this promise

the pregnant womb
holds the future
that is my second life
my purpose
she is my eternity
and with God I celebrate
the love of the happenstance
indifference which is her birth right
this child
in this time
the time of now
that is held in the cradle
of my eternal voice
as a candle shinning in the darkness of evil
this hope
in raptured innocence
speaking with new thoughts
and convictions
this promise
vowed when the earth began
as the spirit moved across the waters
curls numbered and counted
predestined, shaped and moved
this gift of life
as propitiated sacrafice
this love
feeling with the treasure that is our new vision
of honesty, truth
integrity and wisdom
this family
uncleaved from the maternal
grace that patiently
nursed a man-child for so
long consumed with lust
ego and self
my child is God's child
and I love her
with every breath
and waning heartbeat
until the end of my life
and beyond beyond

hopscotch

the morning tear of God
rest on a blade of indifference
kneeling in the wind
defiant and omniscient
in hopeful singularity
the day has risen
the promise of life that She holds
in that ocean of tear
which is Her reason
calls the children to the playground of life
that is fate
four square
kickball
and rainy hopscotch
a child's most important thought
is greater than every world concern
crisis,politic or discovery
for a child is of life
and we are of death

untitled....

christmas came early this winter
we learned to be thankful the days
we felt the winter when the power went out
and from the warmth of our layered blankets
our ears peirced with an icy cold no colder than
the dog house tents that house the homeless
our breath like mist exhaled in clouded puffs of desperation
we were cold and we were reminded that the true spirit of christmas
the true spirit of giving...
can never be experienced felt or even known
in expensive gifts of jewerly or clothing or electronic trinkets that
alienate us from one another, as we covet our neighbors toys
and as we even covet our neighbors means to give
this measure of vanity
this control
this manipulation
this evil
is not of Christ
it is of man
for the true spirit of giving
is to give the gift
of love

machine watchers

machine watchers
orbit the circle of sky
seeing me
in satellite resolution
pinpointed down
from the eye of heaven
to the speck of earth
in which my concerns are occupied
I don't feel so small
as big as big is
I'm bigger than the smallest small
right about now
this micro giant
this self-importance
this billioneth creature
living a segment of time
on God's infinite wrist
finds an importance in the singularity
of it's own uniqueness
or just a number
like never before
or never again
another child
flicked off like an insect
into the dung heap
of universe
a daily framed reference
known as the real
not in sleep, or dreams
or thoughts
but now like reality
this billioneth creature
looking up
my eyes
to Hers

coffee men

conversations
backdated political aphorisms
spoken as words
known as memories
and huddled outdoors
in banned smoking sessions
whose newspaper obituaries
read in silence
give meaning
and conviction to the dysfunctional sacrafice
of sons and daughters

the coffee men
gray old and irrelevant
warmed in the pressed crotch of ironed underwear
from sitting too long on padded transient cushions
starched starbuck deniziens
sitting in favorite seats
speaking familiar phrases
good mornings and false hello's

men with time
of bowel irregularity
and frequent unrination
of routine morning rituals
and obssesive cleanliness
men whose wives
want them out of the house
every day even if only to do
nothing

conducting the pretense of business
in donut house offices
setting tentative appointments
making empty lunch dates
with high-minded insincerity
these tired old men
whose lives are made up
of telling old and worn stories
in vain repititions

one day will I be such a man
I can only hope
to find this grace of expiration
every hour of
every morning
without cream or sugar
the mystery of the commonplace
in the blackness
of coffee