Deep Calls

     I have begun to do a daily Bible reading plan. You may have heard of it -- CBR. I read a chapter in the Old Testament, and a chapter in the New Testament. It is community based, that is a group of us read and then, using whatever social media format or app we choose, we share short comments/insights with the group. Short. It is a good idea for this program, but my thoughts are often, well, not short. I find I need a place to put "all the other stuff" that I think -- all the questions, and connections, and musings that are, well, longer than short.       I may, or may not, post daily. This is mostly for me, but if you find yourself reading this I suggest you read the scripture passages to give yourself contest. Oh, and this is a sort-of "jump in the already moving stream" endeavor. Right now we are in the early books of Isaiah, and the early chapters of Acts.  Here goes ~

A warning …           It is not enough to be in the same space. I am a master of masks and double mirrors. To find my path . . . ? (but why would you wish for such a thing?) You must perceive, recognize the ghosts Who haunt my resonant yesterdays, Spectered memories of how things really were. You must see beneath the tattered rags Of the mundane days I wear as camouflage. I will not invite you in. Subterfuge and artifice are my mother-tongue. The passwords are, ah, how does one say? – “ Caché [1] ~ le dessous des cartes [2] ” – Too far inside for anyone to find. Recondite and esoteric mysteries and memories Coat the inside of my world like concertina wire. You make a perilous and jeopardous request. The corpses of the cats should have been warning enough. [1] hidden [2] inside information

Avenge-meant I didn’t. All of us know, all of us: From the seasoned, wise sage with interlocking limbs inhabiting his high hill, To the truculent terrorist two-year old, tossing tantrums into hurricanes – It is the scientific fabric of the universe postulated—sure as hell--by Newton – We know that recriminations are the exhale that air the contrapositive. We crave the settled and appropriate finish, The backhand that whawps the volley back across the net; Is not merely expected, it is needed. It is justice’s congruity, parity, The balance and the birth, the yin and yang. It isn’t that we need it, The universe herself screams for it…or tries to, Yens to, convulses till she swirls in blue exigency. There is a void – and nature abhors a vacuum – Until the scorching aphorism rebounds. Existence becomes a torture chamber of anticipation. As when a cup is imbalanced precariously upon an edge, The when becomes the focal point of unrealized presentimen...

A TRIANGLE OF SISTERS Two brought in,             One kicked out; Two beauty striving,             One beauty full; Two mother-led             One mother-lost. But What happened when she left? Without the base They had only each other to stand against. What do you do when what you hate is gone? When no breakfast is coming, will you simply starve? Can you put on airs in a vacuum? If an insult falls in a stairway, but no one is there . . . . Well, you get the idea. They lost so much more than the Prince.

STAMPEDE The green hills are Yellow-licked With new mustard. Bees and butterflies Flirt with flowers. A flock of clouds Wind and gust across the sky. Hawks, like siblings, Play tag to fill a summer sky. But I . . . I am encased In metal and leather. I stampede ahead With all the rest, Racing forward As if there were a finish line.

MORS, ILLIUS MEMORIA [1] Just ten shallow breaths Each one weaker than the last One cry and then gone. That last tiny breath In gale force blew out my life Blew out all my light With both hands I took The edge of darkness and then Sat down in that shroud Tortured by the light All light now too much to bear Dark became my life Taurig [2] and troubled Stormy-dark and sunless soul Bereft of delight Vacant and alone Travail becomes memory I am empty now I am here but gone In the wake I sleep and wake Breathe then breathe then breathe [1] DEATH, HIS MEMORY [2] gloomy, mournful, cloudy

ESCAPE AWAY HOME Home. I walk out of my shoes, My briefcase thumping to the floor, My coat and my day Discarded in a chair. Feet tucked beneath me, in Gram’s comforter, I am swathed against day-end cold. Coffee cuddled to my chest, I plan my escape. I munch on a granola bar, longing For waybread and South Farthing wine. The recipes both treasure-kept There, and far away. The steam rising from my coffee cup Is mist enough to let me Slip unseen beneath the lines To wander familiar paths. Fingers rippling through the leaves, I meander Seeking memories to select my way. Each vista has its charm. How can I choose? The Lay of Leithien to quiet fear As evil black creeps up behind? No, Weathertop is not The place to start. I’m called by bantering of old friends, By laughter and by merry tales, And poems forged beneath stars Shining on homey Rivendell. I...