to not embarrass you

I've been sitting at my desk working on things that suck me dry.

I want to do great things.
I want to do good things.
I just don't want to embarrass you.

I have the chance to be burnished brass or crude;
to be washed away by the culture and the flesh; the pride of life my decision-maker.

I want to do great things.
I want to love big and long.
I want my life to stretch out in beauty like the morning sky.
I just don't want to embarrass you.

I have the chance to be soothing song or brash;
to be carried along by the lust of the eyes; the carnival show my entertainment and distraction.

I want to do great things.
I want to glory small.
I want to see my life stretch out in moments of redemption.
I just don't want to embarrass you.

I have the chance to be transparent,
to relax in my own skin, the quiet, gentle, unbothered spirit.
I have the chance to lead others
into the unconditional love of God, but I have to go first.

Running under the sky

the clouds divide over southern Arizona near the Mexican border

the breath of Alaska--mountains--I stand in an exhale of misty ice

the beginning of Fall and my first 8 miles; I round the corner to enter the stadium and hear a roar and a song

I am singing with the sky--my feet fall in rhythm with my breathing

I take off

past the The Eye of the Tiger straight out into Elijah's freeway

Friday, February 9, 2007

The five o'clock birds have come again
to visit in the holly bush outside my window.

I am at peace to watch them grow their feathers out against the cold
to hear them talk their talk in tones and whistles;

to remember that all my anxious lists,
fretting breaths, fervent dreams
can stand behind me for a while.

I shake my hands away from doing;
away from conversation and demand
and lay them in my lap as I wonder in awe and worship in rest.

Mary's Last Dance

Today in sunshine through stained glass
I listened.
I watched Robert Earle--the man who crossed the room for Mary.
I watched him say goodbye to her, and I have to wonder.

I have to wonder what will be when I'm in a
shiny casket. How far will my life stretch out?
I dreamed my death last night--or some version of it.
It was a warmth that spread from my middle out to the ends.

Then between Nesbit and Bridgeforth
I was befriended by endurance
to pick up the pieces of my last impatience;
to reconstruct with slow prayer what I have torn down in haste.

Bless this day of Mary's last dance, last song.
Bless the Delta and my mother who escaped.
Bless the Father, Son and Holy Ghost--through Sumner and Tutwiler,
past Clarksdale on the by-pass and back up to Walls.

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

Tuesday

Red ribbon; cut crystal hung to catch the light;
to increase energy across the spectrum; across the body.

Hard wood floors; beaded doorways--topaz, peridot
Incense, jade, scents, smells & breathing.

Deliver me, Lord, from calculated, dispassionate prayer.
Calculated; rehearsed & recited.
Deliver me, Lord, from incantations, methods and motions.

Release me only to the Spirit who indwells.

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.

Hwy 304 West

Fogg Road knows it's name
and delivered a special note
in your hand, yesterday.

pink sunset, low mist over haybales

I had to stop.
I had to stop the car, risk the road and a barking dog

to spend a few minutes
studying the angles and strokes
and find your signature in the corner of this moment.

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."

Hospice

Death; the spector,
blackhooded
shadows equally my logic and emotion.

Not so much the end of all things as the end of me.

Blessed.
Warm fire,
from my chair a view of the moon through branches.

In the morning I will wake
and find the turn row.

Frost under my feet.

I breathe; I am; I will be,
until the future is present continuous.