A Year of Poems – Day 335

Black night as deep as imagination
Before time shone in and dried up the place.
Back then even puddles were the stations
where we departed to the edge of space;
flecks of asphalt and drops of water laced
our sight. We soared in self abnegation
to stars and planets with pure elation
red boots tossed up mud in a warm embrace.
Darkness today is sought with a flashlight,
a mirror styled as an unknown portal,
arguments over what is known as right.
Coruscating robes of ferns drink, fertile
from those puddles still unfathomed by light
each drop an essay on being mortal.

A Year of Poems – Day 334

The metal folding chairs stand in uneven rows.
I see a place where no one goes
Men rock in place and a woman groans
But the kingdom of God is among these.

There are people here who have no jobs
Their aging parents help them shop
Some never talk and some won’t stop
But the kingdom of God is among these.

It is in the smells that are not perfume,
In gorgeous smiles flecked with drool,
In the meaningless babble that drowns the room.
Can’t you see the kingdom of God is among these?

A Year of Poems – Day 333

Flashing scales, the movement as fins flail fast,
Sailing, as they can, from shore to island,
Casks float adrift, white caps driven by wind,
Waves lost, wandering like a battered fish,
The ocean cruel as currents lost from charts,
Yet we plot as we can, plodders through storms,
Boots pressing through the puddles, mud shifting
over prints. The current comes, the fish flash,
the mud lies flat as time without the boon of memory.

A Year of Poems – Day 332

Life is so much straw
The blowing, drifting bits
That itch the nose
Till the eyelids drip.

Straw glints gold
in the setting sun
we see the shape of truth
through tears and straw,

It tastes like salty joy,

And somehow we know
That life is good,
That straws and tears
Are golden good.

A Year of Poems – Day 331

When the brain hits the wall
Hurts from the impact
Eyes smart, water, no tears
No narrative can be understood
So there is no sadness in the thoughts.
But sadness remains in the echoes of the skull.
Sorrow is in the dissonance
The mismatch of comprehension and reality
Which bounces round in splitting cacophony.