The Good Poet

The poet,

a good poet,

sees the world,

I mean,

really sees the world.

They not only see a sunrise,

they see the colors that dance across the horizon.

The changing shapes of clouds

being blown about the blue sky.

When they write about love,

they touch upon deeply held feelings

giving voice to our deepest desires.

Passionate kisses are felt,

the warmth of another person held close,

losing oneself in the moment

wishing it to last forever.

In the way they use words

that worm their way into a person’s heart.

Poetry becomes the portal,

through which we step into

an unseen world,

uncovering mysteries lying

just outside of our limited sight.

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Simply Listing 

Write a list poem

one that is a list

of the stuff you have

ordinary stuff,

that book of Donne poems

that old 1928 Prayerbook

a bag of pistachios 

four bibles four translations

a book explaining all that,

the Burial Office book

and Joan of Arcadia DVD’s.

It’s all a messy jumble

nothing in place 

papers strewn all over

notes long forgotten

fragments of my life

like the lists I create

pieces lost

pieces found

words said 

words not said

words lost on the wind.

A desk of potsherds

a Humpty-Dumpty

all shattered yet whole

piecing together my life.

Trying

Trying to write poetry

requires that I dig, deep.

Deeper than ever

to find the right words

to make clear metaphors

setting my feelings free.

To look at the world

and see inner beauty

even in the grime

that coats everything

with a dirty film

obscuring the truth.

Poetry, is hard

for one not so smart

whose inner world

is a littered landscape.

Trying to piece together

these little bits and parts

a jigsaw puzzle of memory

twisted by life’s tornados.

Am I making sense

in these words I write

or is this all a jumble

of mismatched thoughts?

Grandchildren

Life moves along, 

in a way that we hardly notice.

The baby born one day,

is an adult with their own,

thoughts, challenging your,

certainties about life and love.

Grandchildren, growing into

themselves, a reflection of you,

even though you might not be ready.

Life, that great mystery,

of heartache and love,

of finding ones way in the midst,

of the confusion and pain.

The old man seeks to find,

refuge for those who follow,

knowing that nothing he does,

will ever save them from the reality,

of all that presses upon their lives.

Yet, try we must, to give our best,

to be open to the possibilities,

to be unafraid to venture again,

into that world where all is new,

and we find ourselves unsure,

yet willing to try, to live, to love.

Poetry

Poetry, is the spoken word of God,

the way we humans make sense,

of all that we see in the world.

From the birds in the air, to the flowers,

in full bloom, full of color and fragrance.

Deep within each of us is that poem,

that reaches within the darkness,

and leads us into the light.

The poetry of silence in a noisy world,

poetry of thoughtfulness as we seek,

God’s gracious gift of peace