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

risk

I sit beneath the soft moonlight

I cannot see so far

yet what I see is clear as dusk

and heavy as a scar

another dream has turned to rust

I shudder at the chill

to think of what there might have been

if I had climbed that hill

the walls around my dead-end way

seem silent as the grave

until I glimpse another’s path

and how I might behave

in daylight’s green unhealthy hue

life seems to be unfair

until I wake beneath the glow

find sober thoughts are there

so struggle on I know I must

leave envy to the rear

alone or not one path I’m given

to shine reflected here

the risk is great each passing hour

to love to leave to stay

a simple word a gesture strong

and fears could melt away

but moments pass and silence stays

perhaps it’s for the best

no one can know what each day brings

beneath this moon I’ll rest

unless someday the question comes

I’ll know then what to do

until my heart has found a home

to one thing I’ll stay true