Delusions of Grandeur

We struggle
Pushing hard
For results
Earnest work
Attempting to earn our way
We strive
We are diligent
We are urgent
We are determined
To become
Self-sufficient
Our success, they say
Is determined by our effort
Our failure, they judge
undermines our worth
And yet
Rain falls
On the just and the unjust
Storms destroy
Possessions of the wealthy and the poor
Ships sink at sea
Great ones and small ones alike
Our security
Our self-sufficiency
Our assured survival
Is but a (persistent, comforting) illusion
All of it - every moment
Of disaster
Of good fortune
Of peace
Of joy
Of sadness
Passes through Your Own Hand
We curse circumstances
You allow
We pretend we have some control
Our pride, masking our fear
Hiding our knowledge of our own inadequacy
Prevents us from looking
To the One Who set the Universe in motion
The One Who crafted every last detail
Who Knows All
Who Is All
Who invites our reverent reliance
Our relinquishment of our illusions
In the end, we recognize
You are working it all for our good
And the only real security
Or freedom
Or peace
Is trusting You

Whining in Rhyme

I feel like I've got nothing to say
And lots of words pent up inside of me
I feel like I've got nothing to give
What talent I have flails aimlessly
I feel like I'm all emptied out
And yet, I feel something growing inside
I feel like I'm ready to give up
Still somehow I keep fighting, staying alive
I keep rushing forward then sliding again
I wish I could cut myself a little more slack
I feel ready for something to start anew
To release the old hangups that hold me back

In the Seattle Public Library

Light streams in
Through steel and glass
Illuminating humanity
Interspersed among
Voluminous wisdom
Silence broken by
Clicking technology
Soft laughter
Whispered conversation
Scattered about
Absorbing
Creating
Refining
Surrounded by
Works already refined

John Hughes, You Know Us Well

A contest from Backpacking Dad
Caused poetry really quite bad
So much to consider
(and update on Twitter)
But maybe I've something to add

Remember the scene with the bike?
Long Duc Dong and the girl that he liked?
They are bouncing around
'Fore he lands on the ground
A study in cross culture psych

The girl on the bike is Marlene
She's famous for only that scene
And having big breasts
Not being suppressed
For fully clothed sex (fairly clean)

Marlene's an improbable lover
But that Dong, he desired no other
I hope I'm like her
It will cause quite a stir
If a Chinaman makes me a mother

October Morning

Sky like a pencil sketch
Empty of color
Puddles reflect lines of gray
Descending from clouds
Smothering sunlight
Rain keeping time against the window
Distorting
Obscuring
Muting colors
A mockery of Monet in
Army green and sandstone

Louisville Haiku

Old houses creaking
Wind whispers under doorways
Wood yielding underfoot

Before Waking

A knock on the door
Opens to a familiar face
Unsure, searching
For welcome
For forgiveness
From the hesitation
Behind the half-closed door
After an eternal moment
Two foreheads rest on
Opposite sides of a door post
Leaning in toward each other
Moving to touch
One step closer
Simultaneous deep breaths
Exhaling apprehension
Slowly inhaling possibility
Stepping around the door
A sandpaper cheek slides
Slowly against a smooth one
Dropping to a shoulder
Breathing in memory
Then pulls back
Eyes meet again
Unsure, still questioning
Answering, one pair of
Hands finds hips, the other shoulders
Lips succumb to gravitational pull
And one foot reaches to close the door

Why, When, Will, If, How, Then, Who

Why do I struggle
Why do I flail on my own
Why don’t I reach up
When I look back
When I curl in
When I stand stymied, straining
Will I ever be
Will I ever know
Will I ever have, forgetting
If only I look up
If only I breathe deep
If only I ask and knock and seek, suddenly
How You provide
How You delight
How You pour Love down and
Then my wheels spin again
Then I grow and learn and move on
Then peace floods into
Who I am because of You
Who I will be because of You, and I know again
Who You are

Regret in Flames

angry words pour out
waves of fire
gaining speed
lava boiling over from
the abyss of fear
anger scorches earth
turning trust to ashes like
an ancient tree
destroyed by lightning
anger resounds like thunder
obliterating reason's quiet calm
it leaves a solitary figure
crouching in a barren wasteland
suffering and charred
wounded and alone

Four for October

Fall means dark early
Sun rising later, urging
Sleepy slow mornings

Fall means cool breezes
Stirring colored leaves to drop
Crunching under boots

Fall means hot chocolate
Lit pumpkins smiling over
Family dinner

Fall means brisk evenings
Contently swinging on
Porch swings in sweaters

On Meghan

she has always made me laugh
it’s reassuring—no matter what
even when I am boiling over
even when I am angry at her

when I am sad or lonely or hurt
she deftly spins words and expressions
into infectious comedy
irresistibly overcoming my best defenses

she is fiercely loyal
do not cross her—this is no joke
she takes me under her wing
and she alone may henpeck

woe to the attacking outsider she detects
she is more likely to forgive
a deep wound to her own heart
than a slight to mine

she wants the best for everyone
even the ones on her enemies list
she sees problems as an invitation
to delve deep and offer the very best solution

she has a wonderful plan for your life
and no fear of sharing it
her relentless helpfulness floats
along the current of her compassion

she keeps me grounded and uplifted
she cuts through even the best disguise
yet her cynicism is often her own illusion
ineffectively guarding her tender heart

Security

on Wall Street and Main Street
markets move
prices rise and fall
confidence peaks and wanes
experts scramble to explain
what the numbers mean
what the future holds
what will become of us
so I breathe in deep
and remind myself
that You own the cattle on a thousand hills
that You spoke the universe into existence
that You are not bound by time or space or finances
regardless
despite
no matter what
governments or
economies or
world powers do
nothing escapes Your notice
nothing crashes without Your permission
You allow the rain to fall
on the just and the unjust
You are in control

After Dinner at Erin's

once we were enemy warriors
battling our similarities
spurred on by our differences
never attempting détente

we clashed vigorously over
nothing more than our mutual dislike
wielding our finely honed weapons
suffering alone beside each other

self-satisfied and insufferable
we found the familiarity of our
conflict somehow easier than
the risk of working for peace

miraculously now we calmly sit across
a table set for two, sharing a warm meal
conversing easily over trivialities and profundities
planning eagerly for more time together

in the space between us now
there is more than détente
there is comraderie, there is friendship
there is hard-won peace

we are still different; we are still similar
now we choose to revel in the joy
of life lived alongside each other
learning to love each other well

For Lucy Maud Montgomery

The goblins of her fancy lurked in every shadow about her, reaching out their cold, fleshless hands to grasp the terrified small girl who had called them into being.
L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

Because I love Anne
I read Emily and Kilmeny and Valancy
And Avonlea outshone even Camelot
On the stage of my imagination

Because I love Anne
I looked at the world with eyes that saw
Grandeur all around – Lakes of Shining Water
And White Ways of Delight

Because I love Anne
I treasured my own kindred spirits
Sifted through the Pyes of the world
Until I found my own Diana

Because I love Anne
I watch for real love in my everyday life
And guard against idealizing dark melancholy
Holding out for Gilbert to reveal himself at last

Because I love Anne
I grieve for scope of imagination overcome
By depression and isolation
Desperation overshadowing such resilient insight

Because I love Anne
My heart breaks at knowing
Her brilliant creator sank beneath the depths of despair
Locking away untold stories forever

Because I love Anne
I will share the stories of L.M. Montgomery
With other little girls and hope
They learn her optimism and honor her maker

He Loved Penguins

He never slept well
But he loved penguins
He lay awake at night
And thought about flightless birds on iceburgs
A row of stuffed tuxedos
Guarded his bed when he finally drifted off
Warm and safe, dreaming little boy dreams
Now he still lays awake
But he doesn’t imagine penguins anymore
He listens to angry noise
Blasting like dynamite into his psyche
Loud words insisting that life is
Darkness and hatred and violence
When he can’t sleep
He wanders, solitary and restless
Drifting off in the wee hours to wake again
Isolated and lonely, frustrated and annoyed
He seems so far away
From the little boy who knew everything
About Emperors and Kings and Fairies
Now intent on knowing everything
About smokes and beers and girls
The boy who loved penguins
Is somewhere in there
I want him to know that there is an easier way
That love is real
That everything passes in time
That he won’t feel this way forever
I want to hang onto him tightly
Pull him in close
Love him for the little boy he was
The curious one who loved penguins
Hope for the man he will become
The one who will again be open and curious
Who will know that life can be creation
Harmony and connection and joy
The one who will find peaceful sleep at last
And wake to teach his own little boys and mine
About penguins

Rewind

Waking without an alarm
Hovering between sleep and consciousness
I could be any of my selves
Under covers warm and weighty
Rolling to find a cool spot on a pillow
Eventually, one deep breath and a stretch
Ushers in awareness
And my eyes open to a bed I bought
In a house I own, with my dogs on the floor beside me
My laundry on the floor and dishes in the sink
Some days I sigh and wish I could rewind
Time like an old tape in a VCR
To find again late, wine-filled nights
Laughter around a rickety table
A world full of familiar friendly faces
Where I never went to the grocery store alone
Where laundry day meant a long conversation
And Wednesdays meant cheep pizza and beer
Or farther back, bike rides
Marked with the rhythm of practicing spelling
Swinging as high as I could go –
Until the chains relaxed and then pulled taut again
Swimming faster than the other kids
Or miles underwater, muffled sounds overhead
Days when all the time in the world was immeasurably spent
Omnipresent miniature relatives clamoring For apple juice and a diaper change
And time never stretched out long and lonely
Where all minutiae was rich with meaning
Where my best stories were born
And I never woke to find choices like walls hemming me in
In that space between sleeping and waking
With my cheek on the cool pillowcase
Suspended in time

Haikus for Lucy

she isn’t here yet
she is waiting, biding time
not ready to meet

she is squished in tight
trying to stretch she pushes
against mother ribs

voices echo in
dark warm spaces--already
she knows and loves some

big hands and small ones
blankets ready to receive
newborn perfection

Truth in Fiction

there are scenes in some stories I play
over and over again
every one has the same theme
she has lost hope
she has struggled to move on
she is finding her independent footing
and she looks up
and there he is standing in front of her
eyes full of adoration and promise
in a book
in a play
in a movie
even on tv
that moment
rocks me back on my heels
stomach clenching like
I'm the one in love
somehow not trite – at least to me
these quintessential,
so clichéd, moments I crave
when he touches her cheek
and she leans into his hand
you can see her entire body
at once relax in relief
and tense with anticipation
her arms up over his shoulders
her hands find the back of his head
she pulls him toward her
and there is the money shot
the perfect kiss
how can I watch this scene
over and over and over again
in so many different stories
some days, it breaks my heart
but more often, it gives me hope
it seems crazy
unrealistic
does it set me up to wait forever
or are these stories telling truths
like only fiction can
echoes of histories
shadows of sincerity
attempts to capture
what it means to fall in love
and have someone love you back
paling in comparison to the reality
it’s not always the first kiss
it’s the first kiss with forever beyond it

Back to Work Haiku

after vacation
work seems not so bad but not
so good as time off

On Jen's 30th

someday we will be the ancient ones
sitting in chairs like these
our white hair stark against brilliant hues
smiling as our children's children play

on that day, we will have lived long lives
layered, intertwined like vines
growing along white picket fences
we'll have weathered many storms and bloomed

arm in arm, we will lean as we walk
toward the sea, pondering
this treasured gift--knowing we remain
survivors measuring lives well spent

through the lines on each others' faces
we'll catch a stolen glimpse
echoed smiles and laughter--our past selves
lingering with us, keeping their watch

those ghosts trailing behind us will know
their fondest wish endured
we who chose each other then held fast
constant and steady--promises kept

-

(photo © fly photography 2008, courtesy of my talented sister Erin www.flyphoto.typepad.com)