"Considering"

(Composed August 20, 2013).

My stomach is a boulder, rigid, frozen

My eyes dry as after a winter wind blows.
Mind wandering, considering the options,
Haunted by the thought of its looming.

The 13^th crouches as a snarling Doberman.

How can I boldly stroll down the lane
Admiring lovely flowers, bird’s morning song
When I don’t know the length of the chain?
Will I arrive safely at the other end?
Are the buds for my funeral and
Its chirping my dirge?

Dragged along by an invisible rope

Collecting dust like Hector’s carcass
Time passes and the day ever nearer.
Nothing can prevent, still, wrestling
Eyes strain to stop the clock – or speed –
Half of me seeking the numbers to stand
Still, the other to just get on with it,
The 14^th to arrive, uncertainty dispelled,

Knowledge absolute – be it white or bloody.

It is no different than any other day, really,

Living in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius.
I, cursed with the knowledge –
It is no ordinary mountain.
I know the date of its eruption,
Powerless to stay fate’s wheel.

Perhaps I am that chained dog,

Barking, begging to be freed,
Waiting to see if the lava will flow
Singeing my fur and cover me, or be
Diverted to some other alley or
Stop short.
Spare me.

Lord have mercy upon us

Christ have mercy upon us
Lord have mercy upon us

“How are you doing?” they ask,

Walking beside my grey cubicle.
I smile back, reservedly, faintly cheery,
“Oh, pretty good,” I reply, “considering…”

"Red Votives"

(Composed after a trip to the San Juan
Capistrano Mission, October 2011)

A ruby red glow guides me
Down the dark corridor,
As I approach the altar,
The chapel of St Peregrine.

Prayers have been offered,
Tears shed for the sick,
The weary, the suffering.

I bow the knee and make my petition,
An intercession for those I know,
For those for whom these
Many votives have been lit,

For the relatives and friends,
Struggling to cope, to understand,
Seeking answers, seeking hope.

My soul yearns for their relief,
For peace and joy to uplift their spirits.
A fire in my breast urges me onward,
But I rise after a time, for the tourists

Are speaking in raised voices,
A healthy, young couple on holiday
Arguing about their camera settings.

"Lost"

(Ash Wednesday 2011)

The push and pull
Tugging, yanking, jerking
Fibers of the soul.

The longing, the desire
Enticing, deceiving
As in a smoky haze.

Blurred photograph,
Faded newspaper clipping
Juxtaposed to

Scarlet roses, diamonds
The sweetest taste of
Chocolate on the tongue.

Inch by inch stepping
Deeper into the wood
The path is wholly lost.

"Wandering through the rain"

(Composed January 3, 2011).

Wandering through the rain
Desperately seeking to find
The way, the path
Seems to have sunk
Beneath my feet, hidden
In the haze.  Sunlight or
Moonlight behind cloud,
I know not whether it is night
Or day.  The dim, grey ambiguity
Disguises what was once clear.

Lost in limbo, the liminal,
Unsettled, uneasy, uneven,
Tottering on the tippy top,
Shaking, swaying side to side,
Unable to stabilize, steady, secure

Eyes in the mud.

No mere flub or flounder,
But failing, falling
Flat.

Yet redemption even here
In the ground is found,
Washing clean.
Black is recognized as black,
White shines purest once more,
And men no longer look as trees.

"Heaven in the hay"

(Composed the second week of Advent 2010).

Heavy is the weight, frigid the air,
Blackest solitude, broken
Are the bonds that would unite.
Hiding, buried deep in earth,
Far from the stars, years since
Last seeing their faint shimmer.

Sinking darker into earth,
Crushing struggle,
Pain of despair,
Deeper pit,
Anchor weighs,
Chains clatter,
Heaviest burden--
Imprisoned by night.

In this night virgin gave birth,
Unto us a child was born,
Into this cave a star arose,
Blessed light of infant eye
In cries of a babe is shone;
Salvation to humanity come,
Divinity in manger lay--
Resplendent heaven in the hay.

"Nestled"

(Resting in the love of our Father
On October 13, 2010).

Tenderly nurturing the tiny babe
Enveloped in warm embrace
Gentle comfort as he sings
Delight streaming from his face

Cocooned in his mighty hands
Protected from all harm
None can dismiss his love
Nor snatch me from his arm

In him I am secure
Nestled in his grace
Mercy wrapped all around
His peace my resting place

"Progress"

(Pounded out on the evening
Of October 1, 2010).

Melding the ancient with the modern
Creating a new work, a fresh perspective
The ancient stones arranged in a linear grid
The craft of antiquity, sculptures of marble
And bronze, now portraying in ways anew
Universal human truths newfangled
Contemporary issues and obsessions
Techniques, materials, myths of old
Recombined, rethought, reimagined

Refusing to simply duplicate
Nor desiring to merely replicate
But seeking to uniquely create
A personal interpretation, expression
Seemingly slow
Still, serene past
Juxtaposed with the rushing, dashing,
Moving, jolting, hustling, steam engine
Drive of the future—or rather the present—

Desiring a slower time
A time of refreshment
Still constantly pressing forward
Relaxation
Continually pushing onward
A quieter time
Barreling ahead into the unknown
A return to the garden
Ever enticed by the siren call of “Progress”

"Image"

(In reflection on the Gerome exhibit
At the Getty Center in September 2010).

Imagining an ancient ruin
A resurrection of sorts
Recreating a distant land
A period far beyond our own
A culture only partially preserved
A people few have understood

Seeking to see as they
To feel as they felt
To explore the exotic
To discover the universal--
The human

Traits and tendencies surpassing periods
Transcending time and circumstances
Reaching beyond borders and boundaries
To find ourselves, our place in the cosmos
And to discern the Hand of God
The Image of the Almighty Beauty

"Spouts"

(Composed at the Getty Center
In September 2010).

Nestled ‘neath the stairs
Alone at a table for four
Listening to the bubbling
Water pouring from dozens
Of spouts in the fountain
Gushing day and night
Always in the same spot
Time after time
Constantly flowing
Perfectly in sync
In one long row
As marching soldiers
Never turning to the side
Yet standing side by side
No interaction
No relationship
Just spouts shooting
Springs of recycled water
Always kept pristine
Remaining untouchable
Save by the curious toddler
Or the starry-eyed lover

"Filled"

(Upon purchasing a new journal
On September 18, 2010).

Lovely leather binding pages
Sparkling with their silver edge,
Blank lines awaiting fulfillment.
Space for thought, room for
Expression; quiet moments to share
Beneath a blossoming cherry tree,
Beside the glittering open sea,
Amongst a pile of golden leaves,
Amidst the blustery winter winds
Pages fluttering and drops of rain.

Pristine now, crisp and clean,
Coffee stained soon to be, crinkled
Corners bent and shimmer dimmed.
Not worth a dime, yet treasured book;
Silent confidant for secrets shared,
Archive of fears, some joyful years,
Vial of tears and chocolate smears.
My life sketched with ink, not lead,
Encapsulation of my soul,
When the pages will be filled.

"Commuting"

(Composed upon returning home
Wednesday, August 25, 2010).

Commuting...there is always traffic,
Especially now Imperial Highway
Is littered with orange cones and
Seemingly spawning caterpillars.
Slow signs label the lanes and
Road construction ahead forebode
Blinkers and barrage of break lights,
Beeping car horns, and blare of rap.

The car ahead cuts into the right lane
Nearly colliding with my neighbor.
"Crazy driver!" I mutter aloud.

Light turns red and I'm stopped
Diagonally behind the Pontiac;
Its back window quickly lowers,
Expecting flash of a singular digit.
Instead, it simply rolls up again.
Reaching the top, it descends once more,
Then rolling upward, tiny fingers appear
Over the edge, skipping 'cross glass,
Playfully following the window's trek,
Flitting as a butterfly among buds,
Soaring and diving as a seaside pelican
Above the waves at San Pedro harbor.
Chuckling to myself and wiggling my
Fingers, as they rest on the windowsill.

Light turns to green and we once more
Crawl forward, as once annoying cones
Transport to first grade soccer practice,
Dump trucks to hearty preschool play.

"Incarnated sol"

(A blank verse composition
Of mid-August 2010).

The blazing ball of fire now sets westward
A shade of orange as vivid as the
Kenyan plain in the noonday heat of June;
Of tribal dance and lively drum beats free
The movement of life, fierce, shockingly bright
Yellow of vibrant hue, as lioness
On the prowl; a striking beauty, filled and
Overflowing with hot embers, ready
To ignite with passions deep; piercing,
Captivatingly rich Indian spice.

In the east, sweet pastels of gentle pink,
As the fragrant lavender rolls over
The Provencal hills of a distant field.
Timid beauty, soft and shy the silk shades
That paint the far horizon of the land;
Tender blush at a passing stranger’s glance;
An English rose garden blooms in the sky,
Reserved elegance, glories in the past.
Singular source of light captured, expressed,
In unique displays, as the heat of day
Gives way to peaceful, cool nights of summer.

Full moon rises in the desert tonight;
Driving ‘cross highway, my sister beside,
Genuine and honest, she won’t back down,
Taking charge and fighting for the distressed,
Freely, boldly expressing her desires
Unlike the introvert behind the wheel:
Quiet of spirit, seeking to refresh,
And often few of words, yet heart devout.

Reflecting, embodying golden rays,
Sublime paradox, incarnated sol,
As we travel back to the smog city
Rays of light diffused and stars to be hid
The stormy shadows seek the light to fade.
Even still each day ends in dusk’s delight.
Banker and social worker recognize
As a most magnificent sight t’ behold.

Some drawn to the east, others toward the west,
Still none deny the brilliance of its source--
Beautiful transformation it affects,
Glorious illumination imparts,
Radiantly transfigured by the sun.

"Blazing beach bonfire"

(Composed on August 5, 2010
Scent of smoke still in my hair).

You know the smell
Just after the sunset
The raw and reassuring
The organic sweet scent
Of burning firewood
Mixed with fresh sea air
Speckled in gritty sand
Smoke quietly billows
Soaking into your skin
Saturating your sweater
Tenderly enveloping you
In its warm embrace
The fire laps at the logs
Hypnotizing waves of
Gold and scarlet flames
Glowing embers beneath
Blazing beach bonfire
Towels spread around
Cool, damp sand underfoot
Soft guitar strumming
Beat of the bongo
A floating melody
And the crackling of the
Marshmallow golden fire

"Eyes fixed"

(Mind's eye on Mt. Wilson
Composed on August 5, 2010).

Overcome by the heat
Eyes fixed to the ground
Focusing on uneven dirt
Carefully avoiding a pebble
Stepping over a little twig
Altogether ignoring great
Mountain of plenteous pine

"Woe"

(Composed in contemplation of
Isaiah 39 in late July 2010).

"It is good news!" declared he.
Many years would safely be
Comfortable in his wanton haze,
'Peace and security in my days.'

Woe to the foolish, selfish king;
Wealth to the winds he did fling!

Rich heritage he threw away;
His own sons he did betray:
Plundered land, dispossessed;
Exiled and harshly oppressed!

Woe to me who would lazily lounge
Forcing others to desperately scrounge!

Seeking comfort, preferring ease,
My fleshly pleasures to appease,
Merely the status quo to maintain,
Ever overlooking others' pain?

Woe to us all if so become we;
I pray, O Lord, may it never be!

"A quiet evening"

(Composed in the stillness
Of July 24, 2010).

The sounds of the night
Sprinkler's mist descends
Distant honk of a passing car
The bark of a neighbor's dog
The muffled rumble of voices
Float from a television set
Palm fronds rustled by the breeze

Candle flickers, lamp is dimmed
Smooth jazz pianist on my iPod plays
While my pen glides across the page

A bit of the city's bustling remains
A few street lights turning yellow
Yet most families are now relaxing
In their homes for a quiet evening
Snuggled in their living rooms
Eating popcorn and watching a film
Perhaps laughing over a hand of cards

On the sofa I recline, journal open
Pondering the water softly trickling
Its gentle whisper in my window

"The sea"

(Composed July 10, 2010).

A mere conglomeration of elements?
Fading blue paint on an old globe?
Or the stage for adventure,
The wild creature, the force
Of which many a poet has writ?
The crashing and splashing
The shimmering waves
Sparkling glow of the sun
Rolling and roaring
The rumble of bass
Terrifying and tranquil
Jet engine, mother's lullaby
The sheer volume, abundance
Ever moving and changing
Oh the mysteries of the deep
The secrets of the expanse
Seemingly infinite, yet bound
Magnificent and strong
Masterpiece of the Potter's Hand!

"Our King"

(In reflection on Ezra, Nehemiah, and
The prophets of old on June 3, 2010).

Exiles return
To city in ruins
Charred remains
Of once golden temple
Dust and ash envelop
The mighty capital
City of King David

Vision of restoration
Rising from the rubble
Strongholds of opposition
Crumble before Almighty God
History's Grand Architect
The Master Builder
Our Carpenter King

Measuring state's boundaries
Plumb Line for the nations
Impaled by the
Tools of His trade
Pierced by the ones
He would save
Our Crucified King

Nailed to the very trees
He imagined in the beginning
Killed by His creatures
Sacrifice for their souls
The divine died
Ineffable mystery
Our Creator King

Resurrected and ascended
Interceding for us now
At the Father's right hand
Seated on His throne
Soon to judge the earth
The Just and the Justifier
Our Coming King

"See"

(Inspired by the words of Isaiah
The prophet on July 7, 2010).

Incline your ear, O Lord, and hear
Open your eyes, O Lord, and see

Stumbling through the curtain,
Clothes torn and covered in ash,
Words echoing in my head:
Who are you?
Why would God care?
You are nothing.
You are alone.
No one sees.

Incline your ear, O Lord, and hear
Open your eyes, O Lord, and see

Tears streaming the paper tumbles
Out of my hand and to the floor.
Head bowed low, I bend my knee:
I am a child of the King.
God does care for me.
I am precious in His sight.
I will never be alone.
God sees all.

Incline your ear, O Lord, and hear
Open your eyes, O Lord, and see

Shouting my prayer to the heavens,
Exhausted, now barely whispering,
Slowly the weight begins to lift,
Gentle peace descends as a dove.
The oppressive haze starts to fade,
Evaporating in the presence of
Light eternal and Love divine.

"Ode to My Alarm Clock"

(Inspired by true events
On Wednesday, June 30, 2010).

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring
When many a faithful year
Thou didst awakening bring,

From dreams of dark
And slumber deep
To day's warm sun
Thy promises keep?

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring,
But left me to sleep alone,
World raced without thy ding?

Slept through my shower
Nor time to break my fast
For I awoke to find
'Twas sixty minutes past.

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring,
But trouble and frustration
As my sheets I did fling?

Alack I hurriedly did race
Past roommates, house, and store,
Mascara and brush in hand,
Left my pillow on the floor.

O clock of my alarum
Why didst thou not ring,
Nor bing, cling, or even ping?
Why didst thou refuse to sing?

For pump the coffee in my veins,
Cold water thou couldst pour,
Yet nothing could jolt me awake
Like you silent clock forevermore!