Free radical

Free radical                                                                                              

The fault is mine, I hear myself say

but it isn’t quite true.

Better than blaming others

which is even less true but,

contrary to worldly wisdom, the teachings

suggest that to blame is to blaspheme,

adopting the self-centered, heretical conceit

that I am not (nor is anyone else)

entirely under God’s authority,

a loose cannon somehow, a free radical.

It is, apparently, the ineffable, inarticulate truth

that all the blame must rest solidly

upon the vast, irreproachable shoulders of God

and the sooner we come to know

and live that truth, the nearer we approach

the illusive fellowship of the new humanity.

O child of God, take your cue from the fallen leaf

and the half farthing sparrow. 

An anchored pole

An anchored pole                                                         

Maybe my obsession is no more fruitful,

my esoteric compilations of no greater value,

than my great uncle Whit’s sackful of doorknobs

or that fellow out on Highway 322’s

front yard ornamentation of shiny hubcaps

and car tags from every state in the Union.

Certainly, an unbiased consensus

would find my pursuit the more futile,

pretentious, eccentric and absurd –

trying to establish a beachhead of order

amid this unrelenting chaos;

a bulwark against the looming grave;

my adversity to merely coloring, until death do us part,

between the allotted lines; a method,

a comfort, a conviction  –  an anchored pole

on which to tether myself

in this ever-shifting dreamscape

to which I find myself temporarily assigned.

O child of God, when everything adds up to zero,

to seek an exit is the only sensible recourse.

Baby powder

Baby powder                                                                                         

Powder sprinkled on the infant skin

is made of stone, made soothing,

soft and smooth by being crushed; 

by being processed and converted. 

In soapstone, likewise, the same talc

makes for a yielding, utile medium of art

able to be notched and sculpted

into various forms of divine expression.

Primitive man once aspired

to be an adamant warrior – 

aspired to be glorious, god-like, impregnable;

leaving an imprint; making an impression.

The Avatar came along and said

(time and again said) to the human heart –

become dust, soft, crushed, soothing;

become curative, servient, a comfort

and inspiration to the most innocent

and vulnerable among you. 

O child of God, you dream of gentleness

while your heart is made of stone.

To Whom it may concern

To Whom it may concern                                                                         

I continue my search

without knowing why or how.

If it’s truth I’m after, I might find out,

enamored of the answer or not. 

If the source is fear, I’m afraid

I’m doomed. But then, I always was.   O Lord!

If there’s something I can do, help me with it.

If there is nothing I can do, let my efforts

be a lifelong appeal to Whom it may concern –

a wish that something might be done.

Let my search be a running toward rather than away,

my one request being – a divesting of all requests,

coming from the depths of me who I do not know

to the One Whom I beseech and also know not. 

O child of God, sometimes the path is merely

the placing of one foot in front of the other.