When life looms large

Not quite a haiku, but enough. Short, longer, short. A haiku in principle if not in exact syllables. I like to think it would be right if translated into Japanese.

When life looms large

Do the next thing and only then

Do the next one.

Halloween

Halloween 2015. We don't buy the candy until it's almost time for trick or treat-ers. One neighbor only buys enough candy for two apiece, based on last year's number. She was gone one year, and her husband was left to hand out candy. He was not informed of the "rule." He gave out handfuls, then ran out. He laughed. She laughed. They have been married a bit longer than us. I notice no blow-up skeletons on their lawn. Children will still be guaranteed two pieces of candy. I expect she will be home this year.

The neighbors next door

Have a blow-up skeleton

With a removable head

On their lawn.

The front door

Is covered

By a green witch.

We have three pumpkins,

One in each planter

On the front walk.

Three pumpkins

Surrounded by purple petunias,

And

A box of Halloween decorations

Including a screaming spider

Hides somewhere

In the basement.

We have not seen the box

In years.

Hello honey

My daughter. I love her. The kindness continues.

She learned early

To love the small ones

Even when she

Herself

Was small.

Hello honey,

She said,

Herself

Age 3 or 4.

She placed her arm

Around the shoulder

Of a two year old

Hello honey

With that smile,

Kindness in her eyes.

Not in competition

This is today. It may change tomorrow. I am grateful for today... gray and rainy with a tinge of gold.

On a day such as this one,

I realize

I am not in competition

With any living soul.

Or dead soul

For that matter.

On a day like this

I have scheduled

Lunch with a friend,

One client this evening.

My writing

Is my writing.

I can rejoice

Fully rejoice in theirs.

I can pray for my friends

Facing surgery

Or recovery

Or whatever stage

They have entered

Or left,

While I realize

Whichever stage I am in

And pray for me

Too.

On a day like this

I am not in competition

With anyone

Today is lovely

Gray and rainy

With a tinge of gold.

I am not

In competition

With anyone.

Morning mosaic

I admire people who work on their writing. I don't. I place words in an order which seems right. Then I leave it. I am concerned about worrying something to death. So I don't. I figure tomorrow's mosaic, or collage will be different.

I approach writing

Like a morning mosaic

The words are colored glass

Maybe a rock

From the backyard

Maybe a leaf

From the redbud

Maybe more like a collage,

One picture among many.

I have no idea

Which ones are good

In anyone’s eyes.

I write in the morning,

A morning mosaic,

Write down the words

That come

Put them in place,

Leave them be.

Tomorrow will bring

Something else

Another mosaic

Another collage

Different colors or maybe

Another in a series.

I never know

What comes next.

In place

Moments like this come and go again.

Everyone is in place:

Daughter at school

Beloved eating breakfast

Kitten with milk ring

Cat in his hiding place

Me in the blue chair

I consider the day.

The sun

Angled just right;

The gold leaves;

The sky blue

Muted by intermittent clouds

Everything in place

For just this moment.

Before

More on change

Before we can change anything

First

We have to see it,

Listen to it: breathing;

Feel  its texture

Rough or smooth;

Smell it

Like a rose

Or a catbox

That needs cleaning;

Taste it

Like a cookie

Fresh from the oven

Or that vegetable

We hated as a child

And perhaps

We still do.

Before change

Comes the noticing

That something

Needs to change.

And then

Only then

Comes the how

Overnight the redbud

Sometimes change feels immediate, even when we know it's been coming.

Overnight the redbud

Turned completely yellow

Even flung gold leaves

On the sidewalk

With last night’s rain.

Overnight

The redbud

Changed.

Sometimes change

Is like that

Sudden

Immediate.

We miss the first leaf

Then

Suddenly

Every leaf

Gets the message

The fall message,

Most at once.

Change is like that

Sometimes.

On incremental change

Flying donkey image courtesy of the Mary Tyler Moore show. I don't remember who said it, but I do remember it was in relation to Ted, the rather buffoonish newscaster.

Sometimes

Someone behaves

In a completely uncharacteristic way.

For a split second

We believe

He has changed,

She has changed

Completely.

Instead

May we note the behavior

Applaud

Maybe

Paint rings around it,

See the beginning

Of the Kingdom Come.

For a split second

May we see

The Second Coming

And give thanks.

When a donkey flies

We don’t blame him

For not staying in the air

Very long.

May we realize

We are all donkeys.

See the beginning

Of the Kingdom Come.

For a split second

May we see

The Second Coming

And give thanks.

When a donkey flies

We don’t blame him

For not staying in the air

Very long.

May we realize

We are all donkeys.

Covenant

My daughter is writing a paper on God's covenant with Hagar. I like it. A lot. Got me thinking. That'll preach.

God has a covenant

With each and every one of us

He has never limited it

She has never limited it

To one person

To one people

To one place

On earth,

Even most probably

To the Universe.

God has a covenant

With every thing

Everywhere

I will never leave you

I will always love you

How can I not?

How can I not?

This itself is different

Gotta love those grackles!

Sometimes I get hung up

On someone

Who has never understood me

In the past,

Not understanding me

Now.

Sometimes I think

It should be different.

This itself

Is different

Than not believing

People can change.

This itself

Is different

Than hopelessness.

This is different.

Sometimes I am able

To unhook myself

From that particular person,

Hear the grackles

Getting ready to fly south,

And prepare to fly

With them.

Autumn

Autumn and Spring seem to bring forth the poet. This poet has always had a preference for Autumn.

Is this the poet’s

Favorite season: Autumn

Or is it Spring?

Breakers

Where God works.

I like paying attention

To the places

To the niches

To the people

To the birds

To the kitten

Where God works.

Today the kitten

Shreds napkins

With her tiny kitten

Claws and teeth.

The dining room floor

Is a sea of white.

I imagine breakers

On the ocean.

I went to bed early

Time to play with the kitten. First things first.

I went to bed early,

Slept twelve hours,

Woke to sun and grackles,

A kitten.

She attacked my ankles.

She said

Oh now you’re up

It’s time to wrestle

I think

I wrestled in my dreams

By the Jabbok.

What scars shall I live with?

What life

Shall I claim?

Where shall I speak?

Where shall I be silent?

What voice will I listen to?

What angel is worth

The wrestle?

Next to which river?

The kitten says

Wake up

I am worth your time

Let’s wrestle.

I listen

This morning I opened my email and found an interview with Mary Oliver. At eighty, she has moved from Provincetown to South Florida. She talked about her writing process. She eschews the computer. I write almost exclusively on the computer. My handwriting is atrocious. Tomorrow I preach on prayer. I hardly feel qualified. Yet preach I will.

I listen

To Mary Oliver and recognize

A kindred spirit,

She who writes with pencil and pad

In the woods.

Now

At eighty

She writes

In the mangroves.

I write from this blue chair

Catch the sounds

Of massing grackles.

Of course God has ordered each of us

In different ways

Yet oh so similar.

Tomorrow I preach

On prayer:

What every Christian

Should know.

Who am I to say?

Mine is a snippet.

Who am I to say?

Mine is a snapshot.

Who am I

To offer how others

Might pray?

Tomorrow I preach

On prayer.

There’s no right way

There’s no wrong way

Everything counts.

Two days

Hooray. I think this is the first time in years I've finished a Sunday sermon on Thursday. Of course it may help that I'm not preaching these days. Of course it may help that I get to preach on prayer... What every Christian should know about prayer.  Of course mine is not the definitive word.  It is my word. 

I finished two days early.

This means I can trim branches

In the back yard,

Unencumbered,

Pull the grapevine

Out of the crab apple,

Enjoy the massing grackles,

Take an endless walk,

Finish reading that book,

Think of things beyond

The sermon.

So many other ways

To offer my time

To God

So many ways to pray.

So many

So many

What options we have

When we’re not stuck

Putting everything

On paper.

You're not done yet

More words. Sometimes I would like to hear clear directives. Of course, being me, I might not listen then. 

You’re not done yet

What odd words to hear

Driving to therapy

Amongst changing trees

Green to gold

Set against blue cloudless sky.

You’re not done yet.

Wouldn’t this apply

To everyone

And everything

Living

Breathing?

Yet somehow

This is different.

Of course it applies

To everything

Living and breathing.

It also applies to me

Alone.

The words seem written

In the spaces

Between tree branches,

In the lines between

The telephone wires,

Punctuated by birds

Lined up

Ready to take flight

South.

You’re not done yet.

This dizziness

I am learning to chart particular kinds of dizziness. Today's dizziness seems caused by weather. It is a doozy. But still, it does not portend a seizure. Keep your feet on the floor is probably good advice in general.

Now that I know

This dizziness

While working out

This dizziness

Most likely caused

By weather change,

This dizziness.

Now that I know

This dizziness:

It tipped me over

While moving from one machine

To the next

The trainer caught me

Moved me to a machine

It held me feet in place.

Now that I know

This dizziness

Will not kill me

Keep your feet on the floor

The trainer says

Keep your feet on the floor.

How does she know

This one thing

So recently discovered?

Keep your feet on the floor.

Sermon on prayer

It's been awhile since I preached a sermon. There was a time I preached almost every week.

What to say

In a sermon on prayer

So much

So little

I am not a history buff

I am not a theologian

At least

No more than anyone,

At most

No less than anyone.

What to say

In a sermon on prayer:

God is here

I am here

You are here

We’re all in this together.

Let’s talk

Let’s walk

Let’s have a cup of coffee

Let’s begin.

Background grackles

I would have slept in this morning, but it was important to attend church. 

Tonight I have chosen not to attend the renewal of ordination vows. I feel ordained enough to last the year. 

The fall light filters through trees, still green; the grackles are massing. I claim this spot, this particular spot, filled with background grackles.

Some moments are defined

By the choice we make

To be absent to one thing,

So we can be present

To another,

Even present to ourselves

On a late afternoon

In mid-October

Fall light with background grackles,

My beloved at work

In the other room

And me

Here

In this one.

Make good decisions

May we all listen to our own wise words.

Of the five events

Scheduled for today

I may do two,

If I can be truly present

For two.

If not

It’s down to one.

My schedule

Is no longer color-coded.

I learn to make

Good decisions.

I remember the parent advice

I gave to my children

As they headed out the door

Make good decisions

I would say

I will

They would say.

Make good decisions

I tell myself.

Good advice

I think.

WTF

I prefer to make my own remarks. Sharpies should be outlawed, particularly when one is reading poetry and certainly, definitely, when one is planning to re-sell the book.

I found a book of poetry

On the shelf.

I must have ordered it

When I was saving money.

I bought it used,

In good condition

Except

The previous owner

Used a Sharpie

To make notes

In the margin.

He must not have been able

To find a pencil.

So now

Every time I read

One particular poem

It comes with

WTF

Next to its

Particularly poignant

Final line.

While I appreciate the sentiment:

It is not mine.

On a day off

On a day off

Like this one

Blue and breezy and exactly

The right temperature,

Cool enough to think

As the vertigo

Calms down;

On a day off

Such as this

The kitten practices her leaps

And pounces.

I am home to watch her.

I practice paying attention

To smaller things.

On a day off

Like this

I can think.

I can feel.

I can practice

Being myself.

Sequoias

In thinking of the sequoias, I remember Tolkien's Ents. I imagine sequoias speaking slowly, maybe one word every ten years. If I listen long enough, sit with them long enough, maybe I will hear a word or two.

In California the sequoias

Are stressed

By four years of drought

Even as South Carolina floods

And floods

And floods again.

Stress arrives

In so many forms.

Today brings with it

Its own stress.

Today

Here

Now

It is not the rain

Or lack of it.

The sequoias live

Thousands of years.

I would like to sit

With sequoias

Hold their branches

Touch their roots

Tell them

This too will pass.

What's next

I am not exactly sure

What’s next,

Even less

What may come

After that.

The phone rings

This morning

Reminds me about lunch.

Oh yes

Lunch usually comes

After breakfast.

I get up

Into this spinny day

To start the morning routine.

Sometimes it helps

Simply

To begin.

Oyster

One haiku for my daughter. I wave pom poms on the side of the field. My oyster is here, in the backyard, on the street, in the office under the altar, cheerleading.

This world: her oyster

This whole world beckons her on

Me: one cheerleader

Vacuum cleaner

More kitten. She and I, we frenzy about different things. But when the vacuum cleaner, or whatever counts as a vacuum cleaner, goes home, we settle down together, to hum and purr, respectively. 

The kitten

Frenzies

At the sound and fury

Of the vacuum cleaner.

So much more

Ends up on the floor

In its wake.

When the vacuum cleaner

Goes home

The kitten will eventually

Go sound asleep

On my shoulder

As I hum lullabies.

I remember these times

With my own small ones.

Now it is a kitten

On my shoulder

Purring.

At the pastors' prayer breakfast

Good company this morning at the Wheaton College Pastors' Prayer Breakfast. I knew the liturgy from past experience. 

I made my way

Through the breakfast line

Found a table

With the glorious

Acappella trio:

They opened and closed the prayer

In voices which blended

Beyond any needed words.

In their first hymn

I decided to treat the gathering

As a silent meeting.

Others would offer long lists

Of prayers

Telling God

Who He was,

What He might do.

I was moved to speak

At the end.

Sometimes I wonder if God

Can hear our hearts

Over all the ways

We fill the air.