Eighty-Eight

Eighty-eight spends much of life in bed,
Interred beyond her time in drugs and pain.
Grateful only for the gift of sleep,
Having lost the will to laugh or weep,
The shrunken doll repeats just one refrain,
Yearning for the comforts of the dead.
Even so, the trail of pills has led
Into a world she grapples with in vain,
Grasping for a grace she cannot keep,
Harsh and vivid hauntings of the brain
That make of life a stew of joy and dread.
Given the Fragility of Life
Given the fragility of life,
Each of us remains a miracle,
Though new emerged from some bright sea of pain.
When every second feels just like a knife
Entering the soft flesh of the will,
Life whispers soon we will be well again.
Linger, then, along the edge of shade;
Soon enough you will be in the sun,
Open-armed, erect, and unafraid.
Old wounds remind us of fierce battles won,
Nor will our patient faith not be repaid.
Cherrie
Cherrie is now using Debbie's kidney,*
Having lost the service of her own.
Each moment of existence is a gift
Replacing just the one one just has left,
Renewing momently the moment gone.
In such a melody each note exactly
Embodies the full grace of what was done.
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Just as a Wave Is Lifted by the Shore

Just as a wave is lifted by the shore,
Then breaks across the slowly rising sand,
So as I watch you weep my feelings pour
Across the wash of what I understand.
I wish I could just take you in my arms
And all your pain could melt into my chest,
And all the violence of passing storms
Could pass through me and finally come to rest.
No words can set things right or presence lend
A miracle to light your darkened way,
But there is solace in a loving friend
And comfort in what I don't have to say.
Whatever circumstance you cannot bear,
Just turn to me, and you will find me there.
Let Me Be the Bandage for Your Bleeding
Let me be the bandage for your bleeding;
Let me be the ocean for your tears.
Let me be the secret of your healing;
Let me be the song to still your fears.
Love isn't love that cannot love in darkness,
Nor is it love that turns away from pain;
Nor would I love would I not hold your sadness
And with my love your love of life sustain.
So do not think your malady a burden,
And do not think my willingness deceit.
Just let your sorrow flow into my garden,
And I will share with you the harvest sweet.

Love Is Patient with a Life
Love is patient with a life
That brings its share of pain.
We know sometime there is an end
To the most stubborn rain.
We know the sun comes out again
On a world that's fresh and new,
And all the gifts we freely give
Somewhere, sometime accrue.
We know sometimes we have to wait
For life to come around,
And sometimes that it won't, but still
There's some good to be found.
And even when things happen that
Your soul can hardly bear,
Know that I'll be next to you;
My love is always there.
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Every Time I See My Pansies

Every Time I See My Pansies
Every time I see my pansies
Vivid in the golden sun,
You are with me in my garden,
And I am once again a child.
Vivid in the golden sun,
Their beauty brings me close to tears,
And I am once again a child
Learning to assume your grace.
Their beauty brings me close to tears
As I join hands with you in love,
Learning to assume your grace,
Dancing to your inner music.
As I join hands with you in love,
You are with me in my garden,
Dancing to your inner music
Every time I see my pansies.
Fathers Need Not Fathers Be
Fathers need not fathers be.
All one needs to do is choose
To love for life, and that embrace,
Held long and hard, bestows the grace
Each craves. For all in time must lose,
Restored alone by memory.
So now it is with you and me.
Father's Day Without You Is like Music
Father's Day without you is like music
Muted by a distance undisturbed.
It is so faint I cannot tell the feeling,
Though I myself am gripped with pensive sorrow.
I listen all the more for what I cannot
Hear, and you are somewhere close beside me.
"It's joy!" you say, and then I nod, unbending,
Listening still while weeping like fine rain.
Yes, it's joy, and you again are with me.
I turn to you, and I am in your arms.
The music is a rhapsody around me,
And I am safe again and free to cry.
It is so beautiful, I cannot stand it,
I am a torrent, shaking in my gladness,
And you recede, as distant as the music,
Smiling dimly far across the plain.
"Please, please!" I say, yet know that what I'm asking
No longer is. Your day will come and go,
And I will crave and fear its restless turning
Because my happiness must be my pain.
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Out of Who We Are Comes Where We Live

Out of Who We Are Comes Where We Live
Out of who we are comes where we live,
No less shaped by spirit than a shell
Yielding to the one imperative
On which all must depend to live life well.
Underneath the word is the desire,
Rembrandt to the image that we see,
New vesting in old verities its fire,
Evangelist for ambient ecstasy.
We choose from somewhere deeper than intention,
Having for such clarity no eyes,
Older than the moment of dimension
Manifest in fast-exploding skies,
Ember of which in that chamber lies.
To a Friend on His Election to the Jersey City Board of Education
Congratulations on your victory
Over those who'd labor in your stead.
Now that you have won, the road ahead
Gives pause: for what good soul-elect can be
Respondent to such need? Or happily
Attendant on such pain? It's often said
That power corrupts, but your audacious tread
Unheard might leave its footprints on the sea.
Little can one do, yet much is asked
As life responds to policy unfazed,
Taking, just perhaps, a hopeful turn.
Intending good, one is widely tasked,
Open to rebuke, and rarely praised,
Needing faith to change, as one must learn,
Scenes on which all helpless long have gazed.
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When Death Must Come at Christmastime

When Death Must Come at Christmastime
When death must come at Christmastime,
There is a special grief,
A mourning that must mix with joy,
A pain that must be brief.
There is an anguish underneath
The labyrinth of light
That longs for simple emptiness
To contemplate the night.
But life must bubble on its way
And pleasure be put on,
For neither sorrow nor delight
Is ever left alone.
And, like the Virgin, we must smile
With enigmatic grace
As we receive the fragile gift
That nothing can replace.
Wacky Carols
Evil knight, wholly night,
Vests his dough in a young nerd bright.
Even so, the malevolent childe
Loses his shirt in a downturn mild,
Yielding sword and piece.
Now we will never have peace.
Angels often herd on high,
Nodding nimbly all the day.
God says little in reply,
Echoing what actors say:
Less is more-o-o-o-o-or-o-o-o-o-or-o-o-o-o-oria,
As one seeks the way-o.
There is no well, the angels did say,
In search of a hot tub in which they might lay,
Nor more than one shepherd to manage the sheep,
A lover of Oprah, demented but deep.
Praise be the shoppers, toyful and triumphant,
And the package tourists bound for Bethlehem.
Underneath their passions, they remain but angels,
Living to adore Him
As they serve other lords.
Give us what we're asking for, or we will you dismay.
In Heaven God may reign, but we want toys on Christmas Day!
Unless you do, some things you cherish well might go astray,
Like that Longines watch that long has been your joy, long your joy,
If you don't give in, you just might lose your joy!
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Forty Years of Marriage Are a Pass

Forty years of marriage are a pass
On which one rests to see the view both ways,
Remembering the valleys left behind,
Taking in the grandeur just ahead.
Yet there is far too much for one to see.

Years of youth must blend like distant brass
Even as love knots the migrant days
And time blows through the moment like a wind.
Regret and gratitude are here well wed,
So much alike, one could the other be.


Forty Years Together You Have Loved

Forty years together you have loved,
Opening a door to love for me.
Romantic hearts bequeath a harmony
That proves more rich than any life might prove.
Years pour like water rapidly downstream,
Yielding harvests gleaned in fields to come,
Each waiting for the heart to bring it home,
Accumulating in an undreamt dream.
Rejoice, then, in a beauty never gone,
Sustained by songs more sweet because passed on.

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Hail to Aunts, Who Serve as Audience

Hail to aunts, who serve as audience,
Although at times it may be from afar!
Pleased to tender sympathy and sense;
Pleased to leave the inner door ajar.
Yet near or distant, the need remains the same:
Mothers could use extra tongues and ears,
Offering the care without the claim,
The friendship with the expertise of years.
However much an aunt is heard or seen,
Even though proximity is best,
Relationships depend on what they mean --
'Tis love that puts all reticence to rest.
So let us sing to aunts, that they may be
Delighted with their role, deservedly --
A speaking part in which the words they say
Yield fruit that nourishes an unseen day.

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