SITTING ON THE FRONT STEPS, 6:15 A.M.

SITTING ON THE FRONT STEPS, 6:15 A.M.

 

I’d forgotten how to begin

the day, the late summer

 

day, in the moistness,

the early coolness

 

when the bees are busy

in the jewelweed, when

 

the waning moon 

floats between dispersing 

 

clouds. What does the little

world of men have

 

to offer then? To offer them,

I mean. To offer me?

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June 21st

JUNE 21st

 

They say it’s to be the longest day, but

how shall we know with the sun again

behind clouds thick as oceans. Down 

here like denizens of the deep we’re 

losing our eyes and growing weird 

appendages. Luminous lures spring

from our foreheads. Wind waves dark

fronds of weeds over our heads.

It might as well be the longest night.

We take what nourishment we can.

ONCE MORE

ONCE MORE

” . . . I am not who I was,

though some principle of being

abides. . . “

       ~Stanley Kunitz, “The Layers”

 

 

 

Is this it? Enlighten-

ment? The sudden knowledge

that despite all, despite

sadness, digestion, pain,

there is Self from which I

struggle not to stray, that

looks out from the same eyes

that I had when I was

ten and knew I was a

lone person who could cope

with whatever life I

got? So often subsumed

but here I am again,

in my bug-jacket, in

the driveway, with the dog.

Once more, it is morning.

WHAT IT’S ABOUT

WHAT IT’S ABOUT

It’s about being lost.

Really, really lost.

Squandering half the family fortune

and eating pig food and crawling home 

without even a name to call your own.

And it’s about saving and working hard

and being responsible

and no one notices or cares.

It’s about getting paid the same.

It’s about being meek and poor

and hungry and sad.

It’s about being left for dead

then rescued by someone

you’d cross the street

or maybe the ocean

to avoid.

It’s about a wedding reception

with all the wrong sorts of people

but you’re there, too.

What’s that about?

 

It certainly isn’t about the rules.

It isn’t about going to church

and potlucks and biblestudies

and committee meetings.

It isn’t about being good

so you’ll go to heaven when

you die. It’s not

about saving 

your little 

soul.

 

It’s about letting everything go—

every flying buttress and rose window,

every pipe organ and bible

and prayer book and linen cloth

and silver cup—

every attitude,

every certainty,

everything you think you know—

in order to buy

one pearl.

 

It’s about bread and salt.

It’s about a lighted lamp.

ADVENT, 13

ADVENT

13.

      ~John 8

 

It must have been fear—

that most compelling feeling—

that attached them

to your Jesus. Why else

would anyone follow

a fellow who goes on

and on about above

and below, about

himself and his distant

father? And worse—O

worse!—a fellow who sees

people (like the woman

caught in the act) 

as opportunities 

for tedious theologizing.

You scared them, 

John Gospeller.

They believed they’d be

condemned without

your esoteric creed.

It must have been fear.

Likely, it still is.

ADVENT, 12

ADVENT

 

 

12.

   ~John 7

Why, pray, would I follow your Jesus?

He honors the obfuscate;

his work is intellectual malignment.

Otherworldly, he keeps his secrets,

disparages what is human,

insists upon duality.

He will not look me in the eye.

Why, O John Gospeller,

would you have us believe

that this is Word made Flesh?

ADVENT, 10

ADVENT

 

10.

   ~John 6:1-14

 

Why multiply loaves and fishes if

your Jesus disparages miracle?

 

If he was sent from heaven only

to teach the elect, why make him

 

show off to the crowd?  And

worse—why have him

 

set up these expectations?

Bread does not increase,

 

fishes decrease because

of the hope for miracle

 

that does not come no matter

how hard the believing.

 

And what are we

among so many?