Untitled (February 2013)

Would that I could purge
Love's perverse hold on me!
I'd laugh and bid Love leave
And walk away
Whistling.

Pure fantasy – Love is nobody's slave,
To be dismissed or summoned on command.
Rather, Love is master,
And I the slave.

If only I had the strength
To break his bonds asunder!
But how can I resist, struggle,
Even breathe,
With only half a heart?

Dear Orion

Oracles and priests of Persephone,
The birds cheerfully herald the coming of their mistress
And I am struck with the sudden pang of future loneliness –
Oh, Orion! My old friend!
Stay this year and see the Summer.
Must you constantly pursue your prey?
You know how futile it is
(Can a man really run as fast as a hare?)
And I need you to stay with me.
Spring is coming, but my soul
Is full of cold, ice, and dead leaves.

Oh, Orion! How can I face the Summer,
If my heart is still gripped by Winter?

Palm Sunday Meditation

A man on a donkey, crowds with palms,
Cries of "Hosanna" transformed to cries of "Crucify" –
These are not just the deeds of ancient man,
Brutish, uncouth, savage, unenlightened,
But my deeds.
Hypocrisy proclaims "Hosanna" and brashly swears fealty, homage.
Yet my secret cry is a whispered shout "Crucify";
Sinner, unclean wretch that I am.

Ash Wednesday

Ashen skies mark this solemn day -
"All must die." the priest reminds me.
As he smears a rude cross on my forehead,
I focus on the crucifix on his chest.
The Christ, twisted in pain for my sins.
Kyrie eleison.

Woe, woe, woe - I am a
Man of unclean lips.
I must die, for I have sinned.
Father, accept for the Christ's sake
My ash, my penance,
My contrite heart!
Christe eleison.

Untitled (January 27, 2012)

In your house

My eyes are cleared again,

And I see your designs

Of purging my heart.

Oh Father!  Forgive my idolatry –

I have worshipped at the altars

Of self, of love, of pride

And now foolishly lament their destruction.

Father, cast down every idol,

Spare no necessary pain,

And let me not forget

When I go out the gates again.

Contrails

White contrails of a jet,
Slide across the sky
And vainly struggle to maintain their identity
Rather than be absorbed by the drifting clouds.
For a moment, they boldly reflect the subtle sheen
Of the setting sun before dissipating into
The otherness of the clouds.
The pilot is clearly oblivious
To the plight of his pets –
Surely the jet’s offspring belong to him too?
But the pilot doggedly continues his flight
Away from the sunlight, towards the growing darkness.
My heart breaks for him,
That he should be on the edge of heaven,
And not see such a beautiful sunset.

Elegy to a Piece of Graffiti – Taylors, SC (December 2012)

An old, rusty water tower seems an unlikely place

For a landmark, for a symbol of undying love.

“JimBob loves Leah” –

Anonymously proclaiming their love

To the city.

But no more.

In Greenville, an icon of hope and comfort stood

Against the rain, against the rust

No matter what happened, one thing was certain:

JimBob loved Leah.

But now, grave doubts are cast into my mind –

Does he love her still?

Or has their love gone the way of so many others,

Fading, fading, fading

Until nothing more is left,

Than paint abandoned to chip and decay and fall off an old, rusty water tower.

Vandal!  I hope that by your wanton violence,

You have at least achieved your aims.

But then, what kind of woman

Demands destruction to prove devotion?