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Psalm 11, a song of innocence

Psalm 11
a song of innocence

Lord, I do not understand
Certain paradoxes of the world

Why such terror and so much
Wrong must persist in a
World of our choosing

Why can we not do better?

Why can we not use what we
Have to further human cause
To improve the life on
Our troubled, turning sphere

Make life not only better
But, in fact, a triumph in the living?

Can we not do better than fear
And making a market of that?

Might we not do better than taking
Base desire, such as purchasing
Destruction, to barter in a
Hidden marketplace?

The challenges of life would still
Remain, if we choose differently

Responding to severities of
Nature, discovering redresses
From disease, the right for each
To grow and thrive, even the finding
Of new worlds

We’d still have much to do
If we choose differently

And our accomplishment would
Be of the lasting kind

A legacy of gain
And, from that better living, new
Kinds of profit for all of us

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Psalm 9, a song about how to move

Psalm 9
a song about how to move

we move on from terror
and crime except we don’t
a year from now the shock will
only start for some

there are new moves to make
to help, to heal, to redress, to
dedicate newborn or re-newborn effort
since this anonymity, the cruelty
of this war began

no, we won’t move on
but we’ll move with

2

Psalm 8, a song of sorrow

Psalm 8
a song of sorrow

a tragedy on the news
and it is real
the media gets the message across
this time

a dream of sorrow
after watching, learning of
the tragedies

dreams are real, too
the real development of feeling
so that in the day
we might better understand

there was no sense here
only death

this in two nights’ time of
illumination and subcutaneous
unearthing on what further
deeper
to think and feel

the tragedy is real
the deaths are real
everything is real but the motive
murder needs no motive

not for our knowing and certainly not
for our understanding

on the third day, there is nothing
more to know that will make it

less a millstone
for the living
still to bear

2

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

psalm whatever, a song about parenthetic people

psalm whatever
a song about parenthetic people

parenthetically speaking, there
are too many people pushed aside
who live as virtual (meaning actual,
not electronic), veritable
slaves in body, looking forward to
nothing because there is no hope of
the freedom of
self-determination

this is not abstract—there are slaves

do not miss this

those of us who do not matter or
who might be enemies of
more powerful people

as slaves they will not matter
beyond their usefulness in
the buyer’s interest in labor

and after that cannot be realized
they will not matter ever
again so is the attitude
of the thief of stealing lives
and the thief who buys

there are others, too, not so
obviously sold but
captive all the same

if I asked you what all this meant
I think you’d have an answer
not because you’re criminal

but because you’re thoughtful
you know of slavery of the past
and of the parenthetic people
who subsist, persist today
and not so far away

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Psalm 6

Psalm 6

Lord, why must the world
suffer? why must we
suffer? why must I? self-

centered questions but fair
for it doesn’t seem right
that in a cosmos of choice
if ruled over by you

that suffering should be so
intense or exist at all—why
is this so? well, of course
there’s choice, and it is

ours; it has to be
since we are not puppets
of the divine but must
make choices that matter

and so choice itself must
matter—with real form
and consequence

or else this is a game
and God must be a sadist

and it is not
and God is not

we have an open life
with liberty to choose

(and if not, then not: that is
the consequence
of the power lent the world—it
can be wondrous or horror-filled)

and that’s it, I guess: suffering
is real because it has to be

4

Psalm 5

Psalm 5

What can we say to you, Lord,
That you really want to hear?

We can praise you, though you
Have a host in heaven for that.

We can’t touch you, so absolutely,
That many choose not to believe.

You made happiness and sorrow;
What can we do to have you happier?

Well, sorrowful, we do believe
That we can act in such a way

To bring you sorrow—maybe a
Reflecting of our own feeling

When having done something wrong or
Or simply receiving the saddest news

Of loss or abandonment. So is
There anything we might do

For you? I’m thinking that there’s
Nothing, but I’m also thinking

I’m mistaken. In free will and our
Discretion, I imagine we can do

Something on our own that pleases you.

5

Psalm 4, a small song of gratitude

Psalm 4
a small song of gratitude

thank you, Lord, and I mean that
this is not hiding or prevaricating

but truth and openness of spirit

I can despair over illnesses and
news broadcasts, matters of
danger at home and away
far away and in myself

leaders cause too much truth
to die, so do other sellers of
our souls—thankfully, not
all who lead or sell

but the world is a twisted
place, and some like that too much

yet, still, I find myself in a
place of paradox with you
for you must teach me how to thank
and then accept my gratitude

as original and honest, and it is

thank you, Lord, and I mean that

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Psalm 3

Psalm 3

The world is broken, Lord of
Hosts, so much so that some

Would think you’re coming soon
With heaven’s military
To smash aggression
And grind indifference into
Dust, establishing a new, just
Place that we will call
A heaven and an earth

The brokenness of our world
Leads us, unjust, toward many
Fallen things further fallen

Those who can, too much, must utter words
Of truth through iron-manacled hands

Others commit to the selling
Of souls: I mean, taking the bodies
Of others and selling them for money
Or the relief of having adversaries gone

We crush our spirits with
What we let go by

Lord, what might lift us, free us
Make us fit for home? Please make me
Readier to act, commit the risk for good

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