Tag Archives: poetry

Who you are

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You won’t be passing out stones

or scorpions or wasps on the other side

of apples. You won’t be not holding

the ladder when he climbs,

or not looking when she crosses.

You’ll not wonder when you should know,

for you’ll know, though you’d rather not.

You’ll know and do what you should do

because you are who you are,

the man, at last, you were meant to be.

Superabundant

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We used to speak of the thingification

of grace, which was a bad thing,

but now I think love,

to use its proper name,

is indeed a stuff,

weightless and invisible,

we can get our hands on.

It’s from where everything always is

and is flowing,

if we let it,

through us to all the rest

to give us and it

life.

Better this theology,

wrong as it may be,

than me and my will

manning up

to obey the law repeatedly.

Some years brown stands up

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Some years brown stands up, elbowing aside

the other colors, those

splashy failures of the papers still falling,

even here, even in this den of words.

Brown. Not yellow, not red, not gold. No,

don’t tell me you see them in me.

This time it’s brown:

Humble suitable reasonable plain old dependable

brown.

Not chestnut, not rust, not burnt sienna.

Brown.

Sun set and the children still at play

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On your white porch fronting your dense

Catskill wood you’ll wander the mind backward

through the midnight ocean, the black

forest, golgotha, to, at last, our primieval

garden. You’ll wonder what went wrong.

Who’d mean to keep old God away? Not you,

though you did, as now, his cross but a

seesaw – up and down and nothing changed.