orphan thoughts

i hold a small life in my hands

it moves, it breathes, it purrs

its days are numbered this is one

as it runs to two i think of others

this winter season ending time

a parent lost a loved one gone

a moving breathing life silent

just as i was once held

the arms that hold me hold no longer

though you may become the one

who holds the small beating life

you are never ready to be an orphan

when you can no longer nestle

find security in a strong embrace

the sun still shines and the day is three

counting down to eternity

i hold the little fur ball closer

four of how many days are past

i grasp life in this fleeting moment

as Dillard ironically noted

instead of holding on to rocks

my orphan heart seeks others

small lives to snuggle close

until the day is done

windchime

hang me where the summer breeze

plays soft and low upon my skin

or in the northeast corner cool

where winter winters blow hard

I'll sing out loud or softly mourn

dancing to fickle touch

the wind's my love he never stays

but comes and goes without a word

come stormy gales or zephyrs fair

he has no voice so I must be

his song for all to hear

winter sunshine

i'm walking in a wonderland

but not of snow

the air is clear

no rain in sight

what is this magic

this breeze that teases

hints of spring belie

the dark january days

i spread my fingers wide

catch warmth and wind

flying high above

the groaning days

my silly broken heart

still hopes anew

that in the gloom

a light still shines

this winter sunshine

this longing fierce

for joyful times

for peace on earth

hope against hope

believing is seeing

i turn my face upwards

early evenings

the darkness comes early

lasts longer than light

the cold's in the bones

there's no will to fight

the waiting seems endless

with false hopes and turns

when finally you grasp it

it no longer burns

'tween shadow and starlight

you can't find your breath

the glow of the sunrise

like waking from death

the sunshine breaks through

the golden leaves shine

for a moment you're lost

for a moment you're mine

but mostly the clouds

grey and heavy with rain

pour lead in your soul

sound an endless refrain

is the thing that you long

worth the price that you pay

can you live with the cost

at the end of the day

when the ache overwhelms

and you've nowhere to go

i'm holding out hope

where the rain turns to snow

so blow on that flame

when the night is too long

wrap your love with a bow

i'll come to your song

the turning time

there's an aspen on my street

unusual at these heights

so near the sea

it stands tall and proud

a stranger in a strange land

of maples and ginkgo and dogwoods

all summer i watch the breeze

dance gaily through the leaves

singing a sighing song

of rocky mountains far away

still green and lush they wave

while distant cousins grow pale

and drift down in silent splendor

to the frozen ground

each year i think i'll watch

as green turns into gold

see the sap draw back the life

bury deep the hope of spring

year after year i wake

one day at the turning time

to a sudden flame of yellow 

as if overnight the leaves changed

but this year it's different

the tips away up high

begin the glowing journey

i see the progression coming

as winter soon draws nigh

do you want to get well?

this phrase has been lurking just below the surface of my mind, like the scoby in the bottom of a bottle of kombucha. every so often the bottle gets shaken and the sediment spins up clouding the clear liquid and the thoughts surrounding this phrase obscure everything else i'm seeing. 

do you want to get well?

the voice that asks is kind. it's not a mocking or ironic question, as observers might think. after all, you're asking a cripple if he wants to walk. does a blind man want to see? is the sky blue? such an obvious question anyone might say. and if you were sitting by that still pool you might think, as that man did, that the kind eyes of the questioner doesn't see why you aren't the first into the pool so you might explain why you haven't been healed.

do you want to get well?

i've tried. i've done the 12 steps. or i've seen so many different physicians. a new diet every year. my jeans are worn through from kneeling. but i don't seem to get there. that old habit keeps tripping me up. i'm waiting on Him to fix me. someday it will all work out. has your issue become your identity?

do you want to get well?

the question probes deeper than the explanations or excuses. the pool was crowded that day. full of people who had learned to live with disappointed hope. getting well means the wholeness, no excuses. go and sin no more. 

noise

the noise comes loud the noise comes soft

i cannot stop the noise from deafening

a thousand voices clamoring

for me to be some way

as years increase the decibels match

the demands escalate in step

i'm too much or not enough

but mostly just me

the pervasive lie behind the noise dictates

the change will win for me acclaim

the crowd with love my name

whatever it may be

i wrap a cloak of apathy to shield me from the pain

to try and stay true to my way

resist the camouflage

but it's in vain

passion is pain and life is pain so they say

regardless of the road i take

i must make a stand

choose this day

the way i walk is solitary in this forest dim

i have not found a soul to join

to be unique takes strength

and lonely courage

in the end it's not my choice to shout

i want not my own words

to make some lasting noise

let glory be my voice