Vista

Chart each unsearchable outpost,

Plumb unfathomable depths of soul

Infinite pixels of mind

Imagination’s horizons.

On some abyssal plain, desire’s colors glow dark and deep.

No beam penetrates

No eye perceives

No breath permits

Chasms yawn twixt treadmill

and  horizon, confined to cage. I

Scan seashore, touch and marvel,

Points, light and hues.

Eternity rests under my fingers.

Kyrie Eleison, Bartimeus’ Song

Bent underneath humanity,
huddled close behind darkened eyes…
palms open, empty.

‘Kyrie! …mercy for sinners.
Beg wholeness, wellness, while
Men take up stones, hurl words
One finger writes conviction into sand,
Accusations cease,
We go, sin no more.

If Kyrie! … dead men taunt ‘if’
Demand things withheld.
Reject the offering,
Press on insistent answers,
Who sinned?
Denying the least of these…

Kyrie! … mend  the broken
Hands and voices, lift them as a banner.
Over shame. Against defeat.
Shout all open hearts.
Quickly, before sight dims.
See here, little children, he bids us:
‘Come’.

Dancing Lepers

alone, helpless
motionless, silent
stone hearted
leprous and unclean
do not touch, taste, handle
deceitful words, lacking power

spit and dirt in blind eyes
reaching for heaven, or
the hem of a garment
yet unwashed in dirty water
priestly proclamations, only
do not touch, taste, handle
force of words, stealing life

We embrace him,
no, he touches us
a word delivered,
crucified, risen,
spoken and fulfilled,
‘It is good’ or
“It is finished’

either way…
we touch, kiss,
righteousness ours
weakness supplied
a filament of strength
dancing for joy.

Eulogy for a Multitude(Mark 5)

Unknown
I die naked sheltered only by tombs, wielding stones to score my flesh.
I vainly engrave an everlasting memorial, a bloody epitaph to my demise.
I listen, battle-worn, to the multitude who speaks my name.

Legion
This multitude desolates, crowded in emptiness and waste, their lies bind the mind.
Their fear heaps chains upon my fetters with shackles which only burst into terror.
We wage unending war, the only spoils our scars, brokenness and fear.

King
Invading our beachhead, the legion falls upon their faces begging, ‘damn us not’.
They would stay where stupid pigs harmlessly feed on the grassy hillside.
At your word they mount on grisly chariots, riding one last conquest into the sea.

Jesus
Battle silent, you set me to rest by the fire, among friends, one chosen and beloved.
Bidding to stay, I hunger to follow and feast at your table full and warm.
At your word, graciously you give me to a multitude still longing for pigs.

Immanuel
I wear eternal garments, sheltered under rock, magnificent righteousness covering my flesh.
I gloriously display an everlasting memorial, a human epitaph to your conquest.
I speak joyful emptiness to the multitude bearing your name.

Bruised

Chosen

I breathe into you.

Rest as I bandage weal and wound

mark, mangle,

bend and break.

A tiny bruised blade of grass.

I brace on pillars of stone,

bind against stanchions of truth,

guard with promise of amends.

Quietly I whisper peace,

arouse what smolders and seethes,

reignite to consume,

dare live yet longer,

in hope.

Left and Right

Hearts fail first; rapt in self.
Vows abandon with noisy gongs
Silent ears gather their stones
On that day when you went left,
I went right.
 
Drunken minds then spin webs; chains
wrench limbs with senseless pain.
Batter to steal from roadside prey.
Deaf to all plea; you stagger left
I fall right.
 
One steps in; finger writes in sand,
Eyes lock mine with lover’s embrace.
Samaritan lifts with graceful step.
Assurance sings; No one left!
As we dance right.

A few handfuls….

Let go your two-fisted man-handle; the grasping.

Waken complacent stumps; set aside your famine.

Take straight view of what remains ahead:

When things work for one;  they work for none.

.

Please take hold of my hand. Once young,

and now being old, I will tell you stories.

Choice tales make simple children wise;

and shape better princes from mere men.

We’ll gather threads, and twine them

Walk the road;  lean in, take hold together.

Frequent falling, fear, and callous cold,

 on shared path,  fade forgotten behind us.

Taste one sweet handful of quietness;

Its richness dangles just within our reach

Rouse stumbling feet; waken fumbling fingers;

Let go all blustering, noisy, empty wind.

And rest…

The Lady

The lady longed for a castle,
a mansion filled with beauty.
He took her into his home
and enthroned her on his heart.
 
The lady then desired admiration…
that effort be strengthened by others.
He granted her his own favor, others’
praise for him dressed her quite finely.
 
She took to work with her hands
wearing fingers rough and callous.
He took over by strength of his hands,
and taught her his songs of gratitude.
 
She built  strong walls, gates, with thick bars.
Tearing them apart, he kept her safe…
Gently surrounded her with a village—
a dwelling of peace, love and rest.