I Pray for You and Wish I Could Do More

I pray for you and wish I could do more,
But more I cannot do from far away.
Like leaves before the wind we cannot stay,
Ripped dancing, dancing to the forest floor.
I wish I could your ailing health restore
And bring you to the strength of yesterday,
But all we mortal souls can do is pray
That God might alter what we have in store.
The beauty in our fragile life is love,
The only thing that makes the moment matter,
The golden thread that binds us all in light.
I wish, I wish I could your pain remove,
But like a wall the truth my will must shatter,
And so I send my prayers into the night.
Mental Illness Doesn't Touch the Soul
Mental illness doesn't touch the soul
Even as it punishes the mind.
None can will the wanderings of the wind,
Though winter come, and tempests take their toll.
All who suffer innocent shall find
Love waiting by the window, well and whole,
Inside the heart, where it has full control,
Longing ever, ever unresigned.
Let go your fear, and follow, then, your path,
Neither more nor less constrained than those
Embraced by gods less ruthless in their wrath.
Sing bravely down the windrows of your woes,
Savoring a grace that comes and goes.
So May a Tiny, Clever Enemy
So may a tiny, clever enemy
Wield more power than the greatest states.
Inventive, mutant, merciless murderers,
Now they plot as the world prepares and waits,
Each moment shadowed by catastrophe.
For us, the only road to victory
Lies through the valley of the sufferers,
Unified in love till death abates.
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Happiness Lies Just This Side of Heartache

Happiness lies just this side of heartache,
As both are set aflame by one desire.
Perhaps one would best never light that fire,
Pursuing pleasure purely for its own sake.
Yet joy can be as fragile as a snowflake,
Full as oceans, brutal as barbed wire.
All your love is all that you require,
The grace that inundates the granite heartbreak.
How beautiful to take on such a burden,
Entering into contract with the void,
Responsible to some judgmental stranger,
'Ere meeting, for the seedtime of its soul!
Sing, then, of a quest that gains no guerdon,
Dearer far than pleasures now enjoyed,
A journey arduous and full of danger,
Yet sacred for the gift that is its goal.
Happy Birthday, Dearest One
Happy birthday, dearest one,
Sweet child of my heart!
We've become one family,
Of which you are a part.
And so I sing out equally
To all of those who are
Mine by blood or fortune blessed,
No more, no less my star!
We are one in love and joy,
In fondness and in worth,
And so as one we celebrate
This day, your day of birth!
Happy Birthday, Mother of
Happy birthday, mother of
A dream undreamed, unveiled at last,
Portion of a past unpassed,
Part I'd not partaken of,
Yet one in which my self was cast.
Before I knew of you, I knew
Inside myself your whispered word,
Remembering what I'd never heard,
The me that was exactly you.
How glad I am that we now share
Directly that long love unseen,
A gift from you that's always been,
Yet now for me is always there.
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Happiness Is Served by Celebration

Happiness is served by celebration,
As one could use reminders of one's worth.
Praised be days devoted to relation,
Preserving ties of friendship, love, and birth.
Yet uncles have no day, so this must do --
Father's Day, on which we recognize
All close male relatives, so, too,
They might see themselves through our eyes.
Here's to you, then, an uncle who plays well
Each well-considered role in which you're cast,
Restoring far more faith than you can tell --
'Tis the smallest gestures that will last.
So may you enjoy your destined part,
Devoted to the duties of the heart,
An uncle, near or distant, who remains
Yet one of those whose love a child sustains.
Happiness Lies Just This Side of Heartache
Happiness lies just this side of heartache,
As both are set aflame by one desire.
Perhaps one would best never light that fire,
Pursuing pleasure purely for its own sake.
Yet joy can be as fragile as a snowflake,
Full as oceans, brutal as barbed wire.
All your love is all that you require,
The grace that inundates the granite heartbreak.
How beautiful to take on such a burden,
Entering into contract with the void,
Responsible to some judgmental stranger,
'Ere meeting, for the seedtime of its soul!
Sing, then, of a quest that gains no guerdon,
Dearer far than pleasures now enjoyed,
A journey arduous and full of danger,
Yet sacred for the gift that is its goal.
Hands Are a Bond Between Father and Son
Hands are a bond between father and son,
A tool that one teaches the other to use,
Needing to pass on the passion, or lose
Doing what long generations have done:
Sowing the seeds of what they have begun.
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Retirement Requires a Goodbye

Retirement requires a goodbye,
Entailing a sudden separation.
The wound is often deeper than the why:
In truth, an unexpected revelation.
Ravenous the passage of the years
Even as we spend the days together,
Meaning more than we can tell with tears,
Each entangled in the constant other.
Now you must go, and we remain behind;*
Ties so strong will not so soon unbind.
Great Bosses Grant the Glory They Receive
Great bosses grant the glory they receive,
Offering their praise and their devotion.
On them the mantle settles like a cloak
Designed to shelter lots of little folk,
Bearing them along in its emotion.
Yet freely we give more than we receive,
Eager to float that ship upon our ocean.
Goodbye, My Lover and My Friend
Goodbye, my lover and my friend,
On whom I lean my life,
On whom my fortunes now depend,
Do, for me, keep safe.
Be brave, my love, but also know
You live not just for one, but two,
Even as I wait.
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Farewell, My Friend and Confidante

Farewell, my friend and confidante!
As you go, so must I
Return upon the well-worn path
Each soul must travel by.
Wend where you will, my wanderer,
Even as you stay
Long-treasured in my lonely heart,
Loved well, though far away.
Good Luck, My Dearest
Good luck, my dearest! Come what may,
Our love will be the sea
On which you sail to golden shores,
Darling of the wind!
Love will bear you on your way
Until you're back with me,
Come home to peace amid your wars,
King of all within.
Goodbye, My Darling Foster Child
Goodbye, my darling foster child,
On to another home!
Open doors remain behind.
Do but turn, and you will find
Bestride your heart, my own.
You may the wind, unwept and wild,
Embrace, but not alone.
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In Eighth Grade My Best Friend Passed Away

In Eighth Grade My Best Friend Passed Away
In eighth grade my best friend passed away.
He isn't gone, of course. I have him here
With me, within my heart, as I do always.
How beautiful that people are so dear
To one another! For all my life I'll love him.
Only one small part of us dies. The rest
Lives on in others. We are music within
Music. Nor do we ever hear the best
Of us, which sings in other hearts, a chorus
Of angels! However much I miss him, he sings
Here now, my friend, in me, to you, for us,
Still breathing in the beauty that he brings.
Love lives forever passed along, and we
All are blessed to live, to love, to be.
In Memory of Those Who Died
In memory of those who died
We weep and walk away.
Tears run into swollen streams.
No trace of us remains.
Even those who grieve are gone,
And those that grieve who grieve,
And those whose lives are ravaged by
A frantic urge to be,
And those who wander silently
Among the empty rooms:
Immortality is theirs,
Though they must vanish, too.
We bear astonished witness to
The passage of the soul.
No bridge exists that can connect
Our passion to the whole.
Lee Beaumont Died at Fifteen
Lee Beaumont died at fifteen.
He played a mean guitar.
He was an excellent swimmer.
People said he would go far.
A conscientious student,
Lee would usually pull an A.
He had a lot of friends.
But now he's gone away.
I wonder what it means
To die young instead of old.
To miss the intervening years,
To lie so lovely cold.
I know to Lee himself
It's neither good nor bad,
But to those of us who loved him
It's unutterably sad.
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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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There Is No Better Bonus than Just You

There Is No Better Bonus than Just You
There is no bonus better than just you,
Of more immediate and lasting worth.
This season of glad tidings and great girth
Has resonance in all the good you do.
Even though the turning of the Earth
Brings forth hopes and resolutions new,
Of sovereigns singular and bosses few
Sing only of an annual rebirth,
Songs of gentle hearts and grateful mirth.
Though This May Be Our Christmas Last
Though this may be our Christmas last,
It is a time of cheer.
We dance within a theater vast,
Yet live from year to year.
All that we have shared remains
Within when we are gone,
Just as a house, though long since dust,
Might well remain a home.
And so we lift this glass of joy
Once more on Christmas Eve,
For time ought not such times destroy,
Nor gifts untimely leave.
What Does Santa Bring for Daddies
What does Santa bring for daddies,
Too old to want a toy?
Wallets, watches, ties, and sweaters
Don't make for much joy.
What do daddies want for Christmas,
Really, in their hearts?
So perfect that they'd shriek like kids
Once the shredding starts?
Oh, Daddy! Is there anything
You want beneath the tree?
Other than, of course, to watch
Me open gifts for me?
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.
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Meaning Is a Measure of Repose

Meaning Is a Measure of Repose
Meaning is a measure of repose.
Each clarity extends our comfort zone.
Reason understands what reason knows,
Rendering its verdicts on its own.
Yet if God did descend one frosty night,
Child emergent from a mortal womb,
How can we comprehend so strange a sight,
Reason still incumbent in the room?
Ideas must answer more than we might ask,
Seizing not our wisdom but our fire.
The wonder must be equal to the task,
More consumed by passion than desire.
A truth must be a stone that breaks the heart,
Shattering alike our faith and art.
Merely Being Is a Miracle
Merely being is a miracle.
Each is both aware and unaware.
Running underneath one's thoughts, a canticle
Repeats one's silent gratitude as prayer.
Yet life does not allow for much devotion,
Claustrophobic in its constant need.
Hunger puts the mind in constant motion,
Reckoning the harvest from the seed.
In ritual and art one finds a moment
Still enough to peer into the deep,
To see beneath the will the wonderment,
Music of such joy that one must weep.
As angels sing, so sing that you might hear
Silence that no mortal long can bear.
Merry Christmas to My Love
Merry Christmas to my love!
Enjoy the holiday!
Revel where the angels move,
Rejoice in what they say!
Years burn life down to a stub;
Christmas comes and goes.
Happiness lies at the nub,
Refuse of one's woes.
Inside the husk there is the seed,
Shivering with glory;
The midnight cold, the dire need,
Mere setting for the story.
All the labor, loss, and pain
Sings of beauty born again.
Merry Christmas to the One I Love
Merry Christmas to the one I love,
Even on this day of love for all,
Remembering the love of one whose call
Redeemed all those whose hearts his love might move.
Yet only one love does my spirit prove,
Chosen in a passion like a squall,
Having in such ecstasy withal
Rejoiced in what we were created of.
In such love do we find our way outdoors,
So to be drawn to love of flesh and soul,
Traveling beyond our village green,
Moving towards the wash along our shores
As our love joins the greater love unseen,
Shining with dark passion on the whole.
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Maybe Underneath the Bed Is Sadness

Maybe Underneath the Bed Is Sadness
Maybe underneath the bed is sadness,
Even in the ecstasy of life,
Rejoicing in the gift of man and wife,
Reveling in existential gladness.
Yes, maybe at the heart of things a madness
Cuts through the flesh of pleasure like a knife,
Harrowing the soul with inner strife,
Replacing good with unrepentant badness.
If so, reason not with your despair;
So deep a wound requires deeper healing,
Too deep for any deft divining rod.
More than meaning, you are simply there,
A wonder steeped in incandescent feeling,
Still wrapped in swaddling clothes, the child of God.
Maybe We Need Another Miracle
Maybe we need another miracle.
Each epoch ought to have one of its own,
Reducing skeptics to a single groan,
Renewing faith with evidence empirical.
Yes, we need fresh testimony lyrical,
Changing hearts that else would change to stone,
Healing those who, hearing, would atone,
Replacing reason with a canticle.
If only God would visit us again,
Showing us for sure His patient love,
Taking on our sins a second time!
Maybe we could be quite certain then,
Ablaze with what our faith would outright prove,
So for ourselves to witness the sublime.
Meaning Has No Meaning Without Love
Meaning has no meaning without love,
Elevating sentience to desire.
Reason has no reason to approve
Revelation unsustained by fire.
Yearn, then, with the recklessness of burning,
Coming hungry to the Christmas table,
Holding tight the objects of your yearning,
Ready to find kings within the stable.
In you there is a love that brings to being
Such beauty as you cannot hope to see,
Too simple and too glorious for seeing,
Making it a sacrament to be.
As love gives wings their will and words their song,
So may it give you faith your whole life long.
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Make the Most of Every Christmas Morning

Make the Most of Every Christmas Morning
Make the most of every Christmas morning
Even when the weather's not so clear.
Riches come and go with little warning,
Rendered only to what souls are there.
Yet some would spend their Christmas at hard labor,
Choosing to ignore the gifts of grace,
Having much, though little that they savor,
Resigned to serve the lords of time and place.
In Christmas there is work and there is pleasure,
So interfused one cannot separate
The labor from the loving, common treasure
Made from giving, much beloved weight,
A burden and a blessing both, that one
Should relish till the precious day is done.

Make Not Much of What You're Missing
Make not much of what you're missing;
Each gets gifts as they come due.
Rest assured, regarding wishing:
Riches are reserved for you.
Years of want require wanting;
Christmas gives what one receives.
Happiness ought not seem daunting,
Renting space in what one grieves.
In your heart is all you need,
Sustained by giving it away.
Though you burn and break and bleed,
Mere suffering's no place to stay.
As you are is as you will,
Sure of winds that wish you well.
How Lovely 'Tis to Take This Time
How lovely 'tis to take this time
To greet our dearest friends,
To wish them health and happiness
Before the old year ends.
Darkness comes late afternoon
And winter lies ahead,
But friendship is a glowing fire
When all seems cold and dead.
Just as in some vacant barn,
Unnoticed in the night,
The whole of human history turns,
So we, too, make things right.
We must keep alive the flame
Though darkness grip the Earth;
For in the love we find in friends
Is our chance for rebirth.
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The desperate song

The desperate song

Your memory of the night when I am emerges.
The River tied to the sea its stubborn lament.

Abandoned as the docks at the dawn.
It is the time of departure, abandoned oh!

Cold Corollas it raining down on my heart.
Oh, bilge debris, fierce Cave of shipwrecked!

You accumulated wars and flights.
Wings of song birds they raised you.

All you what you tragaste, as the remoteness.
As the sea, as the time. Everything in you was wreck!

It was joyful time of the assault and the kiss
The hour of the stupor that burned like a beacon.

Anxiety of pilot, diver blind fury,
turbid love drunk, everything in you was wreck!

In the childhood of fog, my soul winged and wound.
Discoverer lost, everything in you was wreck!

I made back the shadow wall,
I walked beyond the desire and the Act.

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