Questions for Gabriel

Readers, it would appear that I’ve taken a break from writing this year, but I haven’t! I took some time to write a number of poems for Christmas. In the next few days, I’ll publish a couple of them here. Hope you enjoy.

The priest wholly immersed near the holies in verse
His pleas slowly traverse through the incense disbursed
The girl sits ‘neath the tree and reflects silently
Her furled sets of old creeds project faithfully

The angel comes near and says not to fear
He’s able to steer their emotions to hear
The words so profound ‘stead of clear they confound
They surge round their heads to their ear they resound

The old woman’s womb will now bear a son
Her bold summons bloomed to bury the shun
The young virgin’s womb will now make a king
Her subservient view sees to grace everything.

Can such farfetched riffs really be trusted?
Can much tarnished myths of their ped’gree be busted?
Can Yahweh make fruit in the weed-upon earth?
Can Yahweh take root with no seed to spawn birth?

The priest pries improperly for proof from the prophet
He’s ceased to try sovreignty so reproof comes to stop it
The girl gowned in grace goes to gain just a gander
Of Gabe’s endowed place knows what Yahweh is after

The priest now left mute from his lacking belief
The girl resolute from this cracking debrief
One sage now makes signs for his words to be heard
Young-aged gal takes time to assure what she learned.

Two queries two answers two outcomes to ponder
How’ll I know? You will not. May her womb tune your wonder.
How can this be and I remain faithful?
His grace is so great just obtain and be grateful.

The archangel departs post his gift of good tidings
The exchange will move hearts to lift the abiding
What will you inquire from the heavenly hearer?
Will you trust He is higher so to let Him be nearer?

Reflection on Luke 1: 5-38

No greater love was that

 

 

 

 

 

 

To read the words is to live today
To breathe now unencumbered
To move about in a vital way
To rest deep in a slumber

To see the light crack through the tree
To witness sky blue in the dawn
To watch the sun fall in the sea
To observe the stars turn on

To play our games with old and young
To work and build and earn
To exercise our legs and lungs
To teach and train and learn

To kneel and offer thanks
To sit and ponder long
To stand upon the banks
To praise the skies in song

Free we are to live and love in this very hour
The valiant left their liberty for sponges dry and sour
Life’s riches we partake in joy for which we paid no price
No greater love, our nation’s friends, laid down in sacrifice.

The Middle

Dejected to perfected—a spectrum I’ve elected
Selective, trek my thoughts weighing all the perspectives
Now collected, tip the scale, what’s projected?

Could be

A feckless speck of a man prepped to wreck this
Only pecks for success in his recklessness
Expects his neck in a pillory of correctness
Lost, done, worthless, bereft of acceptance
Of himself, dire, mired in deaf remembrance

Checked it.

Did it well, keen to dwell and reflect it
Self now swelled with the hauteur injected
Fail to quell the pomp conscience directed
Hail the tale, statues cast and erected
Til the gale swept ‘way strength unsuspected

A broken balance mistaking measurements but verified valid by itself so inerrant yet we merit as inherent as the spirit meant for cleric now heretic could be back to copacetic if we let it find

the middle

Where guilt and pride are so belittled the ego ceased to be a riddle.

Tide Came In

From nowhere waves washed in today
Consumed me, wet rags and disarray
Deluged my spirit, ‘fore was pleasant play
Hanged tones now canvas my dismay.

Dripping, these thoughts in slow motion
Forlorn heart slogs through this ocean
Strive I may refrain to show them
Wet weight bursts, this cup was chosen.

Bemused when I don’t glee consistent
Yet joy’s contrived mired in this instance
Though beaming voice remains persistent
It drowned ‘pon this posture resistant.

Today the billowed gloom abounds
No sense to dry and clean its ground
The sorrow heaps, the blues resound
Can’t solve ’til tide goes out, I’ve found.

Clack-Clack, the Automatic

Clack-clack, the automatic
Attack, by the fanatic
The cause, psychosomatic
Them laws, undemocratic
That loss, fatally tragic
Whose fault, collective masses
Belief, the right to pack it
And doubt, the smarts to hack it
Self-serve, a freedom racket
Blood spills, as we stay static
Grave times, call for dramatic
Actions, that blast emphatic
Archane notions ain’t you had it
Liberty backs the erratic
Strip it lest we get more manic
And swell our Neolithic panic
Throw death metal in the attic
Lock the glock up from the frantic
Hop and stock up on peace tactics
Stop the clock on lethal antics
Before—-

Clack-clack, the automatic.

News

Again the news hits
Fire consumes beauty, memories, homes, the earth splits
Water falls, rises, decays, the winds shift
Keepsakes blown away and hope drifts
Keeping watch for the forecast of clould lifts.

Again the news flashes
Littles dropped by a pop in their classes
Runners downed in the sound of steel clashes
Faithful trashed from the blast now just ashes
Keeping watch for restoring the masses.

Again the news drops
Tests reveal fate is sealed can’t be stopped
Spread is wide like a locust on crops
Mass more massive than any drug that could top
Grief-torn here we all mourn keeping watch.

Then recall the old news that’s not breaking
That’s been thousands of years in the making
That’s good news to all who are aching
To the fallen who feel God-forsaken
To a dark world a son must awaken
Come great light all your children are waiting.

To Make a Monster

‘Twas a cool, dark night two weeks ago I chose to make a monster.
Apparently the horror shows are the ones I like to sponsor.
I could’ve slept, and been at peace, but I gathered tools instead.
And started crafting this foul beast, the moment before bed.

A tiny ask for a small song, of course that would be fine
I extended it the following night, to two songs, twice the time.
The next night just a little prayer after the lullabyes.
And then a holy story right before he closed his eyes.

Then I looked at him in horror and wondered what I’d done
He’d taken to snarls and growls over the sucking of his thumb
Now his eyes wouldn’t shut, he had 12 on his head
I said “Good night” and horns grew out and tore his sheets to shreds.

So I did a book, a prayer, a song, and ended with a story
But of course it wasn’t good enough, and sadly it got gory.
The monster grabbed me with his claws and kept me in the bunk.
It held me there and I was scared that sleep was out of luck.

The next night was a wily show of hopeless magic tricks
A pep talk then some poetry and soporific skits.
As options waned I reasoned I should tranquilize the beast.
Drowsy pills and vitamins I fed it like a feast.

Now I’m wise on exactly how a man can make a monster
Take all your good intentions of the sleep that you will foster
Then take a new request each night as if it will placate
Instead it breeds a bedtime beast, and then it’s all too late.

Abolition

Go, tell it on the mountain
A secret they don’t know’s about them
Once a whisper became a shout then—
Shackles cracked, lifeblood flowed like a fountain.

Any man anywhere any time
Same fate same share of the crime
Same cell same hell man’s confined
Any pardon for this firing line?

One only sent forth with the keys
One solely meant earth for reprieves
One lonely blip birth barely seen
Yet skies quake and chains shake again.

What’s this, the keymaster’s now bound?
Scandalous, for what guilt has been found?
Nonetheless, the due debt’s come around
Slain scapegoat now the jail’s crumbled down.

Go, tell it on the mountain
Truth laid waste just in case you were doubtin’
Drop the chains no more stains run without them
See you’re His then ad bliss infinitum.

Dadxiety

There once lived a dad who went crazy.
He took 12,000 pics of his baby.
Worried he’d miss a moment
Missed a vital component
Of actually enjoying her maybe.

Another dad had twenty kids
Thought twenty-one could be better instead
So he obsessed for years
‘Til his kids were his peers
Now just one gran would do before dead.

Some dads agonized over names
Like boy one who should’ve been James
Boy two needs new initials
Boy three’s isn’t real special
With boy four we’ll perfect the game

Some dads freaked to miss an event
Leaving kids’ fragile minds with a dent
The dads muttered and moped
Hung their heads like a dope
To the kid it simply came and went.

All these dads so concerned for no reason
Often fearing the change of the season
Can we mutter “Enough”
To ridiculous stuff
Be at odds with what makes us uneven?

The Traveler’s Prize

The delighted man set off, poised to claim his honor.
For he had lifted his country, leading his people from squalor.
He paced with glee, sang joyfully, his triumph gained with valor.

The path was smooth and straight, no labor in his stroll.
Sheltered by the shady breeze, endless steps would take no toll.
No cares surrounded, thus he gaily bounded, and made way down the quiet knoll.

There a man sat, head down and looking glum.
Our traveler gazed upon him, inquired what had become.
The man was quite lost, now full of exhaust, in need of an ear and a chum.

“Go south for a mile, turn left at the farm.
Stay straight for a while, ’til you come ‘pon the barn.
Cut straight through the wood, and in two minutes you should, reach the village for which you now yearn.”

This cheered the man, he got up and made way.
The traveler beamed at relieving dismay.
He cherished his words, claimed his self-made reward, and merrily moseyed away.

As he did he stepped over a quiver.
‘Twas left by the chum that went thither.
Little notice he paid it, left it where the chum laid it, no concern for no arrows within her.

And so he skipped gaily for hours.
Happening ‘pon a vast field of gold flowers.
There a man with his steed, in a quandary indeed, for a broken machine left him dour.

“I still have an acre to mow.
Yet the ardor has crippled my tow.
I know not what to do, for my tool is wrecked, too, and I haven’t the time to be slow.”

The traveler peered hard at the steel.
And stepped forward with intention to deal.
Measured strength and astutely, notched the pieces resolutely, and beheld the fixed tow rig with zeal.

The farmer expressed his deep thanks.
For the traveler had displaced the angst.
So he kept right along, down the path with a song, assured he’d ascended the ranks.

As he did so he bypassed the field.
Largely charred laid its smoldering yield.
Yet so he skipped on, not happening to dawn, was the thought of what source scorched the deal.

So he hummed with unflappable spirit,
Til he came ‘pon a hill with men near it.
Bedraggled they seemed, so bewildered this team, that he asked ’bout their fate, lest he bear it.

“Nomadic are we in this region.
Displaced from our homes for a season.
Now have no land to work, and our enemy lurks, pray he not buffet us like a legion.”

The kind traveler considered the tale.
Not content to let sadness prevail.
So his map he produced, offered land for their use, so they’d prosper ‘pon trekking the trail.

The men moved along with new hope,
For the traveler had thrown them a rope,
He ascended the mount, while proceeding to count, these fine deeds and gay feelings he evoked.

And he paced ‘pon a ground most indented,
From some sort of tracks that imprinted,
But he gave it no measure, just ahead lay the treasure, no trough could now leave his sights tinted.

Alas he reached his journey’s end, a cave upon a mount
Prepped to meet a new friend, and receive a blessed fount
Yet quickly met, the creature that, he’d rather do without.

A scaly terror sauntered forward, and gazed with fearsomeness
The joyful traveler cowered back, his countenance now depressed
Then felt he ought, to relay his thought, to briefly relieve his distress.

“I’ve come this way, for I was due, a gift for my good deeds.
And on the way, helped man some more, supplied his very need.
Shall not these acts, of filling lack, warrant a prize, indeed?”

As he spoke the monster moved ever closer still.
And sneered at every utterance the traveler chose to spill.
He flicked his tongue, with words he hung, the secret to unveil.

“Good you may have done for man, enough to claim the prize.
In fact you have received it, your reward was in disguise.
Now see your error, behold the terror, you’re deceived by your own eyes.”

“So rapt in self-contentment you were blind to see the signs,
Arrowless packs, a crop ransacked, death’s footprints left behind.
Man’s woe I’ve laid, his sun I shade, spawn chaos ‘pon his mind.”

“But you, I may devour, or perhaps more awful yet,
Complete the curse upon your body that your soul had long beget.
Become like me, observe men flee, your face they’ll ne’r forget.”

The traveler contorted about
Felt a jolt of his inside to out
All his skin became scales, sharp claws replaced nails, now his body made beastly throughout.

As he lay there the other went ‘way
Saying nothing to make fears allay
But abandoned the post, disappeared like a ghost, leaving traveler alone in the gray.

So he made the dark cave his abode
From his perch he watched as men strode
‘Til they came to his dwelling, with vanity swelling, and suffered the prize he bestowed.