Happy Father's Day to a Dear Uncle

Happy Father's Day to a dear uncle!
A pillar of my life and of my joy;
Patient, though I may your cover rumple;
Pleased to be both playmate and large toy.
Yours is the quiet sanity I count on,
Familiar in the space around your voice,
A gentle, well-trained wisdom I can mount on
To ride to the persuasion of my choice.
Here I am, then, at your doorstep waiting,
Eager to be held by you and play,
Ravenous with hunger there's no sating,
'Mid your life a willful piece of clay.
So will we join our destinies in this
Dependency, which someday I will miss,
A long, consuming moment which, when done,
Yet will shape the journeys still to run.
Happy Father's Day to a Father-to-Be
Happy Father's Day to a father-to-be!
A little kidney bean has sprouted limbs,
Put forth fingers, toes, while silent hymns
Praise life with music none will hear but she.
You'll never relish more such mystery!
Full of the radiance with which life brims
As you await its needs, its wants, its whims,
The timbre of its love, its will-to-be.
How beautiful, this time of expectation!
Each moment silent in the packed, hushed hall,
Reverberating with the sounds of waiting
'Ere the outstretched arms begin to beat.
So beautiful, this barely breathed elation!
Days go on, but underneath them all
A hunger that there is no hope of sating
Yearns to kiss two tiny, wrinkled feet.
Happy First Father's Day
Happy first Father's Day!
All is as planned:
Passion, then parenthood --
Pipsqueak in hand!
Yet now there are burdens,
Far more than before,
And hours devoted
To one much-loved chore.
How beautiful! One is
Entangled in life,
Rendered to love
'Twixt child and wife.
So beautiful! One learns
Delight is a choice,
A part long-since written
Yet heeding your voice.
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Only in the Prison of Perfection

Only in the prison of perfection,
Needing neither love nor company,
Your body quite dissolved in pure perception,
One oversoul as far as mind can see;
Unattached to meaning or desire,
Redolent of heaven's thin, cold air,
Empty of an all-devouring fire
Nor interested in being more than there;
Granted such a state, what need for marriage?
All there is, is with you all the while.
Gifts of love redound to those who forage
Earnestly, with neither greed nor guile.
May you hunger and find surfeit sweet,
Each separately an angel incomplete,
Needing one another's love to know
The greatest bliss vouchsafed to those below.

Open Doors and Windows, Books and Flowers
Open doors and windows, books and flowers,
Newly opened gifts of minds and hearts
Yearning for the emptiness of oceans
On which, in love and hope, you launch your music;
Undulating, searching, restless hearts
Rendering your ecstasies in music,
Eternal hunger sated now with flowers,
Now rolling on relentlessly as oceans;
Give everything away--all hopes, all music,
All of yourself cast into tumbling oceans,
Go naked in the silence of your hearts,
Even as you blossom into flowers.
Mouths cannot speak the glory of the oceans
Etched against the loveliness of flowers,
Nor can you know its fullness but in music
Through love, which inundates your waiting hearts.

Out of Love Comes All in Life that Matters
Out of love comes all in life that matters;
Nor can one love unless one knows one's need.
Years are walls against which passion shatters,
Opening the way for joys that bleed.
Underneath the choice of who is how,
Requiring one again each day to choose,
Embracing a forever ever now,
Not least because one fears what one might lose.
Given its immensity, the choice
Astounds, as blind or provident as fate;
Given its beauty, one can but rejoice,
Evangelist alight before the gate.
More than how one lives is how one loves,
Ever the terrain through which one moves,
Not shaped by fortune, but the work of will,
Though fortune ride the wind for good or ill.
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There Is a Joy That Banishes All Reason

There is a joy that banishes all reason,
An ecstasy so vast it has no shore,
A craving that devours all decision,
A lust for nothingness that lusts for more.
There are angels in pursuit of pain
Who take Satanic pride in degradation,
Who'll drag you down the hill and back again
Hosanna-ing your sweet humiliation.
Just like a fire fanned by a hot, dry wind,
Or like a flood that sweeps away all will,
This wall of pleasure leaves no one behind,
No sign of life where all one loves lies still.
So does the soul in anguish hate the joy
That soothes the hate that does the soul destroy.
Where Have You Gone, My Bobby, My Boy
Where have you gone, my Bobby, my boy,
Oh where, oh where are you bound?
The masters of greed have their hands on you;
You're nowhere to be found.
Your body is here, my Bobby, my boy,
I see it every day;
But your soul has gone into slavery
And cannot get away.
They have you there, my Bobby, my boy,
And keep you for their gold;
Just as in days of slavery,
Your life has been bought and sold.
The masters of greed, my Bobby, my boy,
Have neither love nor pity;
They run your block, your neighborhood,
They run every town and city.
They'll sell you things, my Bobby, my boy,
You cannot do without;
And when you've paid all you can steal
They'll laugh and spit you out.
And those who love you, Bobby, my boy,
And those whom you love, and I,
What can we do, my dearest boy,
But weep and watch you die?
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I Would Be Proud of You, Could I Attend

I Would Be Proud of You, Could I Attend

I would be proud of you, could I attend,
Would I now know the things I'll never know,
Could I have watched you come to comprehend
The wonder of the world in which you grow.
Do not think I did not think of you,
Imagining the beauty of this day,
For I was at your graduation, too,
Though long ago, and in a different way.
Life can be full, no matter short or long,
As long as love can fill it with its grace.
And I have felt such pride, and love so strong,
That you will live your life in my embrace.
So of the pride today I claim my share:
Though I am not, I know that I am there.
I Would Not Be the Sun to End Your Night
I would not be the sun to end your night,
Nor would I be the wall to turn your tears.
But I will watch with you until it's light.
Because there are no words to set things right
Nor hopes that one immersed in mourning hears,
I would not be the sun to end your night,
Offering a wisdom far too bright
To soothe your pain or put to rest your fears.
But I will watch with you until it's light.
There must be time to grieve that sorrow might
Be equal to the love of days and years.
I would not be the sun to end your night.
For grief, before it breaks, must reach its height,
And tides must turn before one homeward steers.
But I will watch with you until it's light.
There are agonies no friendship can requite,
A bitterness unstained till dawn appears.
I would not be the sun to end your night.
But I will watch with you until it's light.
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Birthdays Do Not End with Death

Birthdays Do Not End with Death
Birthdays do not end with death,
But last as long as love,
A maelstrom of memories
That grace and honor move.
And so we celebrate your day
By visiting your grave,
A place that you have left long since,
But is all that we have.
Dear spirit, come and join us here,
Your loved ones by your stone!
Come sweep across the barrier
To claim us as your own!
Happy birthday, dearest one!
Oh, happy, happy day!
Not even the most bitter night
Can take this joy away!
Bobbie Jo Can't Be with Us
Bobbie Jo can't be with us
On this, her special day,
Because, although her heart is here,
Bobbie could not stay.
If love can reach across the void,
Each of us will know
Just when its grace shines equally
On us and Bobbi Jo.
Buddy
Buddy's memory burns ever bright;
Underneath our sorrow, ever there.
Death, unlike the coming of the night,
Does nothing to the loveliness of light,
Yet dancing through the willows' tangled hair.
Children Who Die Are Not Really Gone
Children who die are not really gone,
But go to a place that is something like home,
Where they sleep the deep sleep, as quiet as stone,
Until we can join them when our lives are done.
Children who die are not really dead,
But just like good children tucked into bed,
Wait the long wait while we go ahead
Till our tales are all told and our tears are all shed.
Children who die feel no pleasure or pain
In the place where they wait till they see us again,
And all of us dance in a world washed with rain
Where the sun shines so brightly no sorrows remain.
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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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If All Were Now as It Was When

If All Were Now as It Was When
If all were now as it was when
Christ came to save us all,
And Christmas Day were Christmas Day,
Not some day we recall;
And in the East we saw a star
Exceptionally bright,
And wondered what was going on
That ordinary night;
If God were walking in our midst,
Saying what He said,
And we were not His followers,
But trod where He would tread;
And we were witness to His word
And looked Him in the eye,
And found His message interesting
But too bizarre to buy;
If we were in Jerusalem
And watched Him bear the cross,
And suffered with His suffering
But feared to share His loss;
And saw Him die in agony,
And wondered at it all,
And this were something we ourselves,
Not printed books, recall:
What would be the difference,
Had we known Him that way,
Between the faith we feared to feel
And what we fear today?
Maybe Merry Christmas Isn't Merry
Maybe Merry Christmas isn't merry.
Everything can't work out every year.
Reveling on holidays is very
Rough on those a little short of cheer.
Yet life goes on, and what was once consuming
Comes slowly to dissolve in humdrum days.
Hope returns, its rightful place resuming.
Rivers run their long and winding ways.
Instead of pain, one comes to revelation.
So does one not bury the remains,
Trading raw estrangement for relation,
Melding losses into harder gains.
As you are less than merry, with good reason,
So may you still find solace in the season.
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The World Is Not Sufficiently in Order

The World Is Not Sufficiently in Order
The world is not sufficiently in order,
However much one wishes it were so.
Eros is sincere but rarely loyal,
Yearning for a joy that cannot be,
Even as I cleave to my design.
All I want and do is by design,
Reducing what might sing to what might be,
Offering the hope that, if I'm loyal,
Fortune will be fair, and what I sow
Today I'll reap in proper order.
Heroes are the sentinels of order,
Ever vigilant to live just so:
Dependable, consistent, honest, loyal
Overseers of what ought to be,
Given the chaos deep in the design.

The Point Is Just that I Don't See the Point
The point is just that I don't see the point:
However much one wants to be turned on,
Ecstasy can put things out of joint;
Yearning is for what will soon be gone.
Each can choose content or discontent;
All are happy, if they would be so.
Revelation isn't Heaven sent;
Out of what you are comes what you know.
Forget, then, the pursuit of the sublime.
There is no thing that's needed -- all is here.
Happiness will settle in, in time,
Enduring, though the weather may turn drear.
One must plod to plow, and plow to plant.
X marks the heart, where lies all one could want.

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Happy Sixth Anniversary

Happy sixth anniversary!

A marriage is a mirror window

Placed to maximize the view.

Passion turns to paradigm;

Years turn love to symbiosis.

So do lovers by osmosis

In each other dwell in time.

X-rays show that love imbues

The heart with angels, arms akimbo,Having come from joys to be.

Here There Are No Angels of Despair
Here there are no angels of despair.
Arrayed in choirs, they sing only of joy.
Performing for the sheer delight of being,
Poised between the act of sight and seeing,
Yet infinite, yet of this earth, they toy
Scholastically with being here nor there,
Eden's hosts, though none the worse for wear,
Come down from that sweet hilltop, anguish fleeing.
On those they light who for another care,
Now filling with their ecstasy the air,
Dear hints of bliss no evil can destroy.  
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