Poems to Tuck Neatly Away

Extravagantly Pungent

there's a dog barking in my brain

somewhere, somehow

a barking rage

on and off and on and on

I turn on the wrong burner

on the stove

like my Grandma

almost ready

to burn down the condo

in her forgetful state

organized chaos

a mystery to repent of

the smell of bananas

too ripe

too extravagantly pungent

.

.

Freedom

I like the freedom

poetry offers

pig-

of writing down any word

that comes to mind

jar-

letting them drop

into the sea of emotion

canopy-

to see

what patterns they make

polka dot-

on its surface

Liking Mike

it's hard not to like Mike. he's kind of like the impersonation of that little angel who stands on your shoulder and whispers encouraging things in your ear. except that this angel doesn't take care of his hair and has a giant goatee. the first time I met Mike, I thought maybe he was just a short Harley enthusiast - I could imagine his goatee flaming back into his face, flattened by the force of his big bike. but as it turns out, he's a potter. instead of bug stains, his clothes are covered with earth-colored clay and glaze.

.

you wouldn't necessarily think Mike was organized, or even passionate - in the way he comes across. but don't let the man fool you. he's a dreamer, yes, but a very good dreamer. he keeps thinking he can make an oblong cooking pot, even though all the other ones have cracked in the kiln. the latest one is still wet, sitting on the table in his little "studio with a view". it's all about the view for Mike. he used to be a landscaper and it looks as though the view from his studio is in a constant state of flux - Mike's own little ongoing search for a quiet place in the world to call his own. I imagine he must be really close to finding it, sitting there in front of his little wheel in the wee hours of the morning, his steady hands working the texture and smell of clay until they begin to take shape.

.

but making pots and mugs doesn't seem to be what really gets Mike going - (you know that he's going when you hear him laugh and use his favorite word "Amazing!".) and he's also willing to give up his view if and when the time comes to follow his real dream. he's sure that he can help undo the wrongs of the past, that his mediating skills can help turn this world around, and that dreaming of a church where everyone involved can come to the table and have an equal share in its creation is not dreaming too big.

.

and after getting to know Mike, I think he's probably right. I told him a while back in all honesty that he'll probably make it into the top five people who have most impacted my life. if I have to part ways with Mike at some point, and we can't meet for lunch anymore, I'm going to make sure I take along one of his mugs with me.

.

Grace

for my graceful sister

who knew not grace

beautiful in her clumsy form

breaking my heart

as it could only be broken

.

have I done you wrong?

waiting up all night

to check your breathing

and the pressure in your skull?

.

did we weep too soon, too early?

not enough?

did I laugh too quick?

did I forget or remember too much?

.

you push me to the edge
I cannot help but face it

the uncertain depth

the brittle helplessness

of the air we breath

.

I am running, have run

but can no longer get away

you are here, not here

no, not here! not ever again!

this is real, forever and binding

I am left to discover myself

where do I lie? what is my angst?

where do I set myself down again?

.

what is my repose? my rest?

where do I go to glimpse the light?

my path?

with what eyes do I behold the light

and your grace?

is it sufficient?

A Real Post

you know how during the winter stores and restaurants will paint white cloudy frost/snow in their storefront windows? well, we have the real thing in our house. (Harlan might appreciate this) when it gets this cold, the windows frost right up. the house we're currently renting doesn't have the "upgraded" windows, so we're more privy to the winds that blow - and right now the winds that blow are about 15 degrees - a pretty good dose of cold for here at least. (the windows actually rattle too) while not liking thinking about the extra cost of heat, I have liked thinking about real frost in my windows - but it is only this morning that I took the time to actually look closely enough to appreciate the frost more fully.

it illustrates nicely a common theme that I carry with me alot. we tend to think and believe in "progress", that is, we value efficiency, orderliness, sterilization, comfort, speed, etc. and even if we don't necessarily believe in them, we are often caught up in the current. now - you don't have to necessarily long to return to a hunting-gathering society, but I think it does do us good to contemplate where and why we're going where we are. my basic premise is that the "gains" made in all of our progress often have a valuable (if subtle) loss as well. not financial loss, but loss of soul nourishment.

I wish all these gains and losses could be listed up front - before we all decide to go ahead with all of our progress. unfortunately this process is compounded by financial incentives - hence the wit "the love of money is the root of all evil" which could also be worded "the love of paying less money for larger quantities of more cheaply made things is the root of our spiritual desolation". medical epidemics aside, I'm going to continue to strive for soul food and try to stay out of the current. progress may be inevitable, but I daresay not as inevitable as we like to think. anyway, I'm enjoying my frost this morning, much more than my silver. (see Ecclesiastes 5:10)

In Russia: part 3

the Wickers' warm (ok, hot) apartment stands in sharp contrast to the -40 Siberian climate. their hosting of our family made it clear that the warmth of their home came not only from the local piped-in heat, but their hearts. we spent 3 1/2 days in close contact, sharing close space and close memories of our shared sister Shannon. these were precious days with precious people. I miss them alot.

upon arrival they assured us they had carved out time in their schedule to facilitate our time. we slept in their apartment, ate food from their table, used their computers, borrowed their rubles and made use of their excellent language skills. they connected us to as many people as possible in the short time.

John's contagious laughter kept us "giggling like girls" as he said, while Sharon's attention to detail kept us going the right direction at the appropriate times. John could have used a little more direction at the time he stubbed his toe. their stories of Shannon and insightful questions, kept our hearts moving through this difficult trip. I wish we could share another meal of soup and bread.