Thunder

Trapped in time
we see ourselves
only in the lightning
eyes wide as thunder
cascades, crescendos,
and unaware of Peace
stealing in behind.
This is a moment;
this is another; see
how quickly we proceed.




June 2019

The Giant

The child is a giant
Laying down across my life
A range of soaring stone hills
Around and across which I have built
The roads and villages of my years.
He wrote “I love you” in crayon
To judge and bind his future Self
On paper long lost to time, now
A tattoo scrawled across my soul
For times I would not love:
The giant stirs, tilting the Earth
Toppling castle walls, burying forests;
Slowly blinks huge hillside-eyes
Raised on one elbow, stares
Across the horizon into my face.
I cannot match his gaze; he knows me,
Has expected me all these decades.
He returns to his slumber
And I repair my toppled bridges,
Clear the landslides and
Love again, as I told myself
Those years ago.





June 2019
When I was a little kid, I went through a period where I was concerned that I wouldn't be a Christian when I was older. The problem was that I knew I wanted to love God at that age, but I didn't trust my future self to feel the same way. And what is the point of committing to Christ at 7, if I think I'll change my mind when I'm in my 20s? In response to this feeling, one time I wrote "I love God" in big, permanent-for-a-7-year-old letters in my journal. I wrote it as both a current statement and also, in my mind, to bind my future self to it. For some reason I recalled that strange event recently and I wanted to write something about it.

Heartbearts

Our hearts beat
quickly when the heat
is unexpected.
For good or ill.

In that rush
nothing becomes us
until it is said
simply, “be still.”







June 2019

The most frequent question

As they have asked
frequently: why
are we here?
For money, happiness,
to hear our hearts beat,
win or lose some
thing—anything—
He looks up
blood on His face
the answer in His eyes:
but we look away
and ask again.






May 2019

Downhill momentums

Do you remember running
downhill so fast as a kid
thin knees knocking
together like sticks
too quick to balance?
Your feet fall behind you
with two long last steps;
the blood runs down
shins and elbows, like
water out of the pool.
It hasn’t changed, only
now the pavement is
deadlines and duties;
we bleed money, or stress,
running down the sides
of our children and loves.
If there was a soft yard
an easy way to land
that would not scrape us—
we’d always take it.
That too hasn’t changed
though soft yards seem fewer
and sometimes sharp things
hide in the grass.








May 2019