Monday, April 24, 2017

health

irwin survived cancer,
still smokes,
has a fastfood belly
like a basketball.

henson, who i replaced
out here at the public works facility,
lost to a third bout of cancer
in as many years,
was healthy as could be,
was only 58 or so.




*for today's d'verse poets pub prompt: write a quadrille (poem with 44 words) and use the word "still".*

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Why Do I Run?

Why so swiftly flee from the good safe-house
Of trust and love? Why shift eyes from the True
the Holy, Pure, to dust that blows away
With the cold wind, never to mean a thing?

My wayward heart, it shifts so constantly,
runs from Peace, from Rest and Satisfaction.
Mick Jagger can’t get it, so he belts out
But I know how, yet so often don’t seek
That which is true & good & lacks regret.

I seem to always go the wrong way – down –
Instead of to Your Word, to Your presence
Where Peace lies, where comforting arms will bring
Me back from the brink of insanity,
Where a quiet, striking voice & strong arms
Will end the self-destruction I induce.

These questions cause moments of inflection;
They make me contemplate my next few steps.
In Your Word I will return to walking
And praise You for Your ever-gracious love.

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Handful of Tanka, 4.18.2017

***collected from recent posts on twitter***


nightly
television
routine--
laughing at
family feud


quieting the alarm
i roll over to your sweet
'good morning' smile--
it never gets old
seeing you like this


the weight
of Your pain
on the cross--
do i even
comprehend it?


on the porch
writing tanka,
my boy
washing his momma's
car


pacing the floorboards
above this living room,
my wife laughing
on the phone
with her sister


nails through
Your hands
so much pain
that has given
so much life


peace
like nothing else
i've known
the empty tomb
the risen Savior


breakfast of
donuts and coffee
and a cigarette--
i don't think
she's very happy


pages
& pages
& pages full--
these silly little
tanka


dark night
sideways rain--
i am at peace
here
on my porch


clank clack
chingching, thud--
i dropped
a drumstick
mid-song


woman
you are the
very
very
best of all


mary oliver's
handbook--
larger
in ideas than it is
in size


tastes
like sweet
chalk
this yellow
banana


my eyes
are only
for you--
porn
kills love


bukowski
ed skoog
billy collins--
a successful trip
to the used-book store

the passion
is gone
they say
to each other--
porn kills love


smells like
a dead cat
in here--
my son's
wrestling practice


dishes rattle
in the cupboard,
my boy
practices
his drums


some days
we bicker
but soon
forgive and move on--
ferocious love


***shared for the tuesday platform at imaginary garden with real toads***