small god

Your small god is made in our image
impotent
sympathetic
effeminate
surprised
disappointed

human

he is us.

We run in small-god circles
praising glimmers in each other
in ourselves
so we don’t have to look up
at the face
watching us.

garments

Actions are clothing
Hiding…expressing—
The wrapper
All we see
of ourselves.
Of others.

Actions speak
But not the loudest.

The loudest sound pounds on in our ears
The background pulse;
Throbbing undercurrent of every deed.

POUND molestation
POUND feeding the hungry
POUND suicide
POUND going to church
POUND murder
POUND fasting
POUND rape
POUND giving to charity
POUND thirsting for power
POUND teaching Sunday School

POUND

POUND

POUND

Our incessant drive
Our one goal
Our true desire
Our central thrust:

SELF.

Controlling my own life.
Charting my own course.
Earning my own way.
Dominating you.
Dominating myself.
Dominating Him.

Through sin.
Through religion.
At our best.
At our worst.

We pump the same blood
With the same intensity.
The heinous criminal,
The devout lawkeeper.
We are the same.

But we don’t believe it
Because of the garments

Burn away the fabric of deeds
Good and bad;
Sins and morality;
They are chaff in the wind—
Ashes all.

The glare of naked skin is all we have.

No more security in the good I do
No more cowering in the shadow of the bad
Just me
Naked
Raw
Scorched
Singed
The truth
Exposed
Like a middle finger in my heart
Bent to self-exaltation

The good girl
Is
The murderer:

The law-keeper
Who
Won’t be ruled

I am what I am
All my bad
All my good
Tainted
and
Vulgar.

Glaring.

My sins
An unbleachable bloodstain
My righteousness
Bloody rags

ALL
An offense
To His holiness
The middle finger
In my heart
Thrusting at heaven
Screaming
I WILL DO IT MYSELF

Into the naked crowd of the world
He stakes His claim
Through tendons and flesh
Hands open and writhing
Smeared with my pain;
My rage at His claims to supremacy
In a shower of my spit and cursing
He screams toward heaven

I WILL DO IT MYSELF

And becomes
My garment.

Famine

Surrounded by delicacies
Refinements
Flavors
Aromas
Savoring each morsel
Filling every inner sanctum

Soul cramping
Growling
Empty and craving
Malnourished
And
Dying

All Glorious Within

“The King’s daughter is all glorious within…” Psalm 45:13a

I work
Toning skin and muscle
Firming shape
Buying products to cover and conceal
Dedicating time to beauty

But beauty fades with time
And then the real will be unhid
Who am I then—
A mask removed;
An empty shell?

Or will beauty radiate with time—
Surging from a toned heart,
A glistening soul emerging through wrinkles;
Shaped by grace-encounters with God—
The light of Beauty’s gleam.

will (written 02.01.1995)

Mind throbbing
Heart aching
I wrestle
Spirit against Flesh
Clash of raw desires

I long to obey
And yet
I yearn to rebel
And as I hear the echoes
Of my sobs,
I begin to believe
That reality means
No one understands

I hear nails in the distance…
(like a dusty memory)
and see the open splintered flesh
and gouging thorns

and the Eyes…
they see my core
(core of weakness and passion)
and I tremble beneath his gaze
as I behold
the painful expression of His love

I begin to remember
That reality means
He understands
The intensity of my anguish

For He knows the cost of obedience
Even more than i

potter (song lyrics)

My world feels like it’s
spinning
spinning
spinning
So many decisions
So many revisions
So many directions
Crowding my heart
Filling my mind
All this uncertainty
Wanna leave it all behind me

And just when I think I’ve got it made
The Potter starts to spin my wheel and reshape the clay

CHORUS:
Oh, the Potter’s still shapin’ me
And I may not always be all that I want to be
But I know that He is makin’ somethin’ He wants to see
And
who am I
who am I
who am I
To ask Him why
Are You shaping me this way?
‘Cause He is the Potter…
And I am the clay.

Trying to squeeze myself into a mold
Hoping I can learn
Before the wheel ever starts to turn
Oh why can’t I remember
That His fingers are tender
And it’s only in the turning that He smoothes the roughest parts of me
His face glows with joy in His masterpiece
Yeah, His face glows with joy when He looks at me

CHORUS

graciela (written 03.22.1995)

Our meeting was the instant of befriending.
A sameness must have functioned as the glue
That kept you close to me, and me to you,
For since our lives are moving and amending,
To talk is now to work at comprehending.
Before, in all, we held a common view,
Now clashing, we defend what we think true,
With aim to mask sad hearts and wills unbending.
All efforts spiral more misunderstanding
And so we both retreat to newer places
With surface tones of friendship and politeness
And deeper truth of sorrow and contriteness
Our gardened hearts we close as empty spaces
Heartstrings tender, growing taught…and reprimanding.

skimming the top of the world (written 03.07.1995)

(for Michael)

The river called to me
As you and I sat wordlessly on the hot sand
One toe at a time
We sank into the water
(skin popping out with cold)
splash-cooling the hot vinyl seat
we mounted
(suddenly awake)
we flew across the surface…
your hair whipped glossy black at my nose
I held on behind you

Fast at first—fueled by new freedom—wind pounding our face
When we realized we had all the time in the world
We let the motor rest and it began to purr
Then I saw you
And I held on tight
I felt it coming

You flashed me a boyish grin
And I held on
Knowing if I let go I’d be without you
(and in trouble)
gliding along the gray-green surface

so deep we couldn’t see the bottom

you began to risk it all and I did too
(it was either that or let go)
we fell off pretty hard once
gasping in cold water
fighting the strong current
but soon we were back up
laughing
cooled by the plunge

I clung to you
And we left river-weeds at the banks,
Speeding over submerged rocks
We made a game of hitting waves
Balanced Together we could fly!
I looked back once and saw a trail of playful foam behind us…

We have never seen the shore since

afternoon after rain (written 03.07.1995)

The clouds molt their moisture on the mountains
Softening the crisp edges

Mountains
Layering themselves
Settling heavily on the horizon
Collecting raindrop rivers in their folds
Cold clouds dust the mountain-tips with snowy fog
And laugh
At the blue sky
Peeking around the edges

writer's block (written 02.01.1995)

My mind hibernates.

Last summer it fed
On thought
And irony,
Chewing on profundity like a ravenous cub
With never a premonition of the coming frost.
Feasting felt eternal

But then
The air began to crust;
I shivered at the first snowflake
And retreated,
Full and fat,
In comfort for a season.

Sleeping,
I dream
Of green and growing times
And easy expansion

I close my eyes to erase the cave;
To bring back the summer…
The snow at the entrance
Builds
Barricading me in lethargy.

I mumble a groan of anesthetized terror
And rush to tell myself
It’s only a dream

fear (written 01.04.1995)

To fear
Is to retreat to the corners of your soul
And slide like a fetus
Into position in the dark

It is to forget
How it feels to be warm
(sensing only cold)
and wonder if you will ever survive.

Fear
is an iron clamp
that tightens around your neck;
an ulcerated hole
draining hope and contentment
through your stomach

Fear
is a gargoyle
that swallows you
whole.
You sit, being digested, in its belly
And long for life.

When fear freezes me
I center my eyes
On Your face
His cold claw ungrips me,
The ball and chain
left behind
in the
dark.

blades (one of my old poems)

Imprisoned,
My Love lies dormant
As in wait
For the warmth of the spring thaw.

Winter renders emotions motionless
Huddled hopefully in my hungry heart
The eyes of Patience are sealed open
Scrutinizing the cold white snow
For the inevitable protrusion of a warm green
Blade.

before

Before I was a mom,
I slept all night and woke up rested.
I never worried about staying up too late.
I brushed my teeth every day and showered each morning.
I went to movies on the spur of the moment and had dinner in cloth-napkin restaurants.
I completed my train of thought and checked things off my list.

Before I was a mom,
My house stayed clean.
My shoes were always where I’d left them.
I never tripped over toys or found Cheerios in strange places.
I never wondered if my plants were poison­ous.
I never closed the bathroom door or scanned the floor for choking hazards.
I never worried about shopping cart handles.

Before I was a mom,
I never held down a screaming child in the doctor’s office.
I never felt my heart break when I couldn't stop the hurt.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried back.
I never wished it could have been me instead.

Before I was a mom,
I felt mature.
I knew the proper response to any situation.
I didn’t know my child would surprise me.
I didn’t know I’d doubt myself.
I didn’t know things would be complicated.
I didn’t know the job would be so hard.

Before I was a mom,
I didn’t know I’d drive more carefully,
Take fewer risks and more precautions.
I never had nightmares of being parted from my child.
I never cried over Amber alerts
Or muted violent TV commercials.
I never trembled when I watched the news
Or worried about how the world would be after I was gone.

Before I was a mom,
I never sat up at night watching a baby sleep.
I never kept holding him just because I didn’t want it to end.
I didn’t know my baby’s sweet smell
Or the sound of his soft breathing.
I’d never felt his warm face on my cheek
Or his little arms around my neck.

Before I was a mom,
My heart was my own.
I didn’t know someone so small could make my life so full.
I didn't know feeding a hungry baby would feed a part of me, too.
I didn’t know I had so many empty places
Or so many capable of overflowing.
I didn’t know my heart was so vulnerable…
Or so strong.

I didn’t know what I was missing.

together

Raindrop
Cold and single
Throws itself from one dark cloud

Droplets
Falling
Blend and mingle
Soothing storm from raindrop crowd

On my own
I barely moisten
One fat worm or blade of grass;
In the company of dozens
We become a stormy blast

cork

(A poem inspired by a cork I found.)

Her dusty soul-cellar
Houses bottled memories
Like aging grapes
Trampled into wine
Corked and hidden deep in the dark.

The fruit of youth ripened long ago
And was crushed beneath the feet of life

Her thirst would quench
If she’d pop the cork and drink deep

But she’s swept the cellar clean
And whisked the cobwebs into dust.
Ascending to the brighter world upstairs,
She paints a smile

While all the while
The grapes
(And her heart)
Are aging.

If You Give a Mom a Muffin

(Author unknown)

If you give a mom a muffin,
She'll want a cup of coffee to go with it.
She'll pour herself some.
Her three-year-old will spill the coffee.
She'll wipe it up.
Wiping the floor, she'll find dirty socks.
She'll remember she has to do laundry.
When she puts the laundry in the washer,
She'll trip over boots and bump into the freezer.
Bumping into the freezer will remind her she has to plan for supper.
She will get out a pound of hamburger.
She'll look for her cookbook ("101 Things To Do With a Pound of Hamburger").
The cookbook is sitting under a pile of mail.
She will see the phone bill, which is due tomorrow.
She will look for her checkbook.
The check book is in her purse that is being dumped out by her two-year-old.
She'll smell something funny.
She'll change the two year old's diaper.
While she is changing the diaper, the phone will ring.
Her five-year-old will answer and hang up.
She'll remember she wants to phone a friend for coffee.
Thinking of coffee will remind her that she was going to have a cup.
And chances are...
If she has a cup of coffee,
Her kids will have eaten the muffin that went with it.

Nostalgia

A dream of warmer days
When leaves are flushed anew with green
And every moment vibrates--alive
Imagination swells with the breeze
And from a wistful mist emerges,
as from the memory of a dream,
Treehouses
Dragons
Secret caves
Magic
and
Pirates
For a moment
A flutter
remember
the freedom of long summer days
Bare feet
and
the stillness of time.

runner's high

Blood pumping
Anxious muscles tremble
Anticipating the shot
Eyes raised…
Finish line in the distance

Released by the gun
Flying with commencement energy
Breath, heart, feet combine
Pulsing in synchronized rhythm…

Pain seeps and throbs
Muffling thought
Feet falling into place
By some strange strength

Ecstasy…
Is agony collapsed at the finish;
Gasping for joy
Because the Prize
Exceeds the sacrifice.

communion

I took the cup
Held it in my warm palm
Watched the rich blood-color
Realized the wine
Pulsing in its cup—
Tremors rhythmed from my hand
Like ripples in a small red pond—
I saw my heart in the cup
Alive and pulsing
His death my lifeblood

18

The world before me
Arms open wide
I leap from known to unknown
Reveling in the risk
Dampened by nothing
Unfurling with anticipation