Stare

Do the flowers bloom under a new moon?
No, that's not how flowers grow.
See, a flower only shows its face
when it basks in the suns warm glow.

So why do you suppose
that your neighbor needs your stare,
when the only way that you bloomed and grew
was under someone else's care?

Can a duckling hatch in the frozen snow?
Does an eaglet soar in rain?
Well the devil knows he can keep you down
by reminding you of your pain.

So why do you suppose
that your neighbor deserves your glare
when the only way that you learned to fly
was under someone else's care?

Please don't let go of my hand,
please don't let go of my heart.
I can only sing, I can only dance
if you show me where to start.

Monuments

I walked by the great stone monuments today

Engraved with the names of our dead -

Binders full of them - 

And I wondered

Do the builders of the monument think we will remember?

As if their names explain their sacrifice?

As if their sacrifice explains why they fought? 

As if they knew why they fought, before it was engraved?

And then I thought: 

Would they build a monument to us?

And

To me it's not history; 
it seems like the other end of one of those 
moving walkways in airports. 

I feel like if I really wanted to I could turn around 
and run back and everything would be 
just the way I left it. 

And if I touch it, that part of my life will simply start again, 
right where it left off. 

Great Grandpa Earl's garden sheds, 
the broken window by the service door on Cambridge Drive in Michigan, 
the parquet floor on the stage in Warroad, Minnesota, 
and a kiosk selling little packages of flan in Santiago Chile Lindo. 
I never could eat flan again, because of the ants. 
And then again in Minnesota - 
the oak pews in the Waconia chapel and 
the painted carpets in the orchestra pit in Chaska. 
And a little Sunday School classroom in Oakton, Virginia. 

And you will be there, waiting, 
because in my mind you're all still there, 
exactly where I left you. 
And I'm keeping you there in my mind, and 
you aren't lost or gone because 
good things are never lost, and 
those were really good things.

Faith

In darkness and in cold
we walk, stumbling
then tiny light!
Still we do not see
all that we thought to find;
but we press along,
waiting to feel
and to see what we
already knew was there.

To the Pianist

Sit up, sit quietly, drop your shoulders,

raise your chest, relax your neck, and listen;
for all of the music ever written,
every sigh, every tear, every laugh,
is playing instantly, simultaneously, now,
freed of the temporal line that binds the player.

Wait until you hear it, until you feel its pulse;
and then, only then are you authorized
to place your hands upon the keys,
to allow the weight of your arm
to carry you downward, plunging
into the universal chorus.

Play it never boastingly, and never shyly,
for we are only one of the harmonies,
and even the most salient of our melodies
is but a counterpoint, suspended
against the tune of the Creator
and with the symphony of all of creation.

Rarities

Perfectly pure honey, from
only four-leafed clover;
Rain only in season while
travelling the whole world over.

An unthorned stem that ends in
a rose with no bruised petal;
A hill for children to roll, in
a field devoid of nettle.

The statement I'd intended,
the point I'd wanted made;
doth equally often match that
which was finally conveyed.

Disentangled

And if we add a loophole
And then reform a tax
And adjust the insurance
As per our set of facts,

And if we build an empire,
A fortune is secured,
And then regale cold colleagues
And all our boredom cure,

So much for our accounting,
So little accounted for,
When history writes the epitaphs
On the last unopened door…

What letters have I chosen?
What did my poor name do?
What art have I then given
To those who will ensue?

For science! For language!
For those who would explore!
Heal sick and feed the hungry,
Make music, and more!

For the artists, for the curious,
For whom “Because!” did not suffice;
For those who pushed the boundaries,
And those who sacrificed;

To thinkers, and lovers,
The bold, and the true;
May I sit, eternally,
In council with you!

Life: An Economics Problem

How does one solve the God-given problems
of illness, old age, disability, and poverty?

These are for us to become who we were supposed to become,
and to learn to love the way we were meant to love.

These are designed to stop us in our pointless pursuits,
and engineered to point us in another more meaningful direction. 

These are not problems to be solved or overcome,
but they are the lessons that lead us to an understanding of the problem.

These bring us to life's edge where we strain to peer in to the other side,
and they allow us to look back at life from a better vantage point.

These are not life's obstacles;
They are its very essence.

My Path in Fall

Those beautiful
yellows and browns
obscure the path
beneath my rounds.

But  you, path, are still
mine, and as such
unchanged you are
where my feet touch.

Changing colors
precede decay
and then, their shield
is blown away,

revealing what
I knew at birth;
and as I aged
I'd learned your worth.

Peace

May I never sing
with the chorus of the shrill,
or blend my voice
with the angry throng,
or lend my name
to those that mock.

What pretended nobility
enlists such to its cause?
What imagined virtue
requires its volume?
And what manner of justice
can endure its presence?

Katherine (for Stefany)

Those toes, but stubs of pinkish tone,
poke out of the blanket’s grasp,
and though wanting for a warmer home,
are too beautiful to wrap.

And fairer hair I have not seen,
than the threads that grace my child;
what once was parted, tied and bowed,
now rests both free and wild.

Gazing on those sleepy eyes,
the smiling cheeks, pursed lips, pinched nose,
I trace the lines and memorize
Dear Kate before she grows.

For Our Sake

Seeing man's inconsistency,  

of wisdom, wealth, and strength,
we ought to learn that these do not,
can not a savior make.

"You can not tell me what to do",
we shriek, then lovingly
Our God replies, "No, I will not,
but grace I offer thee."

Professor, Confessor, Parent and Pastor

That one we called oppressor 

We learn again, as childhood ends

was really our protector.

The Downhill Path

The downhill path

offers no resistance,

spurs velocity,

promises access.

But,
exalted views are lost, 

speed destabilizes the actor,

and freedoms give way to entropy.

Counselor

Do you wish to alter me?
Is my sincerity in question?
Are you uncomfortable with who I am?

Would it be better for you if I were different?

If my happiness is the object of your change,
if my freedom is your motivation
and my excellence is your ultimate design,

Now you may teach me.

What did you see?

Just paces from the highway

a new life pushes free, while a freed life decays.

One leaps forth from provident roots,

as another submits to the earth.

Who knows, who sees, who cares or dreams?

Driver or passenger, tasked or untaxed?

Only we who doubt the finality of race's end,

and choose instead to seek the vision of the seers.

A Science Experiment

The proud new owner of a ten-speed bike,
I set off on a cyclist’s hike,

Armed with wristwatch and a bit of math,
to test my speed on the cars’ wide path.

Twenty-six and a half inches proved,
with a minute or so at a reasonable groove

The circumference of the black rubber arc
could be multiplied to my rate since start

Intently bearing down on the wheel’s spinning shadow,
Watching my wrist,the time in a window -

Counting each revolution,flying along,
as feet spun fearlessly, recklessly on.

When much to August’s quirky chagrin,
the bicycle tire found it’s reciprocal twin.

The curve of a blade, a parked snowplow,
threw horse and rider, and creased his brow.

Science’s lesson that day was quick;
not rates or speeds or geometry’s trick!

No, the thing I learned, the physical lecture:
Don’t lose sight of the bigger picture.

Effecting Change

"Better than nothing", or so they say
because it takes the guilt away;
but each of these artificial actions fail
to divert the engine from its rail:

No 'low-fat' label, no 'awareness-building' post
No 'quality time' when quantity's needed most;
Until we've hearkened and truly obeyed
our current course is firmly stayed.

One who surrenders the full hour each day,
who gives choicest attentions, or the whole week's pay,
sees miracles in flight, Sacrifice beyond word,
And a new heading's set, destination assured.

Consequence

I said,

"Bad Choice brings his companions:

Abuse, Depression, Disease, and Death."

Now,

You may silence me,

but not your new-chosen friends.

How Love Lasts

Flushing with emotion, when first there's glance or touch,
or paranoid devotion, it's jealousies and such;
These do not lasting love make, even seek it to undercut.
Instead, union in purpose, restraint in disaccord,
the individual sacrifice for less tangible rewards;
These engender deeper love, and then we find restored
a gaze and feel, commitment that first we started toward.

The Lector's Welfare

Engorged with words, diabetic prose
still wants for sweetness, to overdose;
and overly savory, salty emotions
stress diastolic mental devotion.


Often espoused, by those who’ve tried it
are walking habits and a wholesome diet.
You see, things that reconnect us with earth
are good for our spirits (and for our girth).


And as with unsatisfied gastric gluttony,
our minds demand our textual sobriety.
The lector’s prescription? Trite and true:
Refine your tastes; it’s long overdue.