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The Rain

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I woke to the rain

The soft sound of weeping

They say that tears heal

That they water the soul.

And maybe that’s true,

I hope that it is.

 

But when the wind howls with fury

And the hail pelts down hard

I wonder how grief

Can turn into flowers

Sometimes in spring.

 

When will we know how

To fix this big mess?

Will the hungry be fed

And the homeless find shelter?

When will the children go home?

 

I am tired

I am angry

I weep with the planet

And I rage with the wind.

God, grant me wisdom.

Love, give me courage.

Let’s drink all that water

So we don’t drown in the flood

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Lady Icon

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Is it rust or is it blood

That stains the Lady’s cheeks?

That green beacon

No longer promising

Safe harbor from the storms.

Is she wounded from too much sorrow

Over the children she could not save?

 

The Holy Mother wept beneath the cross

And again outside the tomb

She cries still

In visions everywhere.

But she must have known

Times of laughter too

When her bright, impulsive son

Surprised her with unlikely hopes.

 

Rust from tears or dried blood

It doesn’t matter much.

It’s time to scrub

The stains away

And work on the resurrection

Of our democracy.

 

 

 

 

 

Word

I am a preacher by trade

I believe in the Word

Whispered or shouted

Depending on whether

A still small voice

Or a loud proclamation

Will serve the Good better.

If you have ears,

Give me a listen

Reading my lips is also just fine.

I’ll use the mic too,

If I can find it

Up where the tall people live.

 

 

 

 

Pain

White cotton candy spun

Ice cold across skin

Purple with pain swollen

With hope for relief

How long will this last?

Dinosaurs could tell us

The beached whales struggle

In the sand washed by tears

An ocean’s gift a sea of grief

Spins the ice numbing into stillness

A fissure opens ragged as

A nightmare vision

Bruised bodies heal

And will move

Once again

We pray

The Cup

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My cup fills and empties

And fills up yet again

Just when I think

The well may have run dry

 

Just when I think

I have no more to say

The words gush forth

And the Spirit sings

 

It must be said

There is no rest

The cup must ever be filled

And lavishly poured forth

 

Tender is the time

When my cup’s bounty

Spills over to help refresh

Another thirsty soul

 

 

 

 

A Rebirth

IMG_2374I know now

About rebirth

And resurrection

Both are hard work

Blessings that may come

Only after old habits die

Hard

So hard

The stones that block

Our path

Partly of our own making

We need help to chip away

Those boulders

It helps to work

Up a sweat

Trying to climb over them

It helps to have friends

To lend a hand

A leg up

Rebirth

Resurrection

It is springtime once again

There are flowers

Among the rocks

 

 

Solidarity Prayer

Solidarity not sympathy
 
I am with you
 
Recognition not rescue.
 
You are with me
 
Let’s meet at the corner
The intersection of our
Anger and pain
 
Pray for some courage
Hope for some grace
We’ll water the seeds with our tears
And warm the ground with our rage
Until we can finally harvest
The power of we

Resurrection and Renewal

This is an old poem – from April 2013 – before I began this blog.  I have been reborn, oh so many times, it seems.

I laid my body down
On the brittle brown leaves
Crushing them to dust
Exhausted by the Fall

My ears touched the earth
Soft loam of older leaves
Quiet wrapped my worries
In stillness and in peace

My arms held the sun
Warm in the moment of embrace
Clouds passed in the distance
Memories of the cold

For months I lay in wonder
Wrapped in the breath of hope
Stirrings deep within
Had time to be reborn

Now I rise to my feet
Strong and steady is the call
Once more the path is open
My eyes behold the sky

A Reflection on Job

I never really related

To Job and his wailing

He was so self-righteous

A lucky man

For much of his life

Thinking he deserved it.

 

So much better I think

To receive blessings later in life

When you can appreciate them

And know in your gut

How lucky you are.

Mazel Tov

 

 

 

 

 

Wind

A gentle breeze on a hot day

Can be a welcome gift

A subtle rustling of refreshment

Drying our sweat

As evaporation works

Its miracle.

We give thanks for the wind.

 

On a hot beach

With a breeze less gentle

The sand blows into our eyes

The grit sticks to the lotion

We rubbed on to protect our skin.

We grumble and turn our faces away.

If we ignore the wind

Maybe it will stop.

 

The cold winter wind

Chills our bones

Our joints ache

As we pick our way

Down icy lanes

With coats, hats and gloves

A meager defense

So we claim a warm spot by a fire

And hunker down to hide

From the howling wind.

 

There are worse things the wind can do

Hurricanes blow our houses down

And bring the seas ashore.

Tornados turn everything to rumble

Splintering the lives

We once thought were safe.

We curse those winds

And wonder if our death is near.

 

Then a quiet day

Breathing in and out

Remembering that we are made

Of flesh and bone

Of water and of wind

A curse becomes a blessing

Filling our lungs with life

We give thanks, again,

For the wind.