Beginnings

It occurs to me suddenly.
We remember beginnings

and ends; but

the work's done in the middle.

Perspiration beads,

two from the river, fall

onto the log; I switch my arms

on the handsaw, adjust my weight,

and carry on;

Saturday glows
through the woods

in a summer afternoon.

June 2017

Mystery

How mysterious I find You--
waking from a pale sleep in which,
nameless and privately ashamed
among a roaring audience, I watched
a haughty man lightly achieve
my own secret dreams, yearnings
denied my own fierce efforts--only
in grief to find Your glory
a mysterious comfort to my dishonor.

Before a perfect God, all my victories
and defeats, I suppose, are
cheap trophies & shallow scars
of a misunderstood time:
a Hegelian atheist may accuse me of
the slave's fallacy; cheapening today's defeat
with the promise of tomorrow's victory;
perhaps. But--that isn't this.

Heaven, a glory known in hints and parts,
and much imagination, but expected
in the heart of every Man since birth--
gift of a Creator God, perfect in joy and
mysterious in kindness--
comforts by consuming
all my misplaced desires,
supplanting all my secret dreams.




May 2017

Mercy

Your mercies are new every morning:
You, who desires mercy
more than sacrifice; a gift
I but poorly comprehend.
When my faith is weak
Your mercy remains complete; and
when my sins all but consume me
I find in You only sympathy where I
expect condemnation, only compassion
when You deserve a sacrifice.

Too lightly do I consider You; and yet

still: mercy overflows, floods my heart
where death should be.

A fragile being, I find myself
perpetually broken, and in my ears
hear the solemn command that I be
Holy, as You are Holy. I'm not, nor
ever shall be, and yet receive
Your grace and mercy, shown to me
(and all) undeservedly. But, emptied of
gratitude, I fumble with this gift,
asking why You'd do such a thing, why
Evil befalls we undeserving mortals,
aghast at the condemnation of those
whose sins do not offend me.

Well, my sins offend me. And as
only sinners can, I dimly see Your grace
and fail to comprehend its meaning;
only every morning, shamed by
each night's sins, I stumble back
to Your unfailing Love, and mercy
which astounds me, making
every morning new.

may 2017

monday after a weekend in the speakeasy

cynical hope
(a gentle insanity)
defends my soul
from rational despair




april 2017

Recent surprises:

-Heating & cooling systems are very expensive.

-Taxes were high for us this year.

-Every morning, my children are more beautiful than I remember.

-I was sad and anxious this afternoon, but I couldn't tell why.

One time in Pittsburgh when I was poor and depressed, I was walking back to a demeaning job along a sidewalk and a guy playing guitar for change called out, "Shit, man, don't look so sad--it gets better!" and I thought, well, even beggars are trying to encourage me, so I should probably buck up.

There's a ninety percent chance that guy was on drugs, though.