whole day with all of us together
To welcome you into my own home
To share a meal or two together
To hear your voice resound
To gaze at your smile next to me
To even cry together
I’m sure there would have been lots of tears
I would have been there holding you in my arms 
But I wasn’t ever given that chance
A son can dream, can’t he? 
I miss you so much
And yet I don’t even know the you in the driver’s license 
Other than what my teenage self last recollected
I’m so happy to have received your little notebook though
I immediately recalled your distinctive cursive handwriting 
It didn’t change a bit over the last two decades
Maybe my strong opinions about cursive need to change
And your faith in the Lord didn’t change either
I can imagine a certain someone still asking, “What faith?”
Forget about him
His faith only has a dozen followers
But yours has the hosts of heaven 
“Woe unto you that desire the day of the Lord
To what end is it for you?
The day of the Lord is darkness, and not light
Read verses twenty one and twenty two
God himself is saying these verses!”
I didn’t want to read anything else
Just tears poured out whenever I considered
You were the light and the way they only read about
I couldn’t leave the post office 
I stayed parked far beyond my fifteen minute sign limit
Just weeping and praying
More weeping than praying though
Eventually I went to work and didn’t accomplish much
Because I was thinking about your smile and your cursive notes
What an incredible sight to behold
Such a sincere and childlike faith
Not even the most severe tempests of life could loosen your grip
“Hate the evil, and love the good
And establish judgment in the gate
It may be that the Lord God of hosts will be gracious unto the remnant of Joseph
The prudent shall keep silence in that time
For it is an evil time”
You held on to the very end through an evil time
Which began when he divorced you for another
I wasn’t in a good place to know any better at that time
So please forgive me
And recovery without you was much needed
But now that nearly two decades have passed
All I could recall from him was the mantra
You were to blame, not him
You ruined everything
He needed a secretary
You were demon possessed 
You were the problem
He needed a virtuous wife and never had one
You abandoned him
You were not merely ill
Because illness wasn’t a just enough ground for him
Yet from what the Sheriff mentioned over the phone
According to others in Aberdeen, you were still known to be mentally ill
And in ways just like I remember you being
But that simple, sincere smile of yours still catches me off guard
And your handwritten notes still overwhelm me 
You remained filled with the faith of a child all these years
“Seek good, and not evil, that ye may live
And so the Lord the God of hosts shall be with you”
Yet I had no way of knowing this sincere faith of yours all these years
Because you were nowhere to be found
You were remembered as the self proclaimed victim and martyr, abandoned and unloved
And no one taught us how to consider some validity to that
Tears just pour out because I now realize
You were the light and the way they only read about