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Psalm 28, a song when I feel haunted

Psalm 28
a song when I feel haunted

I need, Lord, your love

Who doesn’t need the love of
God?

And yet I fear

I fear the ghosts that haunt me
From the past into the present

How do you proceed in this

How do you love?

How might I know peace this
Day from all the days wrought
In iron pain, now fully steel-
Dimensional?

You are here, I know

You can bear sinuous demon’s
Presence away, even into
Annihilation

Yet I feel possessed, perhaps in
Lack of faith:

Past wrongs, mine and theirs, that
Aberrate the life that you first
Shaped

Maybe this is why, in life, the (first)
Psalmists say, Make straight your
Way

For the line of majesty arriving as
The lord of care

Travels truly—with economy and
All divine electricity—on the line

Made edged and replete when we
Ally in your design

6

My Own Valentine (prose poem)

My Own Valentine
(prose poem)

My own little Valentine celebration. I guess we celebrate feast days, though these are the days in which the saints have died. Martyrdom—we celebrate? Well, I bought little round pink plates with small square napkins to match. I am drinking coffee with little croissants on one of those pink plates, dabbing with a small square napkin. Watching the pope visit Mexico.

Where is love? Is it there? Is it here? Is it intertwined through both places and all other places? And the people? Are we bound in red silken ties of love? Free to move yet tied so that, when we might fall, others are there gently (remember, silk) to pull us up and on.

Quizás.

Goodness, the president of Mexico is good-looking. He speaks of “a better community” (translated), “a better society.” A better world, I imagine. Why not? Here’s a chance to speak of objectives and ideals in a country toward which too many look askance.

Quizás.

5

The Word, the Life for Love

The Word, the Life for Love
(14 February 2016)

Valentine gave his life for love
Christ gave it back

Messages of faith sent with
New ones returned
Sacrifice and service
Hearing and listening

Even when afraid

What may I do you for to say
I love you on Valentine’s
Day?

In a way that you might
Hear because I’ve borne
The word to give
To you now

Even in new ways

A gift that has no investment
No interest to accrue
Beyond selfless satisfaction
That you might love me
In return

2

Almost Always, Haiku

Almost Always, Haiku

In spring love might turn
If you’re there to plant with me
Almost and always

12

Burying the Unknown Dead

Burying the Unknown Dead

A ministry, non-sectarian, in
Boston

Students from a private
School—senior-students
From a private school

Attend to one, an unknown
Man, somewhere with a
Name but no one to claim
And care for his mortal
Remains

“But today we are his family,
We are here as his sons . . .”

Pallbearers, recitations of
Free and liturgical verse—
These youth provide all

To bear the body and,
Finally, kindly lay with
Loving intention into the
City’s yard and ground

In Boston, it’s a frozen
Day, yet there is some light

Because hope of all kinds
And times and mortal or
Immortal prophecies—

Hope blazes here

(reported at npr.org for
25 January, “Today We
Are . . .” by Arun Rath)

2

Claustrophobe

Claustrophobe

Am I trapped on
the second floor?
My town for now
has the greater
accumulation,

And I realize this
is maybe too much.
I look out:

all I see are shapes
of indistinction;
I can’t even see
that well for
vapor pushing
up against my
window, making
visual barriers
in condensation.

The storm is Jonas;
that’s fine. If you
can escape the
hunt of God by

living for days in
a great fish—before
being retrieved by
hunter’s hand (let’s
say)—then I not
hunted by the
divine with the
exception to be
loved,

then I can weather
this—well, you
know–weather.

4

MLK(J)

MLK(J)

More than letters,
Though there were
Amazing ones, is
Love that suffuses

Not to claim
Perfection–I
Could not I do that
For myself

But gentle, numbered
Overwhelming
Victory
Is for those who
Outlast imperfection,

Even as they with
Finality close trap-
Jaws of persecution

Marching persistence
Realizing still, always in
Grace, wondrous change

0

Long Good Bye Tomorrow

Long Good Bye Tomorrow

Did you know that in Malawi,
you go to jail for being gay
or lesbian? It’s not a fine
or manageable penalty, if
severe;

it’s in supermax for life. The
nation of Malawi did not
invent this punishment. It
happens elsewhere. A crime
like this—classed with arson, theft,
or witchcraft—still earns time
away from real life forever.

An indictment for being homosexual
that promises permanent
captivity. You know, I have an
opinion, a feeling, a value about
homosexuality: about heterosexuality,
too. My feeling’s firm enough, rather
set. And, day by
day, it is about

the most useless thing I own. You
see, behind the issues there are
people. And love transcends
issues and viewpoints. Love
overwhelms other human
convictions.

5

Psalm 7, a small song of praise

Psalm 7
a small song of praise

Praise you, Lord, for
Three-legged cats that
Are still great birders
And dogs with broken backs
That can still run the length
Of the yard

Praise you for hearts that
Still work, even after surgeries
That won’t fix everything
Completely and forever

Praise you for liberal-arts degrees
And mini-strokes and all
The things that make us strange

Praise you, Lord, for I am strange
And yet you love me, still, and
Maybe even more

2

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