cosmos

Birthday

in his comings and goings
eddie the e has found himself
raised from the dead
hes happy to be back
right where he belongs
with a pen in his hand
and words tingling in his fingertips

happy cake and candles
blow up the balloons
it’s your birthday

the sun celebrates with you
beaming with joy
at home in the east
roasting with the fervor
of a convert

life
has signed
a long term lease
love
is flapping
its orange black wings
gathering
strength
sipping
nectar
ambrosia
anemones
asters

auricles tell nothing
but good news
vibrant blue orbs
flash with fires
of the future
and life has no limits

i baptize you
in the name of the Father
and of the Son
and of the Holy Ghost

Knock and It Shall Be Opened to You

When Daddy Tries to Work

If I could enter your office,
if the door were unlocked,
if you’d let me in,
I would stand in a corner
and watch you work.

If the door were unlocked,
if you’d let me in,
if your guard were down,
I would hold my breath
and close my mouth.

If you’d let me in,
if your guard were down,
if you glanced my way,
I would stand there—
absolutely still.

If your guard were down,
if you glanced my way,
if our eyes met,
I would hold your gaze
as long as you’d let me.

If you glanced my way,
if our eyes met,
if you smiled at me,
I’d weave my lashes together
’til the tears stayed put.

If our eyes met,
if you smiled at me,
if you opened your arms wide,
I’d tiptoe across the room
and melt into you.

And I’d never say a word.
I promise.

Save

Hope and Hubris are not the Same

Hubris and Hope

She is proud to call herself a Social Justice Warrior.
It is a role she’s been trained for from birth,
and she is confident in her abilities.
She will right wrongs,
eradicate poverty,
close the gender wage gap,
end war,
racism,
sexism,
ageism,
capitalism.
Using her words,
her wit,
her tenacity,
(resorting to bullying only when necessary,
and it is necessary more often than one would think),
she will bring down those
who mock,
appropriate,
microaggress,
and fail to feel guilt for the sins of the fathers.

She was born
(not all that long ago)
to change the world.
She’ll let nothing stop her,
not even God.
Especially God.
Oh, she believes in Him.
Surprised?
Why, she loves Him dearly,
but she must pick up
where Jesus left off.
Finish the job.
He did good things,
but really, why didn’t he do more?
And people today are so dense.
Couldn’t Jesus have been more specific?

Yes, today is a new day,
Sunday, in fact.
It’s time to lace-up, log on,
carry her sign, voice her opinion,
and make a difference.
Nothing will stand in her way,
not even the guy next door
—what is his name?—
sitting in the hallway
with a razor blade in his hand.

Save

Acceptance

Those Eyes

I sing of a mother
facing deep rejection,
scandal, pain, and sorrow,
a mother who said yes.

She was a young woman,
untested, uncertain.
She needed trust to be
a mother who said yes.

The hope there in her heart
and the life in her womb
had to be enough for
this mother who said yes.

She knew that happiness,
shelter, security
can’t be guaranteed for
a mother who said yes.

But she chose love, knowing
that all we have to do
is step out in faith, be
the mother who said yes.

Skylos Brings it to the Top Again

Skylos

How does one know the difference
between self-preservation and self-effacement?
Distrusting appearances seems like a good place to start,
but where does one travel from there?
When foolishness is wisdom,
weakness is strength,
and suffering is good for you,
is recognition of humility pride?

Parables, commentaries, and critical analyses turn me in circles
—and leave me in a heap with my tongue hanging out.

Logos in Reserve

Word Hoard

My word hoard
continues to grow.
Soon there will be
no room for me.
The stack
is becoming
too big,
too teetering,
too good-for-someday only.
I try to add nothing,
try to take nothing.
I need the silence,
but can’t remember
where I put it.

Mend on Wednesday

Mending Day

I have thread and needle,
jars of buttons, even a zipper or two,
just in case—
in case something valuable needs mending.

The problem seems to be
that I possess nothing of value,
other than my heart,
and thread,
even if it’s labeled heavy duty,
is no use there.

A spool of love is what I need,
but I’ve looked,
and there is none to be found.
Of course, other offerings abound:
I can get Arctic White and Winter White,
but love is warmer than that.
Atom Red, Bright Red, or Maroon
might match my heart,
but the stitches would never hold.

Some want me to place an order for love,
but they won’t guarantee delivery.
Others assure me that they
can offer me love next week,
while the pushy ones
try to sell me something else.
None of it is any good to me.
I can accept no substitutes,
and I continue to hope
that I’ll find some soon.

So until I acquire the real thing,
I’ll pull my coat close
and hope no one sees
my threadbare, tattered heart.
Then I’ll pray as I button up
that no one asks me to use it.