Sometimes my poetry
seems so base
it’s a wonder I put it out there
like air
flecked with allergens
to sicken those who breathe it.
It’s not the elevated voice
I thought “poets” used
(who keep me writing)–
but it’s dirt, debris,
the wreckage of
weak living–
mess-ups, mishaps–
instead.
It’s words out-of-place
stuck here–
together–
where they grope–
grasp–
at making sense
and making amends
for me
but are honest enough
to admit they’re just
a scuff on the floor.
dedicated to M
Thanks, chica.
This morning I sat in my chair and prayed. Enough of stale words, I thought. I need to get out of this funk.
“Lord, increase my faith,” I said. I hadn’t prayed that well-worn line in awhile. I thought of all the bad things that happen to people — faith-increasers. And from somewhere in the depths of me, I heard the words “but don’t take the life of my son.”
I shut my mouth and didn’t let them come out. My son? Less than three weeks from his womb-to-world journey, do I think he’s my son?
The Lord gives… takes…. Blessed….
“I’m sorry, Lord. He’s Yours. Before You even give him to me, he’s Yours. And after You do — if You do — he’s still Yours. Every breath he takes of this earth-air is a breath enabled by You and not by me.”
Increase my faith.
And now, I sing to myself Keith Green’s song:
“I pledge my son to Heaven for the gospel,
though he’s kicked and beaten, ridiculed and scorned…”
I disrobe myself — paste it out there for all to see. And you see; you take it all in like famished children. A few of you smile, or nod; you acknowledge me.
The others stand and stare behind sheets of one-way glass. I know you’re there. My sensors are up; you leave your evidence — food wrappers and footprints.
My food! My soil! But I can’t tell who, or why. I only know when, and I know how many. Sometimes the footprints are few. And they match the soles of the shoes of those I love. Other times, the footprints are that of an army — uniform, cold, silent. I disrobed before an army.
And now I disrobe again…
Sometimes the beauty of words just amazes me. The way that words can touch the soul, breathe life into the barren mind… it’s just indescribable. Take our local McDonald’s, for instance. They capture the hearts of the world with their sign out front, which reads: “WE ARE CELEBRATE THE PEOPLE DAY.”
We are celebrate the people day.
We are celebrate the people day!Can you feel the passion? It’s almost as if the heart of McDonald himself just emanates from the restaurant. So few words can say so much. A splash of life — with just a slice of mystery — is enough to bring tears to one’s eyes. This is poetry, this is life. This is a picture of hearts beating together: we are celebrate the people day.
Treasure it. Let it inspire you. And never let it go.
