Writing from the Heart

The sky shimmers

masking the shadow

that lies on the heart.

The earth feels solid

as I walk along the path

yet, a chasm opens

seeking to draw me down

into the depths.

It seems so long ago

that I took that step

to discover myself

as I began to write

began to explore deeply

those feelings 

that lie just below the crust

breaking out in midnight tears

wraiths weaving their threads

entwining themselves 

in and through my life.

Each day I use words

discovering hidden myths

as I scrape the surface

ever searching for truth

buried under layers of life

where lies and deceit take root

choking out the dream.

I know I’m not as clever

in the words that I use,

and there are moments

when I can’t write what I see.

But age and nature conspire

and I have only a short time

to put out into poorly written verses

that which lies heavy on the heart.

To write is to be free

to envision paradise reborn

in the moments of my life.

Thoughts while waiting at a Four Way Stop

Four way stops

are like life’s crossroads

no one really knows the rules

who gets to go first

so we take tentative steps

a quick glance 

left then right

a slow creep out

hoping to catch the eye

of the others who wait

as you gently pull out

hoping that it’s the right choice

but then again

are there ever right choices?

Simply Just Love You

I simply adore you,

the way you smile,

and your laugh

how you’ve made our home

a place of love,

the way you smell

like fresh spring flowers

after a warm April rain,

your soft body at night

when we cuddle in bed.

I simple adore you,

everything you are

and the gift of love

you share with me

and the life we have.

I simply, just love you

each and every day

On the Edge of Tomorrow

Time flies by, so they say. 

One moment your a child 

nervously entering a new school, 

then your an adolescent 

negotiating the pitfalls of puberty

as you seek to discover 

your way in the world, 

then comes those early years of adultness, 

figuring out what path to take, 

to your dream destination. 

Then you find out that life is not ride at DisneyWorld 

the Fairy Godmother is not real 

the Princess or Prince is really a frog, 

a poisonous one at that, 

but if you’re true to yourself, 

persevere through the storms 

then maybe, 

in the shifting seas 

you find that one person 

who will hold on to you no matter what. 

That one true love

that you reach out for in the dark

when you’re scared and tired

knowing they will be there.

Then comes the moment that you pause,

like an explorer, stopping to survey the landscape

looking back at where you’ve been,

then looking out onto the fog shrouded mountains,

you know you cannot go back

and so placing one foot in front of the other

you take a deep breath and step boldly out

trusting in the love and faith you have.

So Simple

It seems so simple,

to just kneel and pray

to remain quiet and still

for just a few moments,

taking time to be silent

to block out the noises

and the shouts of others

who seek only to be loud

drowning us in a sea of words

hateful words, angry words,

while all I seek is silence

kneeling in the sanctuary

looking up at the stained glass

seeking peace that lies within

to calm my heart,

yet, tears come to my eyes

the heartbreak of deep loss

that loss of spirit and faith

in all that I hold dear and true,

so I kneel and pray

to quiet my troubled heart

lifting my hands to God

seeking that deep peace.

Memories of a Time on a Snowy Day

So, on this snowy day, I’m sitting here remembering being out on guard duty looking out onto the fog illuminated by the perimeter lights, and hearing the crack pow sound of an AK-47 off somewhere in the distance as if in a dream that makes no sense. Meanwhile, outside the snow is blowing around and it’s hard to see across the yard as the plows scape and bang their way down the street and here I am stuck once again with memories of youth in a place and time where there was no snow, and the air contained the smell of rotting vegetation, mixed with the scent of tropical flowers, growing in the burned out perimeter, where only the rats ran and thrived.

Priestly Prose

As a Priest I straddle between two worlds, spiritual and material worlds, trying to preach a message two-thousand years old in a time of anxiety, where anything said or done is subject to being thrown back in your face. Don’t be too political, that’s not your place and don’t tell me to live by a message of love and grace, it cramps my style. No, just give them puppies and kittens, rainbows and unicorns, a few jokes during the sermon to make them smile, then demurely sip tea at the afternoon ladies gathering. After all I follow a homeless man, an itinerant Rabbi, carpenter by trade, who tells us to turn our cheeks, to give up everything, to carry our cross and to love even the unloveable, and that is called the Good News.