"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…”

"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”

"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.

"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

"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

"To a new year"

(Composed the first week of January 2010).

Some new years feel like a new blouse,
Purchased from the boutique rack,
Colors bright, completely unworn,
Blooming with great expectations,
Long awaited and at a high price.

Others are more like digging through a gym bag
Trying to locate a not so smelly sock,
Filled with more of the same old troubles.

This year, however, like a familiar friend,
Having begun and ended in the same spot,
Is most like pulling a newly laundered
Pair of blue jeans out of the dryer,
Fresh and warm, yet snug and comfy.

Thus, this year begins like the last,
Toasting my plastic cup to a new year,
Bundled on the rosiest street of Pasadena.

"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.

"Those little gold stars"

(Composed after House of Prayer,
October 27, 2009).

Head bowed, tears gleaming in my eyes
Shed for the pain of another, I was reminded:
Life is not measured in dollars and cents,
In titles, degrees, and lengthy acronyms,
Or little gold stars on the board;
Yet some days I struggle and strive,
Polishing those little gold stars,
Trying to make them shine brighter,
Reapplying the peeling adhesive,
Keeping them in a straight line.

I don't feel so bad with their glint in my eye,
Still over the years these mere stickers
Seem to simply fade and fall away,
Like the pale ribbon in the back of my closet:
A first place blue ribbon in archery,
Shiny and new the summer after fourth grade.
Actually, come to think of it,
I might have thrown that ribbon away.
Oh well. Nobody really cares about it now.
Old trophies aren't worth much in the end.

Praise the Lord He looks at the heart,
Not our paycheck, job title, or resume,
Not our model of car or IQ,
Nor our number of facebook friends!
Praise the Lord for He is good,
And His mercies are new every morning!
Praise the Lord for His lavish love,
And His gracious provision for our needs!
Praise the Lord for His faithfulness,
And His tender mercies unto me!

"What is in your hand?"

(Composed in reflection after a
retreat on October 12, 2009).

What is in your hand?
A pen.

A passion.
A love for my God.
A pain.
A heartache.
A longing.
I give it to Your service.

An eagerness.
A frustration.
A beloved friend.
A ruthless enemy.
I entrust these to You, O Lord.

A warmth.
A zeal.
A chill.
A fear.
A strength.
A wound.
A distress.
A delight.
In it all I will praise You

that they may believe that the Lord
has appeared to you

"A Moving Day Reflection"

(In the last days of
the month of July 2009).

Dust hangs in the air.
Cardboard boxes stacked high
Fill the empty room.

Dingy walls exposed.
Every object touched, examined,
Appraised by light.

Lay aside every encumbrance
The sin which so easily entangles us
Let us run with endurance

Hidden corners now revealed,
Embellished rugs pulled out,
Closets emptied.

The stains and cracks,
Peeling paint, chipped tile,
Illuminated lie bare.

Spider webs and bobby pins,
Popcorn kernels, bottle caps,
Pennies on the floor.

The lost are found,
Forgotten remembered,
Fallen uplifted.

Pilgrims on the earth
Seeking a homeland
A heavenly one

All temporal is shed,
Unburdened and released,
Lightened so to soar.

" *sigh* "

(Doodled on May 13, 2009).

People speak of boredom as a feeling,
Others as a state of being.
"Boredom" is not simply the lack of activity,
But the lack of interesting and engaging activity.
Wasted time. Waiting. Without purpose. Wilting.

I may perch on a grassy lawn perfectly contented,
Counting the blades of Kelly-green grass,
Watching the gentle tendrils sway,
While another may shout, "I'm bored!"

Silent in a dimly lit room,
Surrounded by dusty old volumes,
Seated on a hard wooden chair,
Can be paradise for a few like me.

Yet caged in a sterile desk with nothing to do--
No pending items, no projects,
No training or upcoming events--
Is nearly universally acknowledged to qualify as
Legitimate grounds for boredom.

"Balance Beam"

(Composed February 14, 2009).

A tightrope walker learning to balance,
That perfect equilibrium to establish,
Neither too much to the left or the right,
But lightly stepping in his orange tights,
Careful not to shake the hanging wire
That separates him from the earth below.

A little girl in her blue leotard
Beginning her gymnastics class
Mounts the balance beam,
Then cautiously steps forward.
Unstable, her arms extend,
Attempting to stablize her weight,
As her toes hesitantly reach ahead.

A tickle in the throat, a cough, a sniffle,
Orange juice and vitamins, I swallow
Orange pills in the morning light, blue by night.
The delicate balance of health--to avoid illness,
To maintain some sense of wellness--
I rest, medicate, and attempt to remain lively,
Fighting for health, on the balance beam I flail.

"Hearts Aglow"

(Composed my birthday week
in January of 2009).

Friends gather around a table,
Stories are heard,
Both deeply philosophical
And delightfully absurd.

Tuscan wine makes the rounds
As sparkling laughter abounds
In the candle's flickering light
Like stars shimmering in the night.

Dean Martin serenades
While the creamy sauce marinades
Our tongues with pure delight,
Kindling smiles warm and bright.

Some like a jingle of silver bells
Others, merry horses in a stable,
Uproarious laughter resonates,
Encircling the festive table.

Like the melodious chirping of birds,
A chorus in the sun's brilliant ray,
Cheeping and twittering to one another,
So friends rejoice in this beautiful day.

Or as a lively babbling brook,
Skipping across the chiming stone,
Tinkling as it frolics and plays,
So laughter rings its cheerful tone.

Like a blazing fire on this winter's eve,
Dispelling the darkness and bitter cold,
Golden candlelight and crimson merlot
Warm the soul and sets our hearts aglow.

"Rest"

(Composed November 2008).

Kick off your shoes
And take a seat.
Recline yourself.
Prop up your feet.

Light a candle.
Smell its scent
Fill the room.
Relax content.

Sip your Zinfandel,
Refreshing vine,
Sweet cordial fruit,
Ambrosial wine.

Read Bronte's Jane Eyre
Enchanted by romance.
Play Strauss' Blue Danube
Charmed by the flowing dance.

Close your eyes.
Let the music unwind
Tightly clenched hands
And worried mind.

Rather, whisper a prayer.
Seek quiet repose,
The Peace in our hearts,
And Rest for our souls.

"Autumn"

(Composed over a cup of tea in the
early evening of November 3, 2008).

I love autumn!
The cool, brisk air,
Falling golden leaves,
Fluffy gray clouds,
The occasional afternoon drizzle.

Snuggly cashmere sweaters,
Scarves and gloves of rich jewel tones,
Boots, umbrellas, woolen coats.

Harvest festivals and costume parties,
Football season,
The Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Freshly baked turkey and dressing,
A slice of pecan pie,
Hot apple cider.

Glowing candles,
Pine trees and nativities,
Twinkling Christmas lights.

Autumn is a time of laughter and cheer,
Cuddling together, warming by the fire.
It is the season of thankfulness and annual traditions,
Special time spent with family.

People are more generous this time of year:
Intentionally giving gifts to all they love
And remembering those in need.

The fall is both the ending of a year,
Celebrating its joys and grieving its sorrows,
And it is a new beginning,
A reordering of what truly matters.

Autumn is the time to read a great book,
Catch up with an old friend over a pot of steaming tea.
It is the time to sing carols and jingle bells,
To drop a coin in the kettle,
To rake a widow's leaves,
To warm the heart of a stranger,
To remember the lowly manger.

"Beside the Stream"

(Composed in the quiet afternoon
of October 22, 2008.)

The bubbling brook
Whispering breeze
Chirping birds
Dancing leaves.

Calmly the water flows.
Gentle ripples form
A mosaic of teal and azure
Brushing the tranquil stream.

Sitting in the shade,
I gaze around
Embracing the quiet melody.
The chaos of the city traffic
Hushed by the patter of water 'pon stone.

Time seems to stand still,
Save the natural rhythm of the day.
Just sunlight or moonlight,
Cares simply float away.

The beauty of simplicity
No stress or worries near,
Only quiet moments tucked away
Sweet memories so dear.

"Tossed by the Wind"

(Composed in silent mediation
at Soul Care Day, October 13, 2008).

Tossed by the wind,
Thrown this way and that,
Tumultuous storm at hand,
Fearful am I.
Battered and torn,
Ragged, I feel,
Empty, forlorn.

Stop resisting the wind.
Flutter in the breeze.
Release the bonds of propriety.
Dance in the wind.

You are not lost--
I see you.
I am here even now.
I am the Lord of Creation
at all times, yes, even now.
I am in the breeze.
I am in the wind.
I lead you to my feet.
Do not run away.
Be not dismayed.


See the beauty in the rustling leaves.
Hear the water stream over the rocks.