There’s a bench by the river
and a bridge nearby.
They wait in the soft morning sun
for pilgrims to stop and rest awhile
before their journeys are done.

The bench is a place where
two folks can meet
and consider divergent beliefs,
convictions held with unyielding demand,
often sources of anger and grief.

Sitting together
they listen and speak
of their hopes and dreams and fears,
and perhaps discover a common approach
to the issues each holds dear.

Then they stand on the bridge,
side by side,
having come to a reasoned accord,
and they walk together across the divide
on the bridge to a common reward.

There’s a bench by the river
and a bridge nearby
where people like you and I
can overcome our differences
and cross to the better side.

 

Brother Moon, do you wonder
at what you see?
Do you weep at the sight
of savagery?
Do you feel the agony of
Sister Earth as she
is plundered by the
Little People who think themselves immortal?

Do you see the dismantling?
The River, the Ocean.
A Forest here.  A quiet Prairie there.
All in the name of Greed, the
seductive god of the Little People,
the deity of destruction.

Sister Earth cries, not for the pain
of her own loss, but for the
blindness of those who, long ago,
were entrusted with Her care,
Stewards of a fragile Treasure.

Foolish Little People,
singing the songs of their own
salvation,
blind to the beast that waits.

I said “hello”
and
You said “hello”
and then we didn’t
know where to go.

“The weather’s nice.”
Now what?
“I’m Jewish.”
Watch his face.

“You are?”
Why did she tell me that?
“I think it’s going to rain.”
Now he’ll walk away.

“I like your shoes.”
Stupid!
“Your jacket’s nice.”
Ok.  That’s it.  I give up.

“I live over that way.”
Why would she care?
“I like to play tennis.”
I can’t do this anymore.

And then she smiled and
I felt dizzy.
And then he smiled and
I couldn’t move.

I held out my hand and
she took it gently.
I put my hand in his.
I didn’t try to say a word.

Then we walked away
together.
Then we walked away
together.

Twas the eve of departing and all through the house
we all were excited, even the mouse!
Maggie was panting and pacing the floor,
poised and ready to bolt out the door
for her ride to Danielle’s, her favorite resort.
She’s the queen of the kennel, and by all reports
she’s a lady who knows how to play.

We’re off on the morrow to visit the clan
that lives in the quiet and humble land
where longhorns graze on sweet pasture grass
and fishermen boast of  30 pound bass!
Where the Texas Two-Step is a mighty fine dance
and folks have been known to take a stance
about politics and stuff.

We’ll visit the ranch and eat black-eyed peas.
Talk funny like them.  We aim to please.
Maybe a Lone Star beer or two.
Can’t leave without some Bar-b-que.
I’ll sit on the porch in a rocking chair
and count fireflies in the evening air.
Not a bad way to live!

But maybe this is a subtle sign
that my roots grew deep in the East Texas pines.
For all these years that I’ve moved around,
lived in lots of different towns,
I’ve never had a sense like this
that maybe I shouldn’t just reminisce,
but buy me some cowboy boots.

I guess I should wait til  I get there and see
if these memories I hold are meant to be
signs for the future or frivolous dreams,
sometimes truth is not what it seems.
So, tomorrow morning we’ll head down the road,
My Lord, you should see the impossible load!
I hope the tires hold up.

And when we pass the Welcome sign
I think I’ll be just a little inclined
to see if my feelings are consistently sure,
that we ought to take a Hill Country tour,
explore the back country highways and towns,
look for a treasure that waits to be found,
think about coming home.

Late last night, just as I blew out the last candle
and pulled the cool sheet to my chest,
I caught a whiff of your gentle fragrance
floating just above the empty pillow beside me,
and I heard you call my name in the sounds of
the stream that curls its way through the tall pines.
Sleep never had a chance.  Memories burst into the room
from all the familiar places and moments we used to share.
I heard you hum that silly song about little gray clouds.
I’m sure I saw your reflection in the starlight on the window pane.
An owl called in the distance and I thought of your
beautiful, astonished face when you first caught a glimpse
of the elegant night visitor.
As the memories floated by, gifts of grace,
I felt a tear slide down my cheek and fall to my lip.
It tasted just like the ones I used to kiss from your face
when you wept in deep sorrow or delicious joy.
O memories, have mercy.
I am not able to bear your full weight.
The wound is yet too raw.
The hour too soon.
Pass me by for now.
At least for
now.

My ears woke me this morning.
They whispered to my brain:
“Listen to this!”  And my brain
was so excited that it woke all
the other parts of me and we
listened to Fred and Ginger
dancing on the skylight.

They were in good form.
No, not good.  Spectacular!
The tap routine started slowly,
then built, then exploded.
Fred did his solo piece,
leaping and sliding across
the skylight, then Ginger tapped
into a rhythm that, at first, was
swing but quickly changed to
a graceful, flowing waltz.

On and on they danced,
effortless, mesmerizing, truly
timeless.  I don’t remember
going to sleep, but when a
slender stream of morning
sun slipped past the curtains
and tickled my nose, I woke to
the distant sound of a graceful
duet.  They faded into the
blur of memory, still dancing
cheek to cheek.

Do you have to be holy to live around here?
Could I grill a steak and drink a beer
while telling a slightly off-color joke?
I’ve only lived around common folk
and I’ve avoided church since Grandpa died.
To tell the truth, I’ve cussed and lied.
I cheated at cards a week ago,
raked up my cash but I left too slow
and two guys out in the parking lot
decided they wanted the winning pot
and that’s how I got this big black eye,
so I’m not so sure I  ought to try
to live on Heavenly Sky.

I probably should live on Redneck Road,
move over there with a pickup load
of odds and ends and my four dollar dog.
He’s a nice brown color but dense as a log.
He chases cars and howls at the moon
and, as you might guess, it was pretty soon
that the Sheriff stopped by to say hello,
said my old dog would have to go.
My next door neighbor is fit to be tied,
said he’d be glad to give me a ride
to the local chapter of SPCA,
and he’d like to do it right now, today.

Well, I don’t have a dog; I don’t have a wife,
it’s a very sad and lonely life.
Should I have made a harder try
at living on lovely Heavenly Sky?
I could buy new shoes and comb my hair,
tell my neighbors not to stare
at my pickup truck with dents and rust.
Give me a chance; I’m a man you can trust!
I’ve turned a new leaf; I’ll make ’em all proud,
I promise not to belch out loud.
I’ll look refined in my brand new coat
as I walk Josephine, my favorite goat,
down the sidewalk on Heavenly Sky.

As close as I’ll come
to the Sweet By and By!

 

No light.
A little humming sound
in the darkness but no light.
Black dog is invisible across
the room.  We wait together
for the gift.

Christmas packages under the
tree…O how I loved to rip them
open…anticipation, excitement.
But not today.  Now we wait.
Loose the ribbon slowly.
Savor the moment.  Joy is
in the revealing.

Soft morning light falls on
the window pane, then slowly,
slowly drifts across the cluttered
desk, just touching the edge of
my bed.  Black dog is a faint
outline, a still silhouette.  Little
by little shadows evaporate when
touched by fingers of light.

The unhurried wave of light pours
over the tile floor, thick syrup
spreading over warm pancakes.
I want to touch it, touch the presence
that slips through my window.  I
want to dive into the light, swim in
the luxurious liquid that caresses
everything it touches.

Black dog stretches and moves to
my side.  We sit together on the
bedroom floor, both amazed at the
loveliness of the gift, both grateful
for the rite of revealing.  She lays
down beside me and drifts off into
sleep.  My hand rests gently on her
side.  I feel her heart at rest.

The beautiful gift is open
Day is here.
All is light.

I’ve left the toys from another day,
sorted them out, boxed the away.
I’ve no use for them now.
Except
Except when the wind cuts like a knife
and I feel the burden and weight of strife,
it’s then I hold the box.
Close
Close to the place where pain resides,
pressed to my heart where anguish hides
and I feel a sense of peace.
Strange
Strange how the things of yesterday
still have the power to change the way
I face the toughest times.
Inside
Inside my box are prayers and creeds,
the ritual acts I no longer need
to make sense of this world.
Yet
Yet, why can I not let them go?
Why do they possess me so?
What mystery is this?
Perhaps
Perhaps these acts of sacred rite
still shine within the darkest night,
a Light that will not dim.
So
So, I’ll keep this old box;  it’s a mystery to me,
but, then, I’ve never made a star or a tree.
But I know the source of life.

At 5 a.m. on this very fine day,
with my hand on my favorite
coffee mug, now empty, I affirm
that today I will be BOLD.  Yes,
BOLD, that’s the word.  With
intention, I will test the validity
of the “Five ‘E’ Rule” which was
conceived minutes ago with
the last sip of almost warm
coffee.  Stay with me, here.

Today, with intention, I will
Encounter (1) someone, friend
or stranger, not just nod and
move on, not just say “Oh, it’s
good to see you again” and
keep walking.  I will focus
on the moment and make it
more important than the
Cream of Potato soup I came
to the grocery store to find.

I will Engage (2) the person
I meet.  I don’t mean sit down
in the aisle and chat, but at
least look him in the eye and
pay attention.  I won’t fake it.
I’ll really listen.

(“Sorry, sir, didn’t mean to block
the aisle.”)

I will Explore (3) briefly, not in
great depth, not a philosophical
inquiry, but genuinely about my
friend’s state of being.  “How are
you these days?”  And I will really
mean it.  If he says: “None of your
business”, I will continue looking
for the Cream of Potato soup.

Sometime during the same day,
probably when I’m at home and
looking down into a glass of Merlot,
I will reflect on that chance
encounter, the Experience (4)
of meeting, speaking, listening,
sharing with my grocery store
friend.  I will meditate more deeply
with each sip of the Merlot.

As a result of the Encounter, the
Engaging, the Exploring, the
meditation on the Experience,
I will Evolve (5).  O yes!  I will
be a different person from this
unexpected encounter.  Wiser?
Maybe.  Enlightened?  Perhaps.
One never knows about grocery
aisle conversations.

The “Five ‘E’ Rule”.
Someday it may be as memorable
as Dr. Einstein’s Theory of
Relativity or Neil Armstrong ‘s
walk on the surface of the
moon.  It’s possible.  Of course,
it is.

I will consider that amazing
possibility as soon as I refill
my mug.  Cheers!