poem for the inner heart

CommonManGarden

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

flow me yours in after-grace,
arcing down a bidden road,
common man to pass this gate,
smile, undo a lightened load

 

set a table praying us,
hearthstone waiting warmth within,
light a wick to candle dusk,
stirring breath to song again.

 

wisdom ready inner heart,
freedom climbing as we rise,
spirit brush as at the start,
grace to delve us in our lives

 

flagstone come our crossing to,
bridge to span dissolving time,
joy the path returning you,
reach us God, our healing line.

 

________

boy in the moon

image

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aubrey, lessened to this world,
half a century gathered in
from the coast we grew up on,
yours the black beach, muddy grass,
ours the white beach glinting sand,

mine the side we thought safe cross,
middle school a new thing born,
trying mix what those before
said God’s creatures knew not blend;
reaching beyond their own kind.

daring come to play as friends,
past the hedges, racing lawn,
bussed across our side of town,
before flags unfurled again,
heritage its pride to claim.

What this cross, this leaving from?
how your tumor coming seized
you before our Ferguson,
teacher daily roughing hard,
yardstick lashing thighs ’til wept.

Aubrey fading, going fast,
dying yourself to our world
back when Neil took to the moon,
sudden leaving, hidden flight,
seventh grade nor life returned.

Aubrey, lifted long ago,
still I dream your prayer of us,
crossing lakeside, smiling shore,
hold a place a friend to grey,
Aubrey, God’s side staying play.

__________

for Aubrey, where God already is, with thanks to V.T.

another smooth stone

syllabus

“The stone I pick up to hurl with my hand,”
his voice probing steady the hurt of the day,
“falls from my palm with the grease of my sin,”
preemptive judging us lest we judge them,

gravely forewarning a time without kings,
boundary markers moving again,
panic-loosed chaos the now-dreaded thing,
should we somehow not the right trophy claim.

hill-top marked ready to redeem save one,
CFOs rooting if poets forgone,
prophets and seers yet given to learn,
cairn piling stones left strewn before dawn.

JC, in sand write me next in your name,
drop me a smooth stone your courage embrace,
pray us on waking, G*d, keep us your kin,
cross us your valley, your river to trace.

__________

Newton Centre, October 9, 2014