NO OPTION

Some days this pen feels like a scalpel
as I finely slice through layers
to reach the marrow of truth
that lies deep within these bones.

Too painful to watch for very long
I turn my head but continue,
knowing the writing urge within me
won’t rest ‘til the words are born.

Excising the story and setting it free
is my life's task I'm certain,
but the pain of composing is slight
when compared to a mute life of silence.

WRONG TURN

Why do you look in a mirror
when searching for a loyal friend?
You will never find me in there
maybe that’s why "we" had to end.

You always wanted to hear "yes,"
but mostly needed to hear "no."
Be on your way, be misguided
by friends who don’t care where you go.

The voice that calls, you’ll one day hear,
I believe it’s never too late,
listen to your inner angel
who stands by and patiently waits.

For truth and love always win out
despite fury and misplaced hate.
You’ll come home one day in glory
and together we'll celebrate.

MONDAY NIGHT - 9:00PM

With a click, the lighter catches
and I slowly lower the flame.
In an instant, the wick lights
and quickly begins to dance.
Joining the lights of a far-flung tribe,
the flame brightens as others connect.
Caressing the tall glass container,
I feel the heat of many hearts
together once again in a circle of truth,
gentleness, respect and love.
Twin spirits enter my space
and join me before the flame.
From another room, two cats, nature's own,
one male and one female join me by my side.
As we three sit together before the flame,
I bless each spirit on the head
with the warmth of the flame
and each gratefully nuzzles my hand,
returning the love.
Visions of the circle return
as I see one-by-one,
the souls of my brothers.
Once separate, now joined
tonight and forever,
we are one.

O. K.

Coming at me with a knife
to carve out a heart
that had been missing for years,
but you never noticed.
Any surprise there aren't any tears?
You listed my faults,
declared your intent
to close the door,
and all I could muster was,
"O.K."
Pathetic to sum up 30 years
with 2 simple letters.
Of course, I knew you'd stopped listening
years ago,
so why bother.

WALK IN THE WOODS

A gently paced walk across the road
brings me to a tired, rusty gate.
How many feet have crossed this path before me?

Once more the gate swings open
to let a wide-eyed pilgrim pass
into a land of unspoken dreams and holy visions.

A thin place on this earth where angels do not startle
and broken down trailers are home
to hermits and to sages.

Books reside on shelves of rock
while nourishing streams flow freely
with sweet fresh water filtered by sacred hillsides.

By day the trees are filled with music
as birds and squirrels conspire
to write secret symphonies for my ears alone.

By night the sky is filled with rivers of stars
that softly light the way
and wink in recognition of a kindred soul.

The path leads into my deep
where familiar blankets of pine needles and leaves
await my tired body and give comfort to my soul.

No fear of sleeping late for I know
that brother bear will nudge me
when sister moon retires for the night.

WEARY

Weary…even uttering the word aloud drains me.

A Thursday kind of word.
You still need too much energy on Wednesday to say it,
but by Friday, you're close enough to the weekend
that you don't want it to drag you down.

Weary…did you notice?

A passive sort of verb entombed…wear.
But who does the wearing?
Is it the world that wears us (down)
or do we wear (put on) the world
and bear its awesome weight?

Weight…wait…

While we suffer our weariness, we wait
for fearful dreams to come
true and assure us
of our humanity even
as we pray for a hint,
a hint of some divinity.

Divine weariness calls me to my rest tonight
and grants me newborn(e) hope.

WONDER

Stillness brings a precious gift, a childlike
sense of wonder. A chance to look behind
the mask, joy and wisdom, time to ponder.

Uncommon sights dazzle ancient eyes, plain
words hold fuller meaning, Fresh air smells so
much sweeter, enticing holy dreaming.

And so I gaze into your face, shining
bright as a winter night’s moon; and when you
reach out to touch, love blossoms in earth’s womb.

BEAUTY

I choose a path of beauty,
apprentice to creation.
In nature I'll find solace
from human complications.

The smell of leather gloves
and pine cones newly shed
recall past autumn's plenty,
as I nestle in her bed.

Glory in my heart I'll hum,
to the one who makes me whole.
And with the light that shines within,
I'll mend a broken soul.

THE LONELY BED

Tonight, I long to hear your breath
beside me on our ship of dreams,
but miles keep us apart and so
I draw your pillow near to me.

What visions danced and made you smile
or were they notes from a remembered piece
when once we looked up to the sky
and vowed we’d never spend a night alone?

What good are promises except to bring
us pain? No, that’s not fair, it’s just my soul
that grieves tonight because you share
your smile with foreign angels.

ONE NIGHT

One dance, calls us to freedom,
One song, words born from the deep.
One scream, gut-wrenching and pure,
One heart, beating for all.

One flame, sears our pain.
One lake, holds our last tears.
One love, wounds start to heal.
One night, and dreams come alive.

INSOMNIA

Time shifting to a slower pace
makes a sleepless bed a prison
thoughts not dreams clutter our vision
holding hostage my angel’s face.

ON RETREAT
CAMP EDWARDS
EAST TROY, WISCONSIN

Moonglow filtered through high thin clouds,
a sharply crisp November night
far removed from city lights,
softly shines on country paths.

Trails made by nature gently wind
'round streams and trees and wildlife homes,
lead us to sights meant for our eyes
gifts prepared for those who dream.

Visions of heaven, softly formed
to hold our open peace-filled souls
reflecting back to earth a song
whose words rise from each heart as true.

A song that calls like souls to trod
upon a path that leads to home
a place where all can hear at last
the song of love inside their heart.

MONKS OF GETHSEMANI
Trappist, Kentucky

They silently enter the Abbey
slowly, one by one; bowing before
the cross, our Lord, an honor given
each time they gather to sing the Psalms.

A mix of sizes, more old than young.
Many have begun to look alike;
short gray hair, some with beards, others clean,
but sharp, clear eyes - spectacled or not.

Black cloth cinched by a wide black belt
over white robes floating to their feet.
But there I find the single crack in the shell of sameness,
The way in which they've chosen to differ.

Look down at the feet that carry them
forward on their pilgrimage of life.
Track shoes or sandals or tired brown broughams -
same as us, but they're already home.

MERTON’S HERMITAGE
TRAPPIST, KENTUCKY

A Bench of Dreams sits on Merton’s porch
below a sign that declares “Shalom.”
A simple home built of concrete blocks
now a shrine to the man and his words.

His presence felt on this holy ground
even as we sit and gaze awhile.
No words on our lips but heartsprung thoughts
form in our mind as we breath his air.

Walking sticks hang on old rusted nails
ready to take us to his heaven
To greet our God, whom he aptly named,
“Mercy, within mercy, within mercy.”

EACH OTHER

I feel the pulse of the abbey
in the sound of the church bell pealing,
calling the brethren together, timelessly,
to breath new life into the world
and each other.

"O God, come to my assistance,
O Lord, make haste to help me.”

Ancient words echo against whitewashed walls
that hear our anguished cries.
Our words come back to us, blessed
by being spoken, heard and shared
with each other.

“Praise the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,
both now and for ever.
The God who is, and was, and is to be
at the end of the ages.”

Surely time, beauty and grace
shared in a community of peace
will bring forth wisdom and truth
to ease the mortal journey
for each other.

“Let us bless the Lord;
Thanks be to God.”