Thursday, April 30, 2009

Beauty

Beauty you are a broken glass hiding in the still-clear dish-water.
You are the smell of banana bread at two in the morning and the quiet breathing of a house that sleeps.
You are the hypnotic movement of a choral song that needs no singing along.
You are curls uncombed and covers unkempt; and the cold snap of entereing a room whose windows have been open all day.
You are my beloved sister sleeping soundly away.
You are the quiet margin of wake at the end.
Beauty, it's you who keeps me up tonight, softly rejoicing Your Hands upon my day.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

tuesday should be grounded

if weekdays were cliche saturday morning cartoon personalities,
Tuesday would be the annoying bully who kicks me in the corner of the playground at recess and steals my lunch money.
In the end, my dignity is a little worse for the wear and my clothes are covered in mulch, but there's no real damage that can't be healed by big brother Wednesday or especially favorite cousin Friday.
So, in your hypothetical face Tuesday.
I've got the rest of the weekdays on my side.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

thoughts after hearing John Perkins speak

revenge is something we can understand.
it makes sense in this world.
an eye for an eye and all of that.

but
forgiveness is like a beautiful stranger in a crowd of cynics who have little to remember about hope, and even less control of the reflex to turn their heads and watch it re-enter the world.
Our heads turn and our paces stutter as we let hardened gazes fixate.
on this new and awkwardly misplaced guest

and even when you've left,
you leave us glancing the room to find you; looking distractedly over our shoulders and at the door.

but you are terrifying to approach and your gaze is hard to meet.

such as it is

don't let our furrowed brows chase you out

i for one
welcome you
to return as often as i chase you out
7X77
and pray your persistance exceeds mine

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Runkerry road

Ireland is everywhere this evening.
It's in my Starbucks Raspberry mocha,
it's in the dampness of my pant-legs as the rain soaks up through the bits that drag on the ground.
it's in this green/yellow sweater
and it's in the pause at the door as i search for the house key.

Ireland is always somewhere in the far reaches of my thoughts

but some moments throb with it in a strange mixture of yearning and accomplishment.

but off i ran
and here i am