Easter peeps

Two daughters have I who are peepsters:

They think sugared chicks are delicious

And demand that they get them for Easter:

If I fail those two girls can turn vicious!

A basket and bunny alone --

With some jelly beans and chocolate eggs

But no peeps -- would elicit a moan,

And I would get stuck with the dregs

Of those treats while the girls wept and wailed

And demanded I go to the store

To buy yellow peeps: even day-old;

Better yet, buy three packs, maybe four!

But this Easter I've decided to travel

So I won't have to watch them unravel!

Sonnet #34: Beware, ye armored hearts

Let those of us who go into the world
with armored hearts know this -- however strong
the urge to self-protect, to live a curled
and inward life, refusing to belong

to the wounded tribe of lovers who have lost,
and sacrificed, and burn to feel again
that ecstasy whose edges have such cost;
who fall, and in that falling do transcend

the limits of existence -- the truth must yield:
a heart that can't be broken cannot be moved.
Why carry this proud flag and sturdy shield,
if you have no heart for battle? It's been proved:

A life which finds from death and loss exemption
will also lack the glories of redemption.

Refill your cup

Each morning
I refill this cup with love
and sip it slowly, breathing,
feeling tenderness slip gently down
to soothe the ruffled edges of my soul.

Drink up, refill, and sip, and sip again;
let grace become the lining
of my heart
and quench the urge
to hurl back bitter words;
transform their acid churning
into sweetness that will nourish,
even energize,
creative acts and thoughts
in the days to come.

On Presence

I said you were not there,
and yet you were.
I felt your presence,
an emptiness between the seats,
a yawn and then a distance;
a greeting at the end of course,
then home to other things.

Some other presence here,
and yet it's not;
a heart, though empty,
feeling that it's full,
a blessing,
wafting in the air,
a touch,
though there's no finger there.


And which is it that's real?
That body or this love
that radiates acceptance
into every pore of being?
No wonder all those saints held fast;
No wonder.

Meditation

Each day I dream of flying,
and each night I'm caught again
in the web of life.

Each morning I build a room of love
where you and I together sit,
pluck gently at the strands that hold me fast
as once I held my daughter between my knees
and ran my fingers through her golden curls
in search of nits.


And for each strand we find,
lean in together and examine:
what is the glue that holds me there?
What substance, slick, like love,
might dissolve its grip
and leave us with a thread to weave
into some new creation --
story, poem or art --
whose impact is enhanced
by that bright filament;
enlightened and resolved,
released -- a gift, a breath of air
to lift some other wings
(if not my own) into the stratosphere
where each of us belongs.

Sonnet #33: Anticipating Easter

Come, climb with me, this ladder to the stars;

come dive with me, and swim in seas of joy.

Sweet music of the night, strum your guitars,

with songs of heaven let your voice employ,

for grace will come again to fill my heart.

This ache of emptiness will go away;

how I'll rejoice to see that pain depart

and love again pervade each waking day.

What thrill t'will be, to finally unite

with what seemed lost forever, years on end;

to feel at last the color and the light

warming my soul, empowering me again

to give, when for so long I've only taken:

come, Love, come Light, and let True Life awaken.