Goodness and Mercy

Goodness and Mercy

follow me every day,.

Their footfalls softly fall

As I make my way.

As darkness drops ahead

they lift their torches

to light my way,

comforting through nights

that threaten

To never go away.

I hear their voices

in children at play.

I feel their touch in hugs

from friends keeping loneliness at bay.

I share their laughs and smiles

with strangers on my way.

I am carried in their arms

by those who lift my fears away.

I accrue my many debts

but it is they who pay.

They carry me toward my fate

when I would wearily delay.

And, when it seems useless,

they remind me to pray:

“Thank you, Goodness and Mercy

for following me all my days.“

KEEP ON ROLLING

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Life is a circle

which rolls back along itself

in never-ending movement,

its motion so slow

we cannot see where it goes.

But going forward it is.

It reaches goals a mile a minute,

gaining speed on downward slopes.

Only then do we notice

the movement at all.

We roll with the punches

over new terrain,

fearing any moment we may fall.

But the circle keeps on rolling,

circling from beginning to end

then back again, moving forward 

all the while, where wheels 

are allowed to move freely.

There are those whose lack

of courage and curiosity

try to put on the brakes

and stop life’s relentless spin

into the future we cannot see,

looking backward as the wheel

spins forward over and over again.

Their fear grows with each 

forward motion

drowning in an ocean

of doubt and uncertainty.

They confuse beginnings with ends.

It is difficult to see

when so small we all be.

we look right and we look left;

too small to see

a wheel as large as infinity.

But never doubt, my friends.

We keep on rolling, rolling, rolling

moving forward over and over again.

Our progressive movement

is not a fall, 

from  grace; 

we are always in

the best place;

This time is simply

a new start after all.

We shall come through

as we always do

to new places

with new faces

new beginnings

that never end

but circle on,

and on again.

BEHOLD THE SKY

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The river of color flows through the sky

weaving its way beneath and between

all that is seen and unseen.

Undulations of colors entwine 

the energy of the divine

with the hopes of humankind.

We fear the sky’s fall

bending our knees

hiding our eyes,

until we lose sight

of the wonder of it all.

Motion and change delight

and yet, we cannot grasp hold

of what is before our sight.

And this loss of control over the diversity 

and complexity of colorful skies

entraps and belies

a sense of self so small

it frightens us all.

The skies are not falling

simply because its colors shift.

The movement within the sky

can never send us adrift.

Gravity holds us all together,

keeps us spinning, it is true;

but, never allows us to go too far, too fast. 

It helps make the moments last

until we can understand

what we stand under,

an open sky which belongs to all.

Look up and behold the sky.

Reach up to touch the clouds.

Dance in the wind, bathe in the rain.

Never lose hope ever again.

FROM UNDER THE ROCKS

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I cried the night Barack Obama was elected President.

Tears of joy released the exhaustion 

which I had carried door-to-door

for more than a year to those who too often

defiled all courtesy and shared community 

with unrecognized racism, or even with vile threats,

as I pleaded for their vote for HOPE.

While my colleagues cheered with broad smiles

I lay my head in my arms and sobbed. 

And, when they asked why I cried

I replied

“The backlash will be fierce 

by those who now recognize that white power

is no longer strong enough to support their hate.”

It was clear my fellow citizens would not long tolerate

power in the hands of an African-American.

The rage would be unleashed and revealed

from where it had lain hidden 

within our neighborhoods and institutions.

From that day on every African-American child

born after this date would enter a world where

dreams could be fulfilled, no matter how wild.

I rejoiced at this change of perspective,

but knew this would be just too much for a nation 

whose  history was built on white male supremacy.

Two steps forward. One step back. Progress moves

on and off-track until we wonder if we must go back.

We are not going back, just reconnoitering to find a new track.

That night, I dried my tears and planned my attack

ready to fight what I knew was coming and who would lead,

those who would block our progress at every turn

willing to let the country suffer and burn,

willing to break laws and undermine elections,

threaten and attack prosecutors and judges,

willing to engage in insurrection.

They have come up from under their rocks and we can see

those who have always threatened our democracy.

We know the way forward and we are strong.

So strong they know they have lost their control and that we

are moving beyond a world where only the good ole’ boys belong.

Campaign Music

No single note is discordant.

No single vote voiced is wrong.

How the songwriter

puts the notes together

determines the song.

Our brains fine-tune our ears

to listen for the meaning

of words carried on the notes.

Some songs lift our spirits

to reach a higher cause.

Some songs depress our spirits

and make our hearts pause

with the fear of the other

we hated all along.

Some songs get us on our feet

to dance together, smile and sing.

Some songs hold us in our seats

ready to shout out in defeat.

The songs which truly make us strong

Are those we can rely upon

to offer hope, and love, and peace.

How the notes are brought together means everything.

The music that is America

is hard to sing if notes

are not treasured,

So many notes over so many years

from so many places refugees fled in fear

of famine, crime and even war.

We have sung the song of safety and of freedom,

welcoming all to our shore.

Songs that open minds and hearts

are the best place to start

a journey to a better future;

unlike the songs meant to keep us apart.

So many discordant notes

strung together create chaos,

not a strong and lovely song.

GRIEF

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Everyone grieves in their own way, so they say.

But, steadfast Grief remains the same.

Lips once tilted in joy, Grief holds tight with the strain

of holding back anger and keeping screams at bay.

Grief tightens the brow and hardens the eye

to hold back the tears which threaten to slide

tearing apart all that we hold deep inside.

Cheeks held too tight crease 

and create runnels where tears may glide.

Grief clutches jaws held fearfully tight.

Once tears escape, will our held-back sobs fight

with a pulse so strong they can never be stopped?

Like a street thug, Grief pounds us into submission

and never takes time to ask our permission.

It pushes us down with pummels fierce and powerful.

Grief uses its bruising punches to keep us sorrowful.

We lie on hard pavements praying for the end to our suffering.

We feel we are losing our grip on reality.

We clutch at old truths, begging help to appear and lessen our sorrow.

Even Grief grows tired over time and lessens its blows.

Help comes when we unclench jaws and scream,  

and shout, and let our tears and fears outwardly flow.

Soften the eyes. Relax the brow. Let the tears flow. 

Tears wash away sorrow that new faith can be planted

in every tomorrow, with new ways to love

and new paths to follow.

Signs of grief always remain in new lines

that furrow about our lips, across the edge of our eyes,

and on necks which will, henceforth, our heads tip

slightly down, with greater humility, a bit.

Over time bruises heal, muscles grow stronger.

We learn we can handle the tough thugs who sit

on the sidelines, hidden in shadow.

We learn love again, embracing those who came to help.

We learn faith again, embracing those who prayed by our side.

We learn hope again, embracing those who helped us to our feet.

We stand again on loving, faith-filled, hopeful feet;

and, find a new path where joy and laughter can leads us.

We see our new selves in the eyes of those we pass.

We are stronger and last longer than Grief ever could.

SNOW!

We often think that Spring brings our first hopes

of a new life, a new world, a new cause to celebrate.

We need not wait for Spring to hope.

Eight inches of snow fell silently and cloaked

the surfaces of note that set our scene,

a scene fearfully bleak which clouds all thoughts

of a fearless life, and hides the fear which lies below

our greatest hopes, limited by what, we do not know.

We fear the worst after watching the news

meant to keep us watching, our nerves hanging on every word.

Snow!

Snow changes our landscape in a moment.

The deeper the snow, the greater the wind, 

the more we see of all the possibilities 

to change the world we ache to know.

All darkness and decay disappears by end of day.

White whorls of snow cover every branch of every tree,

and shrub and shed. No tracks yet made by others 

who share this place with me.

The sun rises in  a fiercely blue sky and tracks appear

upon the new world of white light strewn across its face.

Snow!

Snow allows us to dream we can make all clean.

Our purity glows within each crystal caught by sunlight,

raising our spirits, capturing our innocence.

We believe we can change, too. All is right in a world draped in white.

My first hope does not wait for Spring.

It comes alive at the sight of the first big snow.

Snow reminds me that landscapes can change swiftly,

purely, beautifully aglow. Even war’s wounded landscapes

appear at peace when covered in snow.

Impoverished neighborhoods where crime rules breathe softly covered in snow.

Snow!

SUNRISE

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The sky alights as do I.

Sun fills the fibers from head to toe.

Sun awakens so I must go.

I must go follow the sun it seems

or languish within startling dreams.

I prefer reality to map my way out of night.

I prefer a mind and heart filled with light.

Shadows always fall behind me.

Darkness  no longer blinds me

though I am on unfamiliar paths

and the light will not last.

For a few hours, at least, 

I progress past the breach

where it would be easy to fall

onto hopes covered by a pall.

Light guides my way 

for another day.

It no longer matters if I know

exactly where I am meant to go.

I simply take delight

that it is not yet night.

This, then, is the destination

for each soul and every nation.

Be in the here. Be in the now.

Let this be our solemn vow.

As difficult as it is to follow the sun,

humanity’s journey has just begun.

There will always be another night.

Sunrise always returns to give us light.

LIFE

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This is all I know.

First, you come.

Then, you go.

This is all.

I know.

I know.

It is all I can know.

Yet something shows

from hidden places 

up and below.

Something unbidden

that hints at more, longer;

that feels better, stronger.

Where does more come from?

Where does more go?

Where did I come from?

Where shall I go?

It is never enough 

this life that I know.

This is all?

Can this be so?

I want to know.

I want to know.

I want to know.

BODHI’S FIRST COMMUNION

Memories of bridal veils and sharp edged crinolines

biting the legs, seated and held still in quiet pews,

hands tight on rosary beads, Grandma’s gifted pearls, twisted,

turning, clacking, in anxious prayer.

Feet planted on kneelers already down

to hold aloft tiny feet in lace-edged socks

in white leather shoes with silver buckles.

Seldom seen relatives from far and near appear

to grace the day so full of grace it overflows

until the urge to flee such attention lightens the air

and breath seems a solemn plea to rise and go.

As my memories do because there he sits,

solemn and silent, and ready as I am never,

with a strength and wisdom so rare

it settles the soul and stiffens the mind

reminding us of the moment soon to arrive

when Grace itself takes form in the Host,

a thought so alive we all rise to process up the aisle

all smiles of delight light us inside and out

as the Host melts on the tongue and our hearts shout

God is alive! As am I. As am I!

Unconditional love exists in this moment of bliss,

in communion with all others, our sisters and brothers

within a family, a church, a neighborhood block,

a city, a nation, an entire world

of people to love and bring inside hearts opened wide.

No human assessment of follies,

no judgement of errors done and undone,

no constant surveillance of sins yet assessed.

On this day

with this child

one only feels blessed.