Slippery

The least of these

beasts, please,

twisting under trees, aiming

for your Achillies

daughter of Eve

 

danger in the dirt

just enough until it hurts

stock still, stone cold

statue coming at you

 

diamond-shaped head

she strikes until it’s dead

the knowledge

that the groveling

empty promises

 

silver-tongued

backhanded balustrades

propping up their foundations

sidewinding

side-of-the-mouth

 

fork-tongued devil

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Commonplace Church: Advent 2017

Once, it was foretold that your son would be conceived of a virgin.

Come, Lord Jesus.

 

God was silent, for four hundred years, before the birth of your son.

Come, Lord Jesus.

 

Amid the struggles of desolation and loneliness, Mary kept the faith.

Come, Lord Jesus.

 

We wait humbly, patiently, in reverence for you this Christmas season.

Come, Lord Jesus.

 

We wait for you to come again.

Come, Lord Jesus.

 

reading based on Isaiah 7:14


Like Mary this Christmas season, the Lord has come upon us.

We are highly favored.

 

Like Mary, sometimes we are troubled at Your words. Yet so unlike she, we hesitate to unabashedly follow You.

You are highly favored.

 

In the midst of the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, may we find time to be quieted and humbled enough in Your presence to listen to the promptings of Your Spirit.

You are highly favored.

 

reading based on Luke 1:26-38


Lord, you direct us in the ways we should go, as servants for Your word.

Lord, seat us humbly at your feet.

 

Lord, you wear the crown of the coming King, yet we are usurpers to your throne.

Lord, seat us in Your courts.

 

Lord, You are the bread of life, and we are hungry for You.

Lord, seat us at Your table.

 

reading based on Luke 1:46-56


Lord, like Mary, we travel as outcasts both unfamiliar and unwelcome in this world, country, city, home, and self.

Lord, we look to You to make straight our paths in the wilderness as we prepare the way for the coming of Christ.

 

Our feet are swollen from walking paths You have not called for us to walk.

We await Christ’s birth.

 

Our minds are clouded with fears, doubts, and worry.

We await Christ’s birth.

 

Our backs are stooped and broken, carrying the burdens we were not meant to carry.

We await Christ’s birth.

 

Our bellies crave that which appetites cannot suffice.

We await Christ’s birth.

 

Lord, we are pregnant with dreams and desires, thanks, and praise that belong only unto You.

We await with faith and hope the coming of the Christ-child who will be our salvation

reading based on Luke 2:1-7


 

Gabriel brings the news

Joseph takes on Mary and the baby blues

We treasure up all these things and ponder them in our hearts

 

She carries the baby on the donkey’s back

animals offer up shelter, it’s an inn that they lack

We treasure up all these things and ponder them in our hearts

 

heavenly hosts’ light show — do you see this?

shepherds open hearts to witness

We treasure up all these things and ponder them in our hearts

 

wise men bringing gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh

let them know Herod’s sniffing ’round, got to get out of here

Christmas is not about the cacophony.

It’s about Jesus, about clarity.

Help me to see thee.

 

reading based on Luke 2:19


 

What began at the garden

to the book of Revelation

and all points in between

 

beginning and the end

on the cross, and up to Canaan

and all points in between

 

the birth and the death

all in his hands so you can rest

and all points in between

 

reading based on Luke 2:7, John 19:26-27

P.P.S.

These apparitional jaunts, haunt

these halls, taunt

these tall

tales

I tell myself.

 

Face the facts:

 

Paul Bunyan swung his axe

still failed to fell the trees.

Paul Sheldon, tied up on his back

fumbled at the keys.

Saul was on the learning track

till the light brought him to his knees.

 

Humbled, bumbling fumble:

 

If it causes you to stumble

cut it off.

Do not let your left hand

know

what the right

is doing.

 

Some day

I’ll write that letter.

 

Blinded by the thought

as light is shed

on another

path.

Skelekinesis

There is no tiptoeing

around this elephantine

madness; as to which came first

no one quite knows,

but there are stories

that one can never forget.

Birthed, here

locked away from the sun

festering, as it were

bosoms that beckon

coddled by inviting hands

and satisfy

grace, grazed

with their touch

bony, death-like

appendages, pinpricks

shudder

climbing ladders of your vertebrae,

pent up

aching for release.

PWNR of a Lonely Heart (Suffer not a Witch)

Are the planets

in their correct houses

to begin this?

Something

definitely amiss

these phases

the way you behave is

nothing short

of bi-polar, maybe baby

in a stroller

pre-pregnancy

hesitancy.

 

Giving in to these base urges,

as we write our dirges

slowly sinking

obviously

not thinking.

Beating my breast

that reeling

feeling

in my chest

Neanderthal

sloped forehead in

consternation, frustration

monomyth

and a fire in the belly.

Jelly?

 

Astrological australopithecines

can’t walk the street

without causing

wanderings, amid that fertile

crescent of a moon

a little too soon

shooting for the stars

and my prized consolation

is these constellations

as we play connect-the-dots

amid forget-me-nots

you smell of roses

and those hips

the kind that could sink ships

Helen of Troy

Mother of Pearl

giving codependency

another whirl.

Girl. Mmmm.

Side Hustle (the fake I do when I should be paying attention at library board)

Enthusiasm precedes you

and your empathy is like a force field

not to be contained, fizzing forward

by celebratory champagne

flutes of the sauce

bubbling over as they’re tossed

back

schnookered on the written word.

 

Drawing me in with your

easy speaking

debutante haunts

bouncing balls down the halls

fans with their chants

onlookers, inside trades

dropping hints

betting against the house

knowledge of the

game, thrown

from the truss, under the bus

forty feet to the street.

 

Bounce with the flounce

rolling to a stop

as the meeting begins

and the grafitti,

backboards, and hoops without nets

shoot your street game

and net you in.

Labor Day of Love

I meet you at the top of the drive as you pull in.

Three hours past due, Labor Day leftovers lukewarm.

Your music blaring

glaring

but for the exception

that it’s Yanni

and I can’t help but wonder

how that would be mildly offensive

in the least.

 

We talk briefly of your weekend at the casino.

You saw him in concert,

entering through the back

where the spectators come in

playing instruments he’d had

since he was in high school.

Sixty-one now, just a few years younger

than you, you can’t imagine

how he can go on like that

three songs straight

standing on a chair.

You watched 

mere feet away from him,

you gave him a thumbs-up

and he winked in return,

continuing to play.

 

We talk of your girlfriend

(how long you’ve been together

I can’t fathom.)

She’s in the Meadows again.

It was all your fault.

You had a bad day at work.

Doing 83 in the company truck,

the police didn’t catch you,

but the higher-ups at the company did:

you’ve been written up.

Again.

Dinner was ready when you got home

she’s good like that.

You couldn’t help but bring your work home,

and be angry at her for no reason.

You yelled.

You can’t remember what you said,

but it wasn’t nice.

Tuesday, she said she was ready to go in.

Wednesday, she called the cops, and even though

she asked to go, they wouldn’t take her.

Thursday, they never came.

Friday, two staties and a local boy

picked her up. She went along willingly.

No fight left in her.

You saw her today:

she could barely keep her eyes open,

her head down the entire time,

not remembering what she had for lunch

or if she had even had it,

hands

like ice in cold, cold water

trying to revive someone,

or cold enough to take out a kidney,

or a heart, which you already had.

…and that is the truth.

This came up in today’s reminders on the FaceSpace. Looks like a day for blog posting.

This is a song directly after a break-up (two months or so) to the point where I was moving on, I think. There’re some themes that have traveled to other songs and poems, but I like this. I don’t recall writing it.

As an added bonus, there’re some Dark Tower references here.

Enjoy!

glad to be a part of something bigger
when all I can think of is myself
I would like to stop thinking of her
but I’m accustomed to this hell
flames lapping up about my feet
as she pours on gasoline
how I tied myself so tight to this tree
no wonder I cannot be free

oh how the fire it keeps on burning
oh unto a crispy black
all these things I should be learning
if I could only have her back

all the while I’ve been plotting
how I can triumph from this test
all these hecklers are a’watching
as I dance the dance of death
throw upon those useless branches
as smoky ‘membrances rise higher
there go my bridges with my chances
as my vision’s growing tired.

oh how the fire it keeps on burning
oh unto a crispy black
all these things I should be learning
if I could only have her back

calling out across the courtyard
calling out across the square
as my breath escapes me so hard
calling up into the air
someday soon I shall be born again
like a phoenix from the ash
I plead for all the help that you can send
so I can let go of my past