Come, Lord Jesus!

a lifetime of failures
back up
in my subconscious
like a clogged toilet,
mocking the wisdom
ostensibly gained
at midlife

in the solitary desert
of restless wakefulness
my aching body
clamors to fill the
empty spaces
in other desolate wastelands

exhausted and spent,
I crawl on my belly
to the Source of my life
and beg for a drink.

The crispness of Autumn
greets me every morning.

Nature's fiery earnestness,
propels me, strengthened,
towards winter.

Statistics*

A shadowy figure
waits silently for its cue,
unseen, yet expected
invisible yet perceptible,
discernible yet unacknowledged
by the caregivers
in the room.

Once the inevitable visitation is over,
they breathe a sigh of relief,
not realizing that the specter
does not abandon the room altogether.

No.

Their being there, their caring and caretaking
has shortened the time
the specter must wait
to come
for them.

*This poem is my response to reading that "the stress of being a caregiver will shorten the lifespan by 10 years."

Ode to Early October

It is early October.
The days are shorter
but the temperature still hovers
around 85.

The leaves on the trees
are a sad and pathetic green
although some that are khaki or sepia
have fallen, exhausted, to the ground.

Will we see color this year?
Will we feel the crispness of Autumn,
greeting us every morning--
and nature's fiery earnestnes
propelling us, strengthened,
towards winter?

Restless Hearts

We are like vultures,
fallen,
searching for that which,
though dead,
would feed us.

We fill our stomachs
full of empty sweetness
that seems to satisfy.

That which we hunger for,
that which would feed us
is You and You alone.

You gave us yourself.
Your death, given for us,
is made alive again
to nourish and strengthen us
to give us life
for the journey--
to remain with us
until the end
of time.

The angel holds the flaming sword
and cringing, I am forced to see
myself in its gleaming blade

Double edged,
it reveals the past and present
in inescapable oneness,
laying bare the stinging truth
before my weary soul

Life

as fleeting as a butterfly
as time turns
the masterfully crafted wings
to powder

as tenacious as a spider web
clinging to the bush
or the wall
with a strength
we did not know
it possessed

Falling Plum

The tiny jade plum
forms on the spring branch,
hungering for the sun's warmth.

Growing, the skin
accommodates the change,
turning delicious
shades of magenta--
amethyst jewels in the early morning sunlight.

Finally, the ripe plum falls,
joining the others
on the ground,
the seed within
fed by the rotting fruit.

Flashback

Memories of stupidity
come up
like yesterday's dinner
sudden
and unwelcome.

Where is the
medicine
for my brain?

Where is the
Pepto Bismol
for my soul?

Sandwich

I come and do the usual.

I pay the bills,
although first I
must search for them
where you have squirreled them away
like acorns
against a cold winter.

I do the dishes
although this merely involves
loading and unloading the dishwasher.

I do the laundry,
trying to push away
feelings of guilt
because I know
my standards
and abilities
are way below
what yours were.

I open the fridge
to throw away old milk
and decide that it must be cleaned--
a chore I don't do nearly often enough
at home.

I make you sandwiches
from the meat and
various shaped breads
that comes from
the ladies
from Meals on Wheels.

I explain that the check
in your purse
that you guard so jealously
is one from a year ago
and has already been deposited
and returned
by the bank.

I try
to keep you
safe.

Sin

I look inside
and see
the worm of sin
that is eating
my soul.

Oh, Jesus!
Break the bonds
of sin
that have entangled me.

Help me to be
a generous servant
to your people.

Dad

you came
back from the shadows
of my dreams
to help me cope

with my waking reality

you seemed to say,

you can call on me now
i'll be there
to answer

I explained today
to you
and you were there

suddenly
and in plain view
sharply focused
with the clarity
that comes

with time

acid tears
of regret fall
as I muse on
where the train
went off the track

Oh God,
forgive me
for my lack of courage
in the past,
and give me courage now,
to bear the consequences

as you begin to shed the
unwanted burdens
laid on you
by society

I am still sloughing off
my own dead skin
looking for rebirth

perhaps we both
will learn
to soar

What lessons am being asked
to learn from this life?
Why the rain?
Why the storms?

Why am I so
inadequately prepared?
What am I being asked
to discard?

Unneeded layers
I've wrapped myself in
given to me
by well meaning ancestors
trying to protect me
trying to prepare me

But now they are
burdensome
and restricting
preventing me from
living as I am intended to live--
wrapped in the arms of God.

the weeds
grow up with the wheat
choking those who grow
on rocky ground

why, o lord?
why do you let
your children dry out
in the noonday sun?

like the starving
in the midst of plenty
they see only the weeds
in the garden
and move on

when the wheat
that grows among them
is the
Bread of Life

the radio plays

the music
of another lifetime

the world fades
to black and white
and then softens
to sepia

as the shadowy specters
dance in the wind

forever
in love

I meet you
in your yesterdays
and realize,
with sharply indrawn breath
how beautiful you are
and wonder
if we could be friends
in another life

In my dreams

I go back to warn you

You left us still searching

I go back to warn you

You are in your own place now

I go back to warn you

You do not take me there

I go back to warn you

You're already dead