Poems

When you stand before the mirror, You do not have to wait To see your counterpart appear, Or glass elucidate. Nor does God wait for you To reach a slow perfection.

Thank you, Father-Mother, for the one who whistles during the silent prayer, for the one whose dad left home last week, for the one who came after the all-night party. Soul, You unveil them.

We collided on the ocean of selfishness our angular aims taut with now's ambition our minds heavy with I   I   I cargo destined to sink to dark nowhere. Let's leave hate's spiral-down for a thought-helix up   up   up into God's covenant   to divine conception and high vision of the new man.

I don't have to wait till later on to see him as he is. I don't have to wait to share the laughter in some remote and vague hereafter— I can be joyful now.

We search in vain for man in mortal history. Old/young, birth/maturation/death are mundane concepts; deceptive, darkened fancies, which are effaced by light-drenched actuality.

From bush to mount to "thou shalt not"— one Voice—no choice. Bondage banished.

In strong command, the Master tells us all to "watch and pray" to see when Christ might come. What do we watch, how do we hear the call that wakes, and makes the voice of darkness dumb? What speaks to us in constant, random voice, this lulling message of the earthly view? It is a monologue of mortal choice that boasts and says, "I am the only you.

There's one thing wrong with tales of pots of gold, elusive and unclaimed at rainbow's end; they mean the rainbow's only semicircle— Like un kept vows, or stories left half-told. The rainbow's round; one half reveals the clue, The other we discover.

Have You forgotten me, Lord? I have been praying so hard; My children hunger for bread. Earth burdens weigh on my head.

Loneliness can weigh heavy as a sack of coal on the back. My load bent me almost double, that, and discouragement.