Psalm 40
song about the mind of God
Lord, we think we know
You—and we don’t
Otherwise, everything we
Do would be waged in
Love
Psalm 39
a psalm of lament
Why must we kill each
Other, Lord? Why is
Cain more of an
Example than a single
Lesson?
Your word tells us to
Love; yet you have
Commanded war, I
Know—does war work
When you are its
General?
We kill each other in
Small ways as well
In kindness withheld,
All respect scorned,
And in quotidian
Wounding that will not
Subside, such is our
Wayward will
And lack of empathy
Keep showing us the
Better way, O Lord
And when we must be
Brutal, let us yield
The field to your
Strategy and control
Psalm 38
a morning song
A normal day, at last
Blue sky and green leaves
The air is cool
Ablutions and then coffee
I sit here
Bird-song is low
Maybe birds are taking
Time to let this day
Herald itself
I sit here
With a cool current on
My back and liquid warmth
Close by: you give me
This peace, dear Lord
And my heart
Only begins, with what
Capacity it has,
To thank you
This Is What I Care About
This is what I care about
Family—three brothers, sister,
Brother-in-law, sisters-in-law,
Too
Niece and nephews, two
Children in the next generation
Four dogs for now, no cats
I know of (since mine died)
Friends—those who have
Work and those who need it,
Who are healthy and who
Struggle to get through the
Day without so much pain
Neighbors—those who make
Up my community and those
Who try to disfigure it
Peace that hardly yet prevails
Love and grace that it might
Abound
God who doesn’t need me
But regards me as one part
Of creation, anyway
And you
For so many reasons
For I know that you care, too
No Time for Corruption
Hell, no time for disagreement
The Kurds need recognition
Identification as a community
Militias need discipline
If they’re going to exist at all
Iraq needs to find its center
If it’s going to overwhelm ISIS
And not defeat itself
What do we do, we from the
Outside?
We have resources, maybe we
Have time, we have perspective
More importantly, we can care
Stratagems and de-stabling
Agendas aside, sixty-six persons
Died—were killed—in a bombing
In Sadr marketplace
I know we don’t know this place
We might not know how to say
It
But sixty-six
How many families is that
I swear, we should invoke the
Real Isis, god of wisdom and
Brother to the god of the dead
Let her sort it out, if we cannot
Find the wisdom in ourselves
Young Frankenstein
This phrase came to mind
Out of the season’s time:
When the veil fails, speaking
Of Hallowe’en
This is what those of ancient
Lore believed—that gossamer-
Iron webs and steel-misty
Vapors held the other side
On a spellbound, ritualed
Line
Except for
This one time each year
I don’t know what this means;
The child in me didn’t
Care
I dressed colorfully, unusually
Looked through eyeholes
Of masks sweated ’round
The fabric on my face
I was young and relatively
Free
To run my neighborhood
Receiving chocolate reward
For feeling the thrill of cool
Air as more night rushed
Over my skin,
Through folds in costumes,
The faster that I moved
Seasonings
Winter was hard
Not because I was cold
But impoverished in
Other ways
The white was too much
Too tall, too unusual
For me, anymore
I live in the southern part,
Now, of the state
(Okay, a northern state)
And don’t expect such
Walled-off weather
Often, if at all
It was anxiety; I took
A pill, and pretended
That would be enough
Now spring is here
I wonder which came first:
The verb or the season’s
Name
I could look it up
But I’m not sure that
Would tell me
Ancient stories, after
All, have variants
Winter and summer
Are, as coined by my folk-
Literature teacher,
Hilda Kring—they are
Characternyms
We know what they
Are because value
And form make sound
Thar tell us
But the other two,
Spring and fall, might be
Named for what they
Do—or what we do is named
For what they’ve done,
First and longer
We’ll, I’ll spring
Then you and I, we’ll
Summer (because
We know what
That means), and then
Let’s drop like leaves
Of fall, onto an Earth
Softened by snow
And ice, dew and rain,
And the gentle
Wearying
Of all other
Seasons
(Hilda Kring was a professor of
folklore and folk-literature at
my college, while I was a student
there; she made the term
“characternym” for names of
characters who sounded like what,
in depiction, they were, such
as Uriah Heep in David Copperfield
–and maybe Copperfield
himself; she requested someone
to publish this term for her and to
her credit–and here is my try,
“characternym” from Doctor Hilda Kring)
Cosmology
(who we are, materially)
I look away
Not always with my eyes
And I think
I cannot see my thought
I cannot see yours
Though I might fancy
In the expression of your
Eyes, your face, your
Body lines
That I know something about
What’s going on inside
Of you
And if you want something
(Hopefully good) from
Me
And I can become
Frustrated knowing that the
Container of my thoughts
Is simply this body
Nothing more
How do we get together
How do I get myself
Over to you
Maybe I don’t
At least not for now
Somehow electric thought
Remains inside flesh
And form, which
Move if my synapses
Are moving
For the better day
When we can do better
Than this to have,
To hold each other
Null Island
It’s busy but does not exist
Zero-zero for map-keepers
Center of everything and
Nothing
Ever have the feeling? If so,
There might be some real
Estate for you
Real?—well, estate as in
Old echelon of society
This one’s all yours, since
No one can possess it
Yes, mine, too
Null Island is an imaginary island located at 0°N 0°E (hence “Null”) in the South Atlantic Ocean. This point is where the equator meets the prime meridian.
(source Atlas Obscura)
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