This posting is probably a little different.

I'm in a playful mood, which means most any gibberish may come flying out of my keyboard. Fortunately, I do have enough restraint to filter some of it, though sometimes I feel as if the only way I can really articulate what I feel is through gibberish and hyperbole and words that make little, if any, sense. Such is my mood this evening. You know, "playful."

The following represents a smattering of attempts at poetry. I struggle as a writer, but poetry is like wrestling a giant fungus-infested crocodile after 72 hours with no sleep - it doesn't come naturally. Nevertheless, every now and again I get inspired. At least I think it's inspiration. It may very well be something else entirely. And sometimes I have a hard time telling the difference.

Here's four poems.

“Growing Up”
(November 18,2008)

Who’s that laughing in my bedroom?
Certainly not the clownI covered
over with a blanket last week.
(you know why:  they're just creepy)

Certainly not the old man peering through the window,
wondering when exactly his childhood ended.
Mine ended not so peacefully and far too soon
when I saw that woman prancing around.
I knew two things instantaneously:  I wanted her & I was afraid of her.
(weird, huh?)

I suppose growing up quickly has some advantages,
but I advise against it. If you must, then just remember this:
it is never too late to be that child again.
He is there, inside you.
And he wants to play.
(Now I know who was laughing.)


“Still I Follow”
(in response to the Gospel of John, chapters 6 & 7)

What is this?
Certainly not a conversation,
But let’s talk this out, please.
Explain what you really mean
Because what you said cannot be true.

You’ve got to be joking –
eat your flesh and drink your blood!
Who do you think you are?
I didn’t come here for that.
What sort of religion is this anyway?

We have no time for mystics.
We want in clear language, mind you, to know what this is all about.
Points A, B and C.
Do this, don’t do that.
And then it’ll be clear.

I am not conversant in gibberish.
You expect me to deny the
ancient ways? My grandfather’s
grandfather would recoil at such horror.
Moses is still with us, you know.

No one can understand what you say.
This isn’t a game.
You are a mystery,
An enigma, a living breathing real-life paradox.
I’ve never seen or heard of anyone quite like you before.

You speak strangely, Lord,
Very strangely.
But still I follow.

 
"The Journey"
Some things are simply beyond my power to change.
From the cowardice that dares not face new truth…
Deliver me, good Lord,
and grant me the serenity to accept these limitations.

Some things lie within my power to change.
From the laziness that is contented with having things the way they are…
Deliver me, precious Jesus,
and grant me the strength to change them for the better.

Telling the difference between these two is the real journey.
And from the arrogance that thinks I know the difference…
Deliver me, divine Spirit,
and help me to daily and humbly live in that narrow space
that joins my limitations and your grace.


“Winter Comes Unwelcomed”


Winter comes unwelcomed by many
Who fortify their hearts against bitter
Cold, ignorant of what goodness it brings.
Darkness has its own work to do.
We would benefit from its counsel…
If we were brave enough to endure
Its madness.

Not very good, perhaps. But offered in a spirit of reflective honesty and practicality.