Category: poetry

Selfless Love

September 6th, 2024

Photo by Nathan McBride

How enrapturing it is

To watch a man who truly loves a woman

Step back from the spotlight

So that it shines only on her.

It brings a refreshing joy

To witness him smiling at her

Though she is not even looking at him

As he revels in watching her

Doing what she does best

Without trying to draw any attention to himself

Content not to ask for even a crumb

Of the marvel that enrobes her.

That pure sort of love that seeks

Not to distract from her greatness

Not to share in her fame

Not to outdo her talents

Makes the witnesses of it sigh for want of the same.

How precious it is to see man a love a woman like that.
Black Lives Matter

August 30th, 2024

Photo by Christian Lue

I once kept a yard sign out front by the road

With three obvious words in bold white

On a stark black background that caught the eye

Of driver and pedestrian and neighbor.

And as long as I kept that sign outside

I also picked up garbage that was thrown around it

Scattered, discarded trash from lunch’s leftovers

Or cans tossed maliciously from cars

And once even a half eaten salad

Which burst from it’s container all over the driveway.

And everyday when I went outside to clean up

The refuse of someone else’s dissent

I wondered

What kind of person is so hurt inside

That a call for justice fills them with rage

To the point where they vandalize

The home of an uknown person

Who claims the obvious statement:

Black Lives Matter.

And then one day the sign was gone

Ripped from it’s wire frame

Just as life had been ripped away from the many

Who simply yearned to be free.

I still wonder from time to time

Who was throwing trash in my yard

And finding only my willingness to clean up the damage

Let their discontent destroy my proclamation.
Packaging

August 23rd, 2024

Photo by Suveer Bhat

I have a serious question for myself:

Does anyone actually care what the packaging

Of an Oreo looks like?

If one day it was red and 2 feet long

Would anyone actually stop eating them?

I think the obvious answer has to be

Emphatically, no.

Because an Oreo is delightful and delicious

And it brings joy.

What would anyone care what the packaging looks like?

I try to remember this

As I stare at the packaging I see in the mirror

Pinching my waistline, and sighing as I peer

Closer to see how many crows have walked

Across my face.

Does the packaging matter?

Emphatically, no.

So why do I care so much what the outside looks like?

Who am I trying to impress?

Am I not a delight and a joy because of the number

That appears on the scale

Or on the inside tag of my jeans?

It’s ridiculous to think I’m not exactly like an Oreo

Wonderful. Desirable. Irresistible.

Who really cares about the packaging?
After the Divorce

July 19th, 2024

Image courtesy of WordPress

For the last few years, United Methodists have been experiencing the agony of schism within our denomination. Now finally, it feels like we might be at the end of the process of separation. May it not be so forever.

After the divorce

I’ll hand you the keys to what was my car

And as you drive away I’ll pray

That its wheels fall off from underneath you

Once you’ve driven halfway down

The highway of your self-indulgent surety

And that when you wave down a passerby

They’ll take one look at the mess you’ve made for yourself

And offer this simple piece of advice:

You should have stayed at home.

After the divorce

I’ll set my phone to block your calls

So that when you realize your mistake

You’ll be halfway to nowhere with no one to come get you

And I’ll pray that you’ll come to your senses

That maybe crawling back home with your tail between your legs

Will loosen up the cords you tried to tie

Around me, and God and yourself.

After the divorce

I’ll have different people sitting at my table

Because my door will always be unlocked

And I’ll pray that when I see you on my doorstep

I’ll have to courage to let you come inside.
Burn

July 12th, 2024

Photo by Nick Fewings

There is no magic number of “I’m so sorry”s

That will ease the pain of being forgotten.

It will take time before the burning sting

Lessens, and forms a scab.

After the scalding, as silently healing

My wounded pride retreats from you

I will await the day when the heat that you give

Does not feel like a burn.

That won’t happen because of “I’m so sorry”

It will happen because I applied pressure

And salve and a bandage

To the painful spots where I still find myself

Bleeding from old wounds I thought

Had healed themselves.

And after I tend to this pain

I’ll be back at the table with you

Hoping that next time you’ll remember

Just as I remember how to heal a burn.
The Golden Hour

May 24th, 2024

Photo by Sarah Orr Aten

I bought the yellow velvet curtains

And I hung them in my room

Where I needed a reminder that there is sunlight

And a perfect golden hour right before dusk settles.

They call the first hour after a birth

The golden hour

A time when this world touches the one

From whence the baby came

Two heartbeats once melded becoming two

As the baby recognizes she is no longer

Tucked inside the safety of darkness and water

And the mother is becoming,

Transforming, also being born.

And when the evening light hits this yellow velvet

And the golden hour trickles into my room

I think about becoming, as one day fades and dies

Just as a baby and its mother are becoming

In that first hour after birth.

In that golden hour, the inbetween space,

When the light spills through the curtain and casts a golden shine,

Where oneness separates into beauty multiplied

I feel my heart lighten

Stilled by the mystery.
JSK

April 19th, 2024

Photo by Aaron Burden

My choir probably would not function even half as well if not the continual work of one of our volunteers, affectionately known as JSK. On a recent Saturday morning, when he jumped into a situation to save me a minor headache, he sarcastically said that I’d better write him a poem. I keep my promises.

I promised I’d write you a poem

But the muse who usually visits me

Must have been gotten side tracked

Stuffing her face with chocolate in your office.

So I’m forced to scratch out this nonsense instead.

What kind of ode should I give you?

That’s the question that won’t leave me,

For how can one laud the enormity of your personality

With pathetic lines like this one?

Maybe I should just delegate this task to you.

That’s usually how it goes, doesn’t it?

—I’ll do it. I handled it. I’ve got it. I already thought of that—

Your continuous refrains of proactive and reactive decisioning

Easing the lives of anybody who needs your help,

Even if you don’t always do it with a smile.

I can see that; but, truly, no judgement from me.

I’m familiar with how the word balloons

That float over your head can be filled with

Ampersands and exclamation points and pound signs

—Or are they called hashtags now? I don’t know. We’re both old.

I really need that muse to be done snacking,

So I can write you something poignant

Something beautiful and cherished, with a heaping cup of snark,

A poem fit for you, because it’s like you.

This is what you get though. It’ll have to do.
Texts

March 29th, 2024

Photo by Alicia Christin Gerald

Sometimes I go back to our chat and reread your texts

To remind myself of how loved I am

By someone I admire beyond words.

It’s a modern take

On keeping letters in the desk drawer

So you can read the words when your heart aches

Yearning for that other person’s smile to lighten your burden.

It reminds me of the drawer in my old bedroom

Where I kept all the cards sent by my grandparents

And all the notes my friends passed in school

And all the letters my cousin mailed me from Tennessee

After she moved away.

A digital desk drawer, that chat with you.

The texts you send are like those paper memories

Blasting light through my soul

As the screen of my phone shines out

Into the dimness of the bedroom at night

While I scroll back through those conversations

Admiring you and letting your words sink in

So that I remember just how loved I am.
Yesterday’s Ponytail

March 22nd, 2024

Photo by Niklas Hamann

Yesterday’s ponytail

Is tied up with the bands of an easy morning

That doesn’t start until I want it to

And demands nothing of me as I drink my coffee

The cares of the week left unnoticed

Like the oil that will eventually need to be

Shampooed from my bed head,

After I’ve contemplated nothing

Sitting by the window and watching the sunshine

As it paints the landscape with its

Wide, beautiful brush of wonder.

Yes, yesterday’s ponytail can stay awhile today

Because rest is just as important as work

And wakeful dreaming is better than

Dreams in the night

And sitting in the stillness is lifegiving

For when it is time to get up from the chair.
The Child Inside

March 15th, 2024

Photo by Zhivko Minkov

Today, I told my kids I hated them

Even though that could never be true.

And something happened as soon as I said it

As the room went quiet and I walked away

Shutting myself in the bedroom to wrestle

With the emotions that had made me say

That horrible lie.

The reason I said it was not because

I was tired and I wanted the house to be clean

Or because I didn’t want to help with homework

Or cook dinner or remember to check backpacks

To look at their school papers

And remember to charge their laptops.

I didn’t even say it because I was overwhelmed

And there were still dishes to be done

And laundry to be washed and folded

And an endless list of shopping and errands

That someone was going to have to do that weekend.

Today, I told my kids I hated them

Because that child inside me that wants to be heard

Was screaming for someone, anyone to listen

Listen to how I feel right now.

Listen to what I want to say.

And as soon as the words left my mouth

Something happened that I didn’t expect

I felt a wave of compassion for the children at my table

Who are being told every day what to do and where to go

What to wear and eat, when to get up and when to go to sleep

And endless eternity of decisions made for them

Without a thought of what they want.

I realized that when they say the lie

“I hate you”

It’s because what they really want to say is

Listen to me, see me, let me be

But they don’t know how to say those things

When they are hungry or tired or overstimulated.

Today, the child inside me raised up her head

And told the people I love most in the world

Something that could never be true

Not because she wanted to hurt them

But because she was hurting

And she didn’t have any other words.