Morning Walk

As I walked the dog early this cold winter morning, I looked up at the star filled sky, heard a flock of wild geese as they flew above and in the east, the horizon beginning to grow lighter as the sun began to rise. I came home and wrote this haiku on what I saw, looking around at my place in this world, seeking to find poetry in a simple walk with the dog.

Stars pulsate above

wild geese noisily flying

eastern sky lightens

Lesson learned writing Poetry

The febrile writer

stands within walls

struggles with words

lobbed like boulders

his attempts futile

trying to look the part

without living the part

writing the words

not reading those words

lost in his own fear

of being cast out

exposing hypocrisy

Birth of a Poem

Turn off the noise

settle back

listen to the quiet,

there it is,

that poem,

so long buried

one I’ve overlooked

now I write

not perfect,

it has lain dormant

buried deep

that I know

it is messy

but in this silence

sipping my coffee

words

burst forth

my fingers type

and this natal poem

takes it’s first

breath

Random Thoughts

I haven’t been doing much writing lately, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking but that’s nothing more than just internalizing all of my thoughts and not giving them space to breath. Today, as I was out cycling, I began thinking, once again internalizing, about what it is that is keeping me from actually writing. I think it’s because I have yet to come to terms with being retired. I just don’t feel retired, I don’t yet have any grasp on the intricacies of retirement. I have been actively engaged, either as a student or a worker, for the better part of my life and now here I sit trying to sort out what this all means. So much has happened in the last few months, leaving Trinity, then selling our home in Melrose, moving to Delaware and finding a new home here in Smyrna, which I still haven’t gotten used to, yet. Now, the season of Advent is almost upon us and I have nothing to prepare for, no services, no annual Christmas fair, no visits to be made, no Christmas pageant to prepare, I just sit here while “Church” happens. To be honest, I miss Trinity, I miss the people, the activities the whole community and yet, I needed to leave, it was time. It doesn’t mean I have to like leaving, but it does mean that I now need to refocus my energies. The good news is that in a couple of weeks I will be taking a retreat up at Holy Cross Monastery in upstate New York. This retreat is actually a poets retreat, a time to get away and in the silence and solitude of the monastery to help me to get some perspective, not only my poetry but all of my writing efforts. Stories are everywhere and I do have stories to tell, I have poetry to write and so much stuff rolling around in my head that if I don’t write it will burst out anyway. One thing I need to do is get back into the GrubStreet mode, write everyday, don’t worry about being perfect, just write. That poem lurking back there among other thoughts that litter my mind, go ahead and write that also, stop worrying, no one is perfect. Take that chance, write that story, set down those internal thoughts on paper or in this case, the iPad, and allow it the space to grow in the light instead of festering in the backwash of the mind. Maybe, if I write down these thoughts, it I take some time to explore them as they take shape on the pages, then I might just discover something about myself that has lain in the dark for so long.

The Wait

I come to this place

to find myself imagining

where is my God

in the wildness of the wind,

where do I go to listen

for that voice so dear,

to once again hear that call

and feel the spirit within,

the wilderness is cold

the heart is broken

and now I stand here

in supplication and prayer

seeking the divine Logos

to speak to my darkened self

calling me from my tomb

into the light of the living One.

Heaven or Hell

The church sign asks

where will we spend eternity

heaven or hell

and I wonder

if that is what God is

a judge sentencing me

to a place of pleasure

or to one of torment

I wonder where,

where is the God of love

where is the God who cares

the world weeps

and I ask

where is grace

in this sign

or do I have to choose

curtain one

curtain two

both a dead end

so I choose to ride by

to love, not hate

to care, not ignore

to stand for life

and not for death

in the midst of confusion

where we don’t know our way

choosing love over hate

choosing heaven on earth

not the hell we created

The Dream

Hair of spun gold

eyes as blue as the sea

her skin alabaster

she walks softly

along the narrow paths

in the early morning

footfalls silent

as she draws near

I see her standing

beckoning me with a look

silence fills the woodlands

my eyes are only for her

I’m a prisoner

caught in her web

as she vanishes

mist rising from the ground