Psalm 32
a song before repentance
I should be truer to you
And stay that way
Learning more about you
Fulfilling my awareness
Of how your love
The world
Psalm 33
a song of anxious supplication
Forgive me when I fail
Strengthen me
Take my hollow parts
To fill them with truth
And better cause
Love
Not so much for reward
As for peace
If peace comes with it
Finally, please
I’ll have
F is for Folderol
An old word for silly when
Something must be said though
No language is required
Folderol, la, my dear
Folderol, ha, be near
Okay, few words—mostly
Un-worded sounds are sung
Maybe to fill in a fear, if
Singers think there should
Be a lyric, and none shows
While love is there, shouting
In the mind
E is for Erato
(the muse of love poetry)
We breathe in and out our
Bodies matching moving hearts
Delight in joined revealing
Opened and shared at last
Love lingers, and that’s important
But in this time it’s passion
Sending a siren-song whose
Magic we shall not escape
‘Til breathing slows and sacred
Act eases into other life
Psalm 32
a song when we are done
Lord, I’ve lost it all
Age and youth
Health and wealth
Whatever I possessed
Is no longer in my
Hands
I wagered life
And sometimes won
Gained much, gave it away
Squandered some
As we are likely to do
Here I am, and there
You are
We draw closer all the
Time
With all that
I no longer have
Do you still love me,
Lord?
The mystics’ reply is
Yes, always
Yes from the Lord
Psalm 30
a song of I-don’t-know
what is the resolution
of an unsolvable equation
when one plus one
makes love
what more is there to say
to add or calculate
what function can enhance
the totality of this
one plus one makes love
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
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.
Almost Always, Haiku
In spring love might turn
If you’re there to plant with me
Almost and always
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