Posts for June 28, 2019 (page 6)

After I had kids, it struck me as ironic that
young people would take vows of celibacy
and hide out in monasteries or temples
in order to get closer to their idea of god.
I don’t think I ever had a clear understanding
of the way God must see us until I became
a father myself. And now, improbably, in my
70th year, I have become a grandfather.
When I hold that nearly 20 pounds of infantile
energy it’s as if my former feelings of awe and
compassion have increased by an order
of magnitude. I feel sorry for the millions
whose idea of God is a pinched-faced old
accountant with nothing better to do
than write down people’s sins day and
night in order to fry them forever.
He/She has watched over countless
generations and understands our
longings so much better than we do.
I see all of those longings and fears
and frustrations in a child that’s not
even 6 months old, and who is a daily
reminder of Wendell Berry’s observation
that God is the wildest being in the universe.

Age thirteen, I had just started to bleed,
when a blinding light proclaimed
my body drafted as a vessel
for new life, a divine being, long-awaited.

I know this makes me special but I can’t
help wishing someone else were chosen.
I’m just an ordinary girl looking
forward to an ordinary life.  Does
it seem quite fair to be used this way–
my body colonized for purposes
not my own?

holding you
is burying my hands
in fresh earth
after a hot summer rain

the rich soil
awaits its turn

only

a sharp trowel 
pierces you
without warning

and
the damp dirt
falls from my fingers,
back to itself

surprise
uproots potential vegitation
while your eyes
spit seeds 
for me to sow

in the dog days 
resting
on tomorrow’s horizon

Illuminated
grey light just before sunrise.
One morning star glows. 

As a poet

These children, we do not own.
This house, we do not own.
These creeks, rivers, mountains and fields;
we do not own.

There is no ownership,
Only stewardship.
All that we have, was given.

We are visitors,
Mere Travelers
Immigrants.

Only love do we keep
Only love can we give

So Love with affection
Give without question

For we cannot care for what we do not love
If you care
Teach them to love.

preschoolers
single file on a crosswalk
a row of ducklings

I sit
On the platform
At the station 

Feet dangling
Over the edge,
Above the track.

I  am waiting
For a train 
That will not come.

Picture the world of your childhood
Forget everything you have learned since you were five
Do you feel the bathtub of yellow and blue
All its everlasting brightness? Now, then becomes now
Colors lose the repressive connotations of memory
We have all become far too old

I watch the tourists from a mousehole
And can’t help but laugh
None of them are at all conscious of the flowers
By virtue of this, I am sure this tree is for us

The nature of reality eludes
Even as it becomes clearer
With each minute sign of spring
Memory is obvious
A disastrous rabbit hole 
So full of material revelry
Both imagined and not