Reflection
The sun came up again this morning, which I observed without surprise
For I expect him every morning on the same side of the skies.
Every morning, like the one before, he rises in the East
But on this day, for some odd reason, East was the option I liked least.
So I wondered (without wondering why) if I could rearrange
The cosmic expectation by daydreaming a flip-flop exchange
And putting Sol the other way around – the way that I liked best
And sit and watch and sip my coffee while he woke up in the West.
I looked into this mirror for a moment as the grass awoke;
I shook some eggs onto my salt, spread the jam with whole wheat toast;
And a much-read book up on the shelf was looking down at me
Trying to determine whether I was worth another read.
I closed the window so I could feel the morning breezes on my face
And shouted an epiphany into the empty holy space.
I had a million answers which, it seemed, had always bothered me
Because the questions are elusive, hard to find and hard to see.
The music listened to me humming while a sad joke made me cry,
The second spring of robin chased an earthworm round and round the sky.
A nervous chubby honey bumble could not endure the flowers’ scent
So, sneezing and allergic, on his merry way he went.
The clouds were blue the sky was white, my beard collected steam
That rose up from the splash of coffee which I added to my cream.
I discovered that the sounds of morning helped me hear myself to think
That the abundant sasquatches were driving squirrels to the brink.
My splendid contemplation only lasted half a minute;
Long enough for me to wonder what was possible within it
But not enough to venture in or lose what I had found,
Or let my hands replace my feet, turn inside out, or breathe the ground.
I wanted to enjoy the safety of playing with the things that aren’t
While the things that do exist continue doing so unharmed; 
To walk a world familiar with the wonder of a total stranger;
A donkey safe within his stable, mesmerized before the manger.
May, 2019

WINTER IN MONTANA
As a boy I was told the sun rose in the east
 but after more than ten years I've found
 on the wide open range spreading out on the plains
 the sun rises and sets in the south.
 
The north star still hovers where you've come to expect
 and of the northern lights, there is no doubt;
 but for everyones who's been froze to the buns
 the sun's a stranger who lingers down south.
 
In summer the sun has a great big white sky
 which is nearly too wide for the clouds,
 but in March it's a breeze to block the light with the trees
 as the sun slouches low in the south.
 
Even the angels and men made of snow
 start to feel just a little put out
 at the length of the night and the pale, sickly light
 that grudgingly drifts up from the south.
 
In forests and swamps where the bugs live all year
 they can sing all about that old house
 where the gamblers drink rum with the rising sun -
 but it only makes sense way down south.
 
We may hate Summer's heat but we pray for the Spring
 as our lives become slowly snow-bound,
 Because the cold gets so strong when the winter's this long
 that even the sun goes south.
November 2015

Preparing to Preach
I stand unguarded and alone and tell the king a tale.
Will parables come knocking in the middle of the night
Will images I’ve never seen lay claim upon my sight
Throwing doors wide open with the force of a spring gale?
Feel the story: Own the story: Drink the chalice filled with rhyme
 
It makes no matter whether I am listened to or not
Whether ears are stoppered and fermented in the shadows
Whether hearts go wandering down paths where no one follows;
Forge and fire keep their counsel as they make the iron hot.
Hear the story: Live the story: Sing with fervor line by line
 
Make my voice a wielded hammer and the plot I spin a nail;
Let my yarn still reek with smoke from generations of campfires,
Find the tune to make them dance and pound the drums and beat the lyres,
Please don't let me stand alone as I tell the king my tale.
Find the story: Tell the story: Start it once upon a time
May 2012

Enlightenmentality
Rain, rain go away… a child’s prayer I find
Rising with a mocking tone into my skeptic’s mind.
Sound contempt for dreadful visions keeps my faith at bay;
I stand alone and satisfied as the faithful float away.
 
What can I trust if not the solid earth beneath my feet?
What can belief be rooted in if not in what I see?
As surely as the night will turn into the break of day,
I stand content on what I know as others float away.
 
The patter of the rain around me sways me not one bit.
Ecstatic blather threatening judgment moves me not one whit.
The only thing I know are laws all nature must obey;
I’ll not be bothered if fanatics up and float away.
 
Eventually my clothes will dry, I’ll warm my chilly feet
Beside a fire, welcoming its measurable heat.
I’ll be relieved and raise my glass and merrily I’ll say
“Good riddance to the gullible as they all float away!”
May 2012
 
Bethel
“Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it.” Gen. 28:16
The unfriendly night with its feeble light
            grows cold and pale as a bone;
It whispers near but not quite clear
            of things he should have known.
Tree limbs engage, like words on a page,
            an iron light the moon has honed
And leave their trace on an upturned face
            that might have been my own.
But the path he’s run and the things he’s done
            leave him utterly alone
Down stony streets on bleeding feet
            he hobbles away from home.
Bare justice weighs on the game he plays
            with a guilty, frightened moan,
For you can’t reverse the loss or curse
            of fate once the dice are thrown.
So he stumbles on, his choices gone
            till he falls face-down in the loam
And the rustling air stirs his breathless prayer
            with a sacramental tone.
Then he drifts to sleep too morose to weep
            on a pillow made of stone
On his way to dream of what he should have seen
            if only he had known.
July 2010