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Month

March 2016

J. R. R. Reading Day (25 March)

J. R. R. Reading Day

25 March

 

(Not that there’s anything to

Mind, but)

How was this decided?

What happens in the story

To commemorate?

What’s in the lore?

 

Having a day made right

For reading about rings

Or the Silmarils

Or ships retiring west to

Middle-Earth’s Elysian

Shores—or imposing corsairs

Creasing through southern

Waters

 

All this is good

If a day to be celebratory

Even better

 

An excuse to wake up our

Hobbit aspects and have

Bilbo’s birthday party, after

Reading, under the great

Shire tree

 

Not having to wait

‘Til 22 September

 

When we can make the party

More fantasy

Officially

Again

Parting Storm

Parting Storm

(Good Friday,

while rain falls)

 

Tempests of dread

Over waves or

Maybe upon towns

Or fields or where

Any once had met

 

Storms have many parts

 

Forget the question if

It makes a sound where

There is no one to hear:

Storm sounds

 

(Makes noise,

Goes deep)

 

From the first

Crashing, splitting, thieving

Maddening descent

Of all the elements

 

Calling for chorus

And rebuke

 

Within or under

Land and water, as if

Newly and terribly alive, and

Where both converge

In savage contested

Bordering

 

Dying sets in, life strives

Against

 

Waking day of uncertain

Force, fearing that

Maybe faith no longer

Holds

 

Falling with night

Je Suis Brussels

Je Suis Brussels

 

Capital of Belgium

A capital of the European Union

Now where we grieve

 

What else should an explosion do

But separate the living from

The active earth

 

The bombings are insane against

The rights of nature

The bombers invested in

 

Warped thinking about how the

World changes, since most

Of us will crystallize in

 

Opposition to the cause

We will mourn and pray

And, right or wrong, fight back

world warring

world warring

 

the President goes

to Cuba with needful

cause death toll in

Syria increases from

Russian airstrikes so

goes the claim

 

North Korea via

Its leadership strives

to move to the front

row of the nuclear

theatre Saudi Arabia

 

executes students

dissidents and (who

knows) POWs they

are held all over Asia

and in parts

 

of Africa I say

parenthetically

because too many

do not see we are

a warring world

nations at nations

forces inside

and in between

 

diplomacy cannot

fail or the impulse

to adapt all our

propensities still in

keeping Edenic

promises making

eccentric community

in spite all the chaos

at Babel

 

maybe a surprise

that we can tilt

and keep our planet

toward the good

Burnt Cabins, Pennsylvania

Burnt Cabins,

Pennsylvania

 

We’ve suffered

A local tragedy

That might never

Be explained

Even if a reason’s

Given

 

We have a super

Highway—yes,

America’s

First “super

Highway”—that

Is the Pennsylvania

Turnpike, and

A retired trooper

Of the state

Police tried a

Robbery at one

Of the stations

There

 

Between small

Towns in the

Allegheny Mountains,

Two workers

Are taken, held

By his gun,

Until the truck

Arrives to gather

Monies from the

Turnpike tolls

 

The theft occurs

And fails, the

Captives shot

And killed; the

Officer-now-

Suspect is killed,

Too

 

Serving troopers

Prepared and

assigned, had

Arrived to restore

An aberrant,

Criminal scene

Back to ordinary

 

Nothing ordinary

Anymore here:

With tears, the

Deaths are told

 

Each word

Sounding like

The heavy note

Of a mourning

Bell

 

Sadness ringed

Round sadness,

As voices split

To tell

 

It will be a

Story of

Transgression

And the sorrow

Brought to many

Kinds of

Families, and

It might pass

From focused

Attention

 

But here was a

Neighbor tragedy

On persons who

Will not

Appear in their

Expected places

At work or at

Home

 

And others living

Who will never

Be the same

 

A chance for

Money maybe

Too easy a

Reason for all

That befell

Close by—I

Tend to believe

 

Something else

About surrendering

Life happened

Here

Last Winter Sun

Last Winter Sun

 

The sun is wan today,

A last winter sun

 

Spring has been promised

Through the weather

Turns so far

 

And parochial nature

Will not disappoint

A tiding of her own

 

New days come forth

In warming days up north

Passion Play

Passion Play

 

1

 

Today we wave palms

Or not—some churches

Seem to wait—in an

Enactment, a kind of

Remembrance

 

Passion starts, a brief

Season of

 

Intimacy overthrown,

Though given first by

The hand of God through

Child, prophet, and

Teacher

 

One who was three

 

On Thursday, many

Christians will recall:

He names adherents

No longer only followers

But now as friends

 

Goes to prayer, Son of

Us, before taken away

 

2

 

Carried with will toward

Interrogation, torture

 

Final testimony that

Renders him seditious

To the crowd, numbered

Of all the world we

Knew

 

Beaten and burdened

With his means of execution

He is taken on the way

With escort disciplined

 

Through a mob that,

More and more, loses its

Human shape and

Recognition

 

We mock, refute, then

Pierce his skin to leave

Him, a criminal, dying

With due scorn upon an

Iron tree

 

3

 

We wave palms,

Festive and endearing,

A likable rite that we

Prepare

 

Later in the week we

Wrap his wounds in

Bearing our bound

Innocence into a tomb

Beside which stands

 

A stone door carved

With the world’s skill

Ready to be shut against

All consequence

Following Simplicity

Following Simplicity

 

Faith is not stupid

But it has to be gotten

(Be-gotten)

And owned by anyone

 

I can’t think of an

Authentic tradition

In the world of faith

That does not have

Its scholars

 

Faith is smart

With aspects of intelligence

That keep generations

Dealing in the finer

Points of interpretation

And practice

 

This work is nuanced

And important

But faith itself

 

Can be caught, cared

For, and grown

By anyone

 

For the blind can see

The deaf can hear

The lame can walk

The path can be traversed by

 

Whoever each is now

Whoever each is not

 

In fact, the less the better

To possess

On the way of faith

In Memoriam 17 March

In Memoriam 17 March

 

I miss you, friend

I drank scotch (not Jameson’s)

At your wake

 

You always liked this day

When we celebrate the troubles

And pray through beer for

 

Peace—you are in heaven, now

While I remain on a

Purgatory of earth

 

I believe; and I hope to see

You someday, which is more

Of an Amish than an Irish

 

Thing to say

Be in peace and joy and all

Green in forever living

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