Two shorter poems I have been working on for Ash Wednesday and the beginning of our Lenten journey.

Rumpelstiltskin

Hard we work
To make of life's gold
A more manageable straw.
Worn and weary,
We transform the glory of our given days
Into something we can hold
Time
Value.
Oh to stop --
Just stop --
And speak only the unknown name
Of holy,
Holy,
Holy,
And rest in life's grace.

Toward the cross

Somewhere inside
Perhaps just to the left of the heart
And pressing on a lung
There is a gathering of brokenness
Like shattered glass;
Sharp
Cutting at the core
Grinding out each costly breath
And making feeling fearful.
Perhaps in the sunlight
It would reflect
Even shine
The deep red of church glass
If I can tear from my breast
Shard by shard
The pain;
A slow process at best.
And surely I will miss a crystal or two
To remind me
That breathing expends
And feeling enslaves.
Life and death depend one on the other;
They intertwine
And unite
Like lovers
Yearning for each other
Until inhale and exhale
Exalt
Into a final glory beyond.

The Visit


Perhaps once in a decade a certainty comes
Unbidden and unexpected.
The sad vagaries and the lovely mysteries pile up together,
As hours and days and years blow past,
Like garbage at the curb or stars clustered in the Pleiades.
And then it happens -- as it did this morning.  
Alone, I begin to awaken, slow and worn.   Alone.
But not, for there at the foot of the bed I feel the weight of someone,
A gracious pressure on the blankets nearby.
But not imagining anyone in my room with me
I wait with my eyes closed to be clear on just who it is.
As the morning consciousness comes, I realize there is no one there,
But still feel the presence, the ponderous certainty of someone.
So I open my eyes to see,
Even a bit afraid of who is there,
And the certainty is gone.  
Only last night’s dirty socks which I was too tired to put in the wash basket
Sit on the ground by the bed.
Seeking to be sure, I am left alone again.
No presence.  No weight.   No certainty.
Surely I could not have borne the vision of it,
So it dashed off.
Still, I was visited
In my loneliness and dreamy waking
By a message of love and certainty to lift me
For perhaps another decade or so until, forgetting,
I hear or feel or somehow know another word of truth.