I remind myself to pay attention
Should the stones choose to shout out
Or the mountains bow down.
Just in case a triad of angels
Drop by the house for a visit
I keep the sacrament of hospitality prepared.
My eyes are open
Should I need to clothe the naked
Or feed the hungry
Or maybe have occasion to do justice
Or show mercy.
Shaking myself to stay awake,
I have my eyes peeled
For the bridegroom.
To keep alert
Ready to hear that whisper
Loud as a thunderclap
*** This a poem for Advent written last year. But as I am preparing for the holidays again, it reminds me to keep prepared in other ways. Things I should be prepared to do each and every day – feed the hungry, clothe the naked, be just, merciful, hospitable. Should you be so inclined, these are the Biblical references: Luke 19:40, Habakkuk 3:6, Hebrews 13:2, Micah 6:8, Isaiah 58:7, Matthew 25, Psalm 46:10
bring your ladder
in the branches
of the old oak
I’ve tried shaking her free
and throwing rocks at her pale light
but I’m pretty sure
she is caught, tangled in the oaky twigs
and we will need to climb up
to release her
if its not too much trouble
bring your ladder
the moon is stuck
In Boston town, where history trod,
Last night the fickle baseball god
Looked down on fair Fenway.
Game 6, the Sox and Cards came to play
Redbirds hoping to stay one more day.
The park was filled with the hometown crowd
Whose joy was felt, good and loud,
Overflowing in fair Fenway.
A final strike,the Red Sox won, first time in 100 years,
The entire state erupted into World Series victory cheers-
Elation in fair Fenway.
So the St Louis Cards take their blooper reel
Home to Missouri where sad fans feel
There’s more to prove in fair Fenway.
So dear Boston, stand tall and true,
As Cardinal red stands tall with you.
Because on an April day at the seasons start,
You showed us courage and gave us heart
And we all became
Outside of fair Fenway.
*** Paying off a bet I made with @TheWanderinPoet-congratulations to the Red Sox – and there is always next year, St Louis. Go Cardinals 2014!
leaf strewn path
octobers golden wood
no hand to hold
shadow of wings
fly past the window
another day without you
nights grow even longer
longing for your return
the book you left
beside the bed