Poppycock, Fiddlesticks and Balderdash

It's a lot of responsibility, you know --
this being old, and wise --
there are just too many hats to wear
and too many roles to play.
All I really wanted was to greet you, and observe;
to just sit and smoke my pipe,
but NOOOOO,
I'm still supposed to remind you
to be safe, and use protection;
I'm still supposed to celebrate
your birthdays,
though I long to ignore my own,
and I still have to engage, and watch,
when all I really want to do
is pull up a comfy chair,
turn my back on all this excitement,
and quietly sit and ruminate.
Today, I'm one with Ebenezer Scrooge:
Bah, Humbug! I want to say
to all your tweets and twitters --
Poppycock, Fiddlesticks and Balderdash!


* * *

Loving our demons

The caption says
this should be love,
but sometimes I'm not so sure:
there seems to be
approaching and avoidance
on both sides --
as if this were not a child at all
but rather some homunculus,
a demon, who, having risen from within
swirls through our thoughts
and must be held,
and recognized;
loved, welcomed, and released.


* * *

Riding the waves of judgment

I'm trying to follow directions --
trying to let the wonder of Your Love
splash inside my chest --
but you can tell
it's not the real thing:
the curves are not as smooth as yours,
and you can see the stitches,
the places where it wasn't right:
I had to gather here
and let it out a little there.
And then there are the bleach spots,
the times I tried to wash away
the anger and the fear,
and, overzealous, removed the color, too.
And then I hear your voice:
ah, my dear -- so critical,
so hard on yourself.
Of course your splashes will be different:
they are real, and reality will always have its flaws.
Rest a moment, my love, and ride the wave;
See how closely it resembles my ideal, and rejoice.


* * *

When the heart aches

So much sadness;
so much sorrow in the world.
The clouds roll in
and the heart aches,
and suddenly words fail me:
what can be said
that hasn't already been said?
What can one person really know,
of another family's loss and pain?
I see there can be beauty and promise
in the empty chairs, and the view
but every time
I try to follow that path,
I find myself wishing
I could erase the grave:
I know I'm not alone.


* * *

A shift in the wind

You know it's coming --
a shift in the wind,
a reversal of tide,
a long-awaited boat
that will bring you something
or someone new
or carry you to some new place.
Anticipation rises:
I see it in the lift of your chin,
the way you clutch your coat,
the rapid rise and fall of your chest:
For each passenger on this boat,
a new beginning.
Though some things never seem to change --
this building,
that ferry,


the water lapping at the pier --
I see the colors have begun
to make their nightly transition
from blue to black
from white to gold.
And so it begins,
the darkness that will pull us through to dawn.

* * *

Boundary dispute

Get out the war canoes:
some part of me --
that fight or flight mechanism
we hear so much about, no doubt --
is ready to do battle,
lining up the troops,
prepping for some unknown skirmish,
hooked on the idea
that there's something I can do
to control this situation.
You'd think it was my border
that's being threatened;
my boundary that's in dispute.
I seem to keep forgetting
where I stop --
and You begin.


* * *

Popeye or PeeWee

Those were,
he thought,
the golden years --
and now look,
what a mess I have become.
All the dapper clothes
and careful styling
cannot hold the truth at bay:
time is passing,
and I am flawed:
the things I used to care about
will rust away
and I will be left...with what?
A tarnished image?
So be it then --
I am what I am.
Oh, no -- that was some other
cartoon character,
equally foolish, equally short-lived...
oh, wait: wasn't that also God?
I guess you get to choose which you remember.


* * *