"I saw a mansion in the desert"

(After a trek through the Mohave Desert
From home into L.A., December 28, 2009).

I saw a mansion in the desert
With glossy paint and picket fence.
Lamp posts lined the dirt path,
Large plastic creatures strewn
Among a few nude white statues,
As I drove down Highway 395.

A couple miles back I passed
A rusted old car, heap of scraps,
Long ago forgotten beside
The boarded up gold mine--
Once valuable treasure trove,
Now an abandoned hollow.

AUTO PARTS is painted
On a few old wooden planks
Nailed on a crumbling garage.
Hard to tell if it's still open
Or if no one really cared
To pull 'em down before they left.

Well, it looks like one still lives
In this lone desert mansion.
The land must 'a been a good deal--
Not much competition for this plot.
Think it was a young girl or an old fella
Paid this time, seekin' to fulfill the dream?

I wonder how long 'til this soul
Grown weary of barren heat and sand
Flees without glancing back,
Leaving another old roof to rot,
Another stack of boards to break up
Vast stretches of dirt, rock, an' weed.

"Winter's night"

(Composed December 23, 2009).

The rising sun must later leave the sky,
Each blooming flower, whither and die.
Spring graces us with glorious display,
Then winter strikes to our dismay.

Although the vivid brilliance fades,
Warmth the air no longer pervades,
Time cannot their memory deplete
Stunning colors or fragrance sweet.

Although the rays dim from view
And petals melt as morning dew,
The frost of this cold winter’s night
Cannot their tender remembrance blight.

"All eyes to the stage"

(Moments remembered on December 17, 2009).

Clusters of choir members scattered around,
A couple of altos reviewing their part,
Another munching on carrot sticks in the corner.
Violas from the orchestra tune,
Black collars popped and red ties hanging;
Girls scurry barefoot to the mirror,
Hurriedly reapplying their lipstick.

The doors fly open and the audience floods
Down the aisles and to the front.
Hugging and chattering with a grin,
The room is filled with their enthusiastic buzz;
Eagerness and delighted anticipation pulses.
Taking one last gulp of water, I stash the bottle
Beside an empty cello case and a roll of electrical tape.

Moments later the house lights dim,
The crowd grows silent;
All eyes to the stage.
The choir adjusts our black folders,
Clicking on the little music lights.
The conductor raises his baton;
Deep breath and…

"Rearview Mirror Reflections"

(Jotted down December 17, 2009).

The morning commute is always an adventure!
My fellow drivers never fail to amaze me
With their crazy maneuvers and sudden stops.
Orange cone-lined construction zones are especially thrilling!
Yet perhaps my favorite part of the drive is
Sitting at a stoplight and glancing about.

Mascara wand and shiny pink compact in hand,
A young women stares at her reflection,
Applying powder, now manipulating metal pinchers
While the other cars zoom by, and
A teenager in his skinny jeans and red beanie
Pops a zit then bites his nails on my left.

A mother walks her daughter to school,
Girl bundled in pink scarf and white mittens,
Mother in a dull, frumpy brown jacket,
As the orange-vested gentleman,
The school’s friendly crossing guard,
Raises his sign and steps across.

Animatedly talking on her phone, or better yet,
Vigorously texting a curious friend,
"Baby on board" bumper sticker in the back,
The mom beside me would hardly notice, if
A fiery meteor fell from the sky
Or a bomb exploded up ahead.

And in his starched white shirt and tie,
Suit jacket hanging in the backseat,
The man ahead of me scarfs down
A steaming breakfast sandwich,
While I, finger tapping and latte in hand,
Sing along to a lively country song.

"A rag-wrapped babe"

(Composed the second week of Advent 2009).

To these the Son of God came down:
To broken, steeped in sin,
To the hopeless, weary, defeated,
Unto wounded and hurting men.

No marble columns greeted him,
No vaulted ceilings high,
No hallowed halls, nor towers white,
Nor servants gathered nigh.

A rag-wrapped babe, God is with us!
An infant’s piercing cry,
Wrinkled fingers reaching out
From earth up to the sky.

Rejoice! Be glad! Jesus has come!
Our waiting’s not in vain.
Our Savior, Jesus Christ the Lord
In Bethlehem is lain.

"Hearts' delight"

(A choir member's fervent prayer,
December 10, 2009).

The torn screen door swings open
Exposing a heap of cans on the floor,
Drained dry, sapped six-packs,
Dreams, distant hopes of youth spilt,
Now dingy stains on the carpet.

The stench of beer and sweat
Drenches every inch of air,
As a cloud of thick smoke swells.
Cigarette butts litter the floor,
Tossed aside, burnt out, scorched idealism.

Shining childhood naivety,
The innocent glow of youth,
Tainted, tattered, tarnished,
Smothered, suffocated, strangled,
Mangled, maimed, and marred.

There was a party here last night,
Or did he drink alone?
It hardly matters now.
Alone he slouches on the couch,
Dead eyes, anesthetized to life.

Is there hope for him this Christmas?
Might he find joy this time of year
Amidst the plastic twinkling lights?
Might the brilliant Advent candles bright
Illumine this soul and enliven his eye?

May we not glide by this Christmas
Snuggled in our jingling sleds,
Cocoa in hand and cookies sweet,
Joyful carols ever echoing
In our scarf-wrapped little heads.

May the truth of that blessed night,
Floating, soaring through our song,
As the star which shone so bright,
Lead the lost to our dear Savior,
Guided by our hearts’ delight.

"The gentle, floating breath of flute"

(Upon meeting Debussy's faun,
December 1, 2009).

The gentle, floating breath of flute,
Melody flitting as a leaf in the breeze,
Pale, lily yellow, tranquil and fragrant,
Bold flashes of color, hints of scarlet mystery,
Meandering through fields of vibrant wildflowers,
Beneath the shade of blossoming cherry trees,
Delicately sweet, glistening honey of the comb.

Pipe's playful frolicking tune overhead,
As sunbeams peaking through tender leaves,
Then burning bright as the golden sun,
Blazing in her brilliant noonday glory,
Piercing the veil of the billowing cloud,
Twirling higher, faster and faster...
Mighty crescendo of brass and string!

Stillness, cool as the babbling brook,
Serenely gliding over pebbles smooth,
Against the trunk of a budding tree,
Beneath the sparkling stars, dreamily nestled.