Communion

Let it be for me
the body and the blood
let it be for me
the living word of God

wafer thin and hollow wine
my thoughts
ritual by man's design

but let it be for me
the sinner's sweet release
let it be for me
overwhelming peace

remorse is all i know
shame is all i see
but by God's grace and love
let it be for me

Caesura

The Story:
When I wrote this poem, I had been traveling for two weeks and was looking at traveling for another two weeks. I do enjoy travel; but not alone. I was driving to my sister's house at sunset in Indiana, and as I kept passing farm houses lit up with either oil lamps or soft electric light, I longed to be home in both the physical and spiritual sense. I was tired and I wanted to belong somewhere. I thought of how lovely it would be to spend time with my sister and stay at her house instead of a hotel, and the grace of God descended into my thoughts and I praised Him.

Caesura

My eye is drawn to the window light;
warm lamp of the resting farmhouse,
dusk safely moving toward a slow supper.

Soft
soft, soft.
A sleeping toddler,
conversation with my sister
and the real self I try to display along with
pamphlets, powerpoint and lights.

My caesura,
my gift of desperation
to step aside and breathe
to turn away and weep
to close my eyes, to smile in secret.

Breathe on me, Selah.
Spirit's logic my warm fire,
the knowlege of you exhales passion
over the cold, wet gravel.

Winter 7:02am

Snuggled tight in down and cotton
linen thoughts and morning vows.

I find a sovereign God is waiting,
waving off my fearful doubts closed thick around my whispering lips.

I'm losing the faith it takes to be intimate
to do more than submit to power.

Watching the light grow on the ceiling,
I beat my chest, "Have mercy on me, a sinner."

Valhalla Merlot

Rock me out.
Take every wrinkle,
spot, dark circle.

Rock me out
with gels and
creams; hopes
held high in glossy
80lb magazine
pages.

Rock me out.
If I have the
perfect shoe,
the cream shade
that defies age
and all touch with reality.

Rock me out;
white teeth,
perfect skin,
soft hair with highlights.

Rock me out.
Trade me up.
Sell me out.
Sell me short.

Retrace the Steps

I've always been too much like Levertov
too much
on
the
next
line
too much like the Hebrews
repeating images
using pictures--restating in other words
the already said
too much in love with Levine
and his stark line and his white images
of taste and grime and industry
and dirt and the list goes on to one
too much in sway like Neruda
full of plump pomegranites
and li-young lee--word mistakes
and twists and turns in persimmons

i like persimmons

too much like Dickenson
all dashes and rhythms
too much like w.s.
with nothing to say
next to the white chickens
not enough like eliot
the epic eludes, eludes, eludes
bishop's fish and oily rainbows

so bring the requiem of notes played and words read, spelled
spoken and tasted.

I breathe the steps I've taken
and I will breathe them again
and they will be read.

Thrios Arkadelphia

I'm trapped in the home stretch
caught in the last .2 miles to the finish
If I could just get beyond,
If I could just reach,
out, past, there, in front;
just at the tip of the longest finger
of the daydreaming transient.

Angry, red and bitter;
I gesticulate--
the homeless hitchhiker
terrifying every do-gooder,
stomping and swearing.

I'm so damned helpless,
trapped and helpless
watching the dust devils dance.

Burning Song

And, Lord, would You receive
the flaming tongue
the burning song
the smoking; smoldering
hopes and longing.

Oh, Lord to be awakened
to Your fire
Your fuel
Your altar.

Help, Lord, help
and receive my song of coals
my burning song.

Breathe in deeply, Oh Living Breath
and exhale Your pleasure and satisfaction
over my burning song
my coal-heaped head.

Jealous Pictures

watched the seasons come down
in jealous pictures

i guarded my heart right out;
right past the last turn

and letting go
a seering fall; a seering fall
into a small world and a big God

I Miss the House

I have been singing for 3 hours
but now the worshipping begins
because just now I've washed
or I am washing or I'm being washed
--let the blood clean
all I've been carrying around
all day--let the rain that thundered
in on top of my practiced singing
soak the altar; I'm with Baal
in my pride, but how I desire
to dance with delight around the
burning altar. I want to be holy,
so I'm going to stopy trying and
just die. That seems to be the
quickest way.
Amber and Leah sway in front of me.
Ryan sings over my head.
Micah bearcrawls to Becca's song.
I could add my harmony but that
doesn't build the Kingdom.
What builds the Kingdom is my
own death and the cessation of
scribbling in the shadows of
other worshippers.

30 August--CAHBC

In the meeting room tonight
stained glass windows and drawn hearts
I want to raise my hand
to add
to join in the conversation
but I find myself just listening
just giving scripted answers in unison

A vivid One-on-one is what I have
I and the Spirit are whispering
elbow in the side, "No. YOU say it!"

I'm not alone in my whispers
but if I stood
if I stood as the new creation I am
then I would be; alone.

Sophia Was Sad; Now We Both Are

Reality is a struggle today; the real is not so much.
A dream came early this morning--it seemed so true; so factual
that waking didn't dispell it.
Wearing that dream all morning keeps the fog around;
keeps the bright green leaves in 3D;
keeps the images of all that was lost so close; yet so intangible.

I had a conversation with my former life.
We argued over what is real; what should be and what is.
In desperation, I cried out quietly in a whisper.
Like the rescue of a thousand horses, Truth came.
Like Solomon with the much acclaimed half baby decision.
I, the true mother found myself screaming--"Oh please don't kill the sovereignty of God
just to make what was, again."

Just like God asked Job: "Would you discredit my justice?"
"Would you condemn Me to justify yourself?"

Of course not silly; it was just a dream.

The Logical Conclusion--Dreamsong

I cannot see a storm approach at night.
When the wind grows mysterious, tremulous and scattered,
my thoughts will match it.
My thoughts will carry it out to the end;
till I reach the conclusion that all things...
all things are in Him and through Him and by Him.

Praise the Living God; my very breath.
Praise the Hands that hold the meaning of all beauty: of every word.

The exhalations of the wind--
the sigh of God; the sigh before the breath before the song begins.
I have to stop and breathe the deep smell of rain.

Draw Close

You are the beauty in the beginning,
the satisfaction in the end;
the giver of the good gift of suffering,
and the fashioner of sorrow.
There is solace in Your eyes and patience on Your face.

Lines from intimate gaze release the breath I've been holding.
You speak a language just for me.

Like oil, your presence spills over my cheeks and lips;

We have turned aside to Sabbath together.

Colorado Psalm

Praise the intentional, individual God,
specific and whole, intent; gazing; perceiving.
Personal, relational, patient and persistent.
He is a God who waits; who breathes;
who calls and knows; who persists and invites.
He is a God who knocks and listens;
who draws close; approachable and approaching;
pursuing and releasing.

Praise the personal, universal God who keeps
the oceans and my longing in perfect rhythm.

Don't Be So Hasty

I'm unwrapping the long gift;
box within box carefully decorated,
designed, intended for me and this
continual string of moments
I know this is the beginning.
I know this is the middle.
I know this is the end.

The distance leads the horizon
that opens to the goal that bursts into flame.
The glow marks the place where at the end
of today's run will rise yet another horizon
a phoenix of hope through endurance;
through persistence
through the humility to know
that the answers are not the prize
the high calling is not the distant glimmer
but Christ, the nebulous monument
the tangibly invisible reward
rests as my pocket possession
eluding into joy.

I Told You So

The forebearance of all things
burlap wrapped around the 3rd degree burn of all your words
all your failures and vehement justifications

I shoulder up and quiet down
all the things I have the right to say
and the freedom to withhold.