Christmas Prayer (or Pastor's Lament)

I lay me down, not sure the reason,
For I can't sleep in Christmas season
When all around me, here and there,
Apathy hath filled the air.
Come Christmas Eve or Christmas morn
Its not about the Savior born
Fellowship? Good News spread?
That egg nog's gone right to your head!
Good pastor, you this Church must grow
But don't disturb the status quo
(Especially the Christmas Show,
It's very special, don't you know?)

Good Christians all (I'm pretty sure)
Come walking weekly through our door
And rush to chat up the rare new face
That finds its way into God's place
Did I say God? Oh, heavens me!
What I meant was Church Trustee.
But just for now I simply pray
That God will grant another day
That I might use to do His will
And grant me sleep, that's better still!
I'll take His testing 'round the clock
For the privilige to guide His flock.

Non

How many years has it been since something like togetherness had passed between the two? Without empathy, each retreats to his and her own inner sanctum. Except the one is oblivious to all of this, for she thinks only in the here and now, the moment of cause and effect. And the other sees it all too clear, the big picture and future consequence in all its miserable minutia. One is reductive while the other is deductive. She lives in the now, dissolving quickly into the past. He lives in the now, sliding relentlessly into the future. Both are miserable in the now. But while her loose connection to the present allows her to just roll over & go to sleep, as if nothing ever happened, his long view to tomorrow's horizon connects this daily misery into an endless, unbroken stream.

Last Walk (Warm Adirondack White Night)

Clingy and moist, white as linen, a warm snow has settled like frosting at Cedar Eden and turned the landscape into the proverbial picture postcard. A snowplow roars down at Donnelly's Corner, splashing yellow through the trees as it maneuvers to clear the broad way. Light from the house and from the garage illuminates the scene, reflected on the fresh, new snow. Warm and calm - Adirondack t-shirt weather - and the whole outdoors has that "new snow" smell, so much more satisfying than that "new car" smell. The dogs sniff footprints, then head for the front door, young dog bounding, old dog limping along. Last walk of the night over, we all settle in, each of us curled up in our favorite spot, slowly drifting to sleep in the comfort of wood stove warmth.

Full Moon No Sleep

Mind still whirls at 3AM. Night rests dimly alight, full moon pale on thin clouds and a dusting of snow, like candlelight on plaster and alabaster, pearloid and mother of pearl. Or like the ineffective light switches of childhood nightmares, throwing darkened rooms into brooding, shadow-filled caverns.

In odd contrast, my dog sleeps snugly against my left leg, her breath occasionally whistling through her nose with a sound remarkably like the call of the Eastern Meadowlark. Heavy sigh, quiet snuffling like a pygmy wart hog, and the mood casts again from spring meadow to Frau Blucher's dungeon.

When dimly lit, winter night shadows are the deepest Ektachrome blue. But I can take no more, and must somehow salvage an hour or two of sleep. And so hit send, with further analogies left un-analogyzed.

The World: You. Me. Life.

Do we live in a simple world or a complicated world? I think we live in a world we simply, as in unnecessarily, complicate. I feel blessed that once or twice in my life I have been able to pierce that vail of unnecessary complication and open the eyes, soul and heart of another . . . to connect deeply, completely. It isn't easy to rip open the bubble that keeps us from achieving the possibilities of the here and now. It is even more difficult to convince a kindred soul to rip through hers so that you may each stretch out your arms and truly grasp unfetterred love. A foggy night on a city bridge where nothing but love shouts to the skies and slowly wins over the reluctant partner. Poems and stories shared, unveiling a love whose breath never coincided to light the embers of a hidden, shared fire. A cautious, reluctant dance of words around music: two worlds, one passion.

Life, the world, is simple. We complicate it every time we put up a barrier to connecting heart to heart. Heart to heart, it burns united, it rips shredding agony when pulled apart, but stokes the furnace of life if simply allowed to burn its natural course. For me, its never been that fabled two hearts as one for ever and ever. Yet, I gladly carry the pain and scars for the loves that have been.

I love the idea of love.

Me. You. Something. Here. Now.

Time - Passage

I dream I sat astride a silver horse
And faced ahead a wide, shallow river
The river, my life, as an hour glass,
Far too much sand in its base,
Far too few grains left to fall.

In my hands, the reins,
My pockets, small stones.
I knew my path lay ahead,
But did not, and do not, know
In whose hands a must place these stones.

Unremarkable in color,
Like worn granite river cobble.
But I must cross the river, alone
And I must distribute the stones before I cross.

No one in sight,
Do I simply scatter them into the water
Hoping one day another shall pick this stone or that stone up and take it along its next journey.

Do I somehow hang on, weak, alone,
And wait for the hand in which I'll know each stone is a perfect fit?

And risk failing to even cross the river, let alone distribute the stones my God has placed in my hands?

Is that damnation?
Is that hell?
A life of purpose unfulfilled?

I see now what I have always known:
Love is larger, grander, than all of us.
Love transcends all.
Love is where we all meet.

I tried to share that window of love with a few,
In the end, it was always destined to fail
in human frailty and in human fault
And in human fear to simply let go and feel what is right

I welcome soon that total immersion in love,
Nothing short of what we all seek,
But only find at the curtain call of this existence.

Orion

The Milky Way lay draped
Across Orion's broad shoulders,
Directly overhead.
The swordsman stands
Knee-deep in star-studded velvet,
As an elk standing
In the dew-strewn dawn of a forest's deepest moss.

Rain falls

Rain falls

and

The whole earth cries.

I don't know if it cries in pain
Or of loss.

While crying,
It rarely matters.

I fall
and
No one cries.
Way beyond the skinned knees
And scraped up, gravel-embedded palms of my youth.

When I fall now,
Shit happens.
Or, sometimes, shit doesn't happen
And THAT makes shit happen.

When did I park my monkey bike
And trade cards in spokes
For iron and steel,
Roaring fucking hot metal?

What's the Deal with Moonlight?

What's the deal with moonlight?
Does it really shine on me and shine on you?
Does it bring us together across the chasm of time and space?
Casting good fortune?
Brightest on the darkest nights.
Smothered by the meekest candle,
Never seen on city streets.
You can look at the moon from anywhere
But, cheerful as the moon may be,
You can only catch moonlight
In the darkest of places.

Magical is moonlight
As it shines across your breasts
Your skin, like alabaster, glows pale and smooth
And calls to me
to lay a gentle touch upon your breast
A joining of energy, powerful, poignant.

. . .

I think this poem of sorts is yet unfinished.
You can only catch moonlight
In the darkest of places.

Out there

It is good to know that
Somewhere out there
there is someone who cares,
Someone who loves me
Just as I am
Someone who wants me.
Someone who desires me,
Someone who loves me,
Wants to be with me,
To hold me, to touch me.

It is good to know
But
It doesn't make THIS time
Any easier to bear.

Who would choose to spend
The last hours of their life
Unhappy, unfulfilled, unloved, unloving?

Two Forty Five AM

The sky like blue slate
Bare limbed trees in silhouette
As veins in marble

Haze obscures like smoke
Wind shifts and translucence
Reveals itself as fine snow
Snow meal, as my Nana would have called it

Care, Shared: The Granola Girl Chronicles

I long for a life
Happy & filled with love
Back to core values
Music and romance
Sharing each moment
Loving & the love
of a granola girl

Decades ago
That descriptor was used in derision
But life and love and you
Altered my focus
Changed my vision
Has me longing for the love
of a real granola girl

Honey sweet
Perhaps a bit nutty
But honest and creamy
Eternal desire to be one
Skin on skin
Eye to eye deep
Bare completely to the soul

Just the thought
Of close proximity
Breath falters
Heart flutters
Mind races
Hands long for
Touch

Care, shared