Monday, August 30, 2010

And so God came to her, and thus, he spoke:

I have given you a great love of the world. I would like you to save it.

And she said


And God said

Yes, you.

And she said

But I am small.

And he spoke

I am big.

She said

I am one.

He said

I am many.

She asked

How will they believe me?

He said

I believe You.

And she said

But I am small.

And He said

But I am big.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

My burden is greater...

It is trapped
and so dark that
it sucks my breath away

I am no stronger
than yesterday, but I will not break
for my burden is greater
and my heart made strong
by grace; I cannot crumble
for it is by your will that I stand
and so standing, I am saved

If you were given
a duty, would you renounce
every movement of spirit
and glimmer of light
that has become you

could you put it down

Sunday, August 22, 2010

A Love Letter

Some emotions are too big for a poem.

There are events that happen in our life, memories and moments, that can never be transcribed. Poetry is born out of passionate experience, but some experiences become such a part of us, so ingrained in ourselves, that no amount of wording will ever capture the ways they have changed us.

A year ago, my father died. I can write about death. I can write about the evenings since then, the quiet stillness of this house, the deep coldness of those parts of myself that have yet to grow again. But I am young and resilient, and when one is young and loses a great pillar of love, that pillar is replaced by the hope of more love to come.

I would like to dedicate today to all of those people with no hope left of love. Who have given up trying to heal all of the hurt that life has put on them. Who wake up each day with no meaning, with no answer and no wonder. And I would like you to know that loneliness is not what it seems on the surface; we all pine for wholeness, for renewal and satisfaction. Sometimes, on our road to wholeness, the heart is the greatest obstacle to overcome. But it is in the heart, and the heart alone, that we make any kind of meaning out of this world. It is the heart that we must make whole, and we can only heal the heart through love.

Seek love. Seek it in community, in friends, in family, in pets. When your life is whole with love, so will you become whole with love.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Selves False Grown

Sir, you should not scoff at dreams
nor make light of what we've killed for love;
we've given what our hearts can give
and splintered dreams are remnants of

the worlds we've lost, the selves we've shed
upon our paths, like peeling skin.
We've watched our souls take shape again
and again, yet never a murmured hint
of where we go, nor who we are within.

Oh tell me why -- why such a beautiful loss
of our own sweet selves, false-grown, and where
do all of the pieces fall, and who collects
those many, shattered bits, to rearrange in some flat mold
where the old is lost, and a new face, found.

Dear sir, you laugh, yet I do not doubt
that our dreams have kept the best of us
alive, and all that's shed away was not
meant to last, and would those flaws remain
our selves would stay,
but our hearts would not survive.

Monday, August 16, 2010

For Julia

Little rose, did you know
that god grows as you grow
and love holds you in sunlight
and shelters you, close
as a heart to a soul.

Little rose, listen close,
for god already knows
when you'll bloom, and your colors
bright, bold, or serene--
god has seen all your seasons
from darkness to dreams

and he planted your seed,
and he waters your roots,
and as you grow, little soul,
know that god grows in you.

Friday, August 13, 2010

You Whisper, Love

Heart, I will not stand for another lie
or misleading trial into cloudy night;
your whispers are hard to ignore, yet I
will not be defiled by your vain sight

or lack thereof; dear heart, why gaze upon
yourself in waters deep? I know you love
not others for their own slight worth, but love
yourself for all your seeming perfect light.

And why speak so bold? Dare you feign to know
your true desires, by hand, by hope, by need--
does love inspire some fading truth, near lost
in a writhing world, where a heart can't sleep?

You whisper love, yet heart, no love has come;
and whatever love has promised, remains undone.

Sunday, August 1, 2010

The Road North

In which the poet travels 1000 miles to lay the dead to rest.


The Road North

reasons why.


This place is ripe with cloud thought.
These are the skeleton ways
with all of the branches stripped of leaves.
We are low to a road
neither cared for nor wanted;
there are many places to rest
but we are passing visitors
gone unacknowledged.

These grassland mountains
tremor with sighs.
His voice is gone,
but still we have duties
and all that remains
is restless.

It is a journey of never farewell--
and never let go, no, not now
and not as the night rests, and by daylight
we carve our weary paths, asleep.
These hills hold naught
of love, only its memory, only the dust
we carry on our backs, a thousand miles.

We pause in Utica,
enough to fill up gas.
We must keep time.


cold meters
don't hold me

nor the dead
flashing wet upon streetlights
counting rivers on the windshield
he's here
behind me, somewhere
visiting the dust of his remains

these dark visitors are frequent
for i am well known to the unkept hours
and my dreams are half-barren
and half-ocean deep

i neither know
if he is awake
or i asleep


I slept into daylight
and arose with the cloud countries,
traveled barren hills, higher
climbing peaks to shining towers--
These are mountains.
They are built
of many ways.

I am not bound by frost
though it does become me.
The crisp forests
are an unknown daybreak – I see light
crest the slopes, climb the branches
and make pure what was sleeping;
here it is, yes, and heaven.


A sudden drop to valleys
plains of nothing, swept
echoing breath
i am i am I Am
we follow down
flighty paths, flicker


reasons must be given

but how does one close a life

as though love can close


we fear the borderlands
and the restless sunset.
though we are not here
nor there; nor is any place the same
since our faces have changed.

we pass towns
of downcast eyes,

their hells
are lesser hells
and yet greater,
by their own design


We arrive
at the hotel,
a cannon in my chest.
I breathe this place asleep –
here is a land of never again
and final farewell, and don't tell
my secret; that love takes
many shapes
but only one

The bed is hard
and I see him standing in a mirror –
did he walk behind me,
check our luggage?
he trails us
tries to speak

I listen,

but the walls

are too loud.


Tell me
how is it that everything I touch
is flat?

My perception has flown
I am chewed
and mostly a lie.



more reasons why

why do we travel miles
to put dust on a shelf
everything in orderly fashion
does it make him real?
memory is not enough
nor time, nor facets of thought.

but I know he lived
because I live.


It is the day before the day
and I dreamt of easter
but the evidence of death
is here, encased in wood, on the table
of his brother's living house
where once he breathed
and now has fallen between cracks
to dirty the carpet.


Old friends, you are brighter than morning

your memories
are stories warmed
by the glow of his eyes
and you are worthy
of countless hills

I will make this road again

for you


time, hold fast
but don't hold me,

not to the weight of thoughts
or borrowed sleep.

his memory
i would keep alive,
but even ice cold, it will not
freeze, but wavering, moves.
we are not bound by frost,
but walk cold meters
past years of love, lost and unmeasured,
with the air an unbearable whisper

reasons? reasons don't matter

not to him



We are gathered here today
to witness the marriage
of my mother and father.
They are separated by glass panes.

I would know them now;
though I have traveled long
to stand at this doorstep
they do not greet me.
But what is a day--
Perhaps they travel farther than I
and with greater burdens,
and perhaps time is heavy
in their foreign country.

They are far too late
and I am turned away, knowing
we are done wandering.
And my final secret:
love is not mine,
nor is it my right
to keep it.




no footsteps.

We travel without sleep
in the sparseness before dawn;
there is nothing else

This is a journey of
where do we go, and no, not far
from our hearts, though we travel
by pieces of midnight, down mountain slopes
and up rivers of snow; we are low to the road
and know well of its burdens, though
we shall never again
return home


darkness moved upon the face of the deep
and we beckoned light to follow
for we wished to see daylight once more.
dawn breaks and my eyes are known, for I see
the last tree, the last sky, the last blade of grass

awakened, i can see
your living body, unmeasured

in light there is shadow, and to run
it shall chase me, to leave
it shall follow, and to speak
it shall echo
my silence


I bargained for peace with good actions,
thought, if I am good enough, then maybe --
but your bounty is priceless, and my harvest
unmeasured: the will to laugh, the hands to work,
and legs unburdened by fear

We are empty
and new,
and this road
does not carry us past desert hills
nor over mountains, but through the darkest
ravines of a stirring deep; I know
only the clear air thoughts
and the minutes
flashing wet upon streetlights
he is lost
no, he is found
he is lost

it is the blank space
of where I stand
five feet of absent light
and your voice, still sweet in my head
i love you, and after death
i love you still
and love you more