Shay the Baseball Player

A great story somebody sent me:

What would you do?....you make the choice. Don't look for a punch line, there isn't one. Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question:

'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection.
Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do.
He cannot understand things as other children do.
Where is the natural order of things in my son?'
The audience was stilled by the query.
The father continued.
'I believe that when a child like Shay,who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes
in the way other people treat that child.'

Then he told the following story:
Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked,

'Do you think they'll let me play?'

I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps..

I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said,

'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.'

Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.
In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.
In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.
In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again.
Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?
Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat.

Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.

The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed.
The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay.
As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher. The game would now be over.

The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates.

Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first! Run to first!'
Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base.
He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.
Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!'

Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base.

By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball . the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.

He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head.

Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.
All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay'

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third
base, and shouted, 'Run to third! Shay, run to third!'

As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!'

Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team

'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.

Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

I am freedom when....

I am freedom when I've no nervous sweat, freedom when the little things pass as insignificant.

I am freedom when eating is not psychological, when breathing flows, when the pipes are not clogged.

I am freedom when uninterrupted, when inspiration is seen and mapped out in my mind, when fear is replaced by ideas.

I am freedom when the true Spirit's near, when love is not vegetables and duty, when my horses gallop without fear of cliffs.

I am freedom when I laugh spontaneously, when appearance is not lurking in my foremind, when getting out of bed is rolling over and getting up.

I am freedom when smiles, heart, love, compliments spring out unabashed.

I am freedom when my pulse rings clear, my energy flows continuously and strong, my intentions are not overbearing but cordial and warm.

I am freedom when I see lovable sinners, including the mirror.

I am freedom unconscious, unediting, breathing on paper, bringing the value of wisdom back to my mind and sight. And freedom is living and love.

Some poems I wrote in 1997

1997

The Poem That Wins
March 23, 1997

The poem that wins will always find resolve,
Either in God, Nature, or love;
It works in wild waves to all absolve,
Or sanction-cleanses like an airy, whitened dove.

When I thought these words,
I sat alone in shambled days,
Self-extracted in a park, away from duty-birds;
I did this to achieve an inner gaze.



Dedicatory to Lonesome Words
March 23, 1997

For for me to not write is to not think is to not live,
And then will passion be an extinguished ember;
For words are like gray cobwebs sticking in my brain,
They burrow in the corners and settle there,
So often must I sweep again;

I told you "words," but I mean thoughts,
Or passions, glued to a cranial wall;
To voice them is to clean them,
To purge them frees the hall.

And I am just a worder,
But words mean so much more than scratches ---
They are strokes of emotion, the means to my well-being, and therapy ---
And I love words for they save me from madness,
And I drink them and mix them.

The messy child in the toy room, sitting cross-legged in the corner, and finger-painting on a whited wall ---
His words are merely acrobat escape
From all that houses and throws him;
Words words words ---
A dedicatory to lonesome words.



Grandma VanTussenbroek
May 14, 1997

My grandmother died yesterday, and I am glad
For her sake
She was a good woman
And now she's moved on
She's still alive, you know

Gut-wrenching
Coffin-bearing
Now she's really with Grandpa
Where are your friends when Grandma's gone?



Journey on a Tossed Galleon
June 7, 1997

And wisdom is a journey, often with eyes closed;
And the brain and heart an open conduit to the sunlight inspiration of God,
Inspiration which comes as a bright path of light, down through darkened, gray clouds,
Right over our heads,
Right into our heads, and into our hearts,
As we stand firm on the wooden deck of a tossed galleon,
Faces and shirts drenched by the seaspray,
Hair darkened and matted down against our skulls by the water,
Unaverting eyes riveted upward to the heavens,
To the Fount of all creation
Waiting patiently on His will for our deliverance,
Letting the tempest rage,
For we know the Master is near.



Aikke
June 13, 1997

Aikke!
My soul is broken, bleeding,
And I cannot help but stare,
At the face I'm puzzled reading,
And the love that is not there.

Your soul is frozen solid
To my touch --- you scale away;
'Tis too much, your love is fallen,
From the man who vowed to stay.



A Poem is a Notice
June 16, 1997

A poem is a notice that the Spirit is alive;
A poem is a deliberate, calculated, thoughtful celebration of some aspect of life;
It breathes the inner vision and sees the brain ---
Seize the brain.



What is True Religion? (James 5:14)
June 29, 1997

Loving God: faith, repentance, sacramental covenant of taking the name of Christ upon ourselves, prayer, reading scriptures, temple visits, follow/pray for guidance

Loving Neighbor: visiting sick (mentally and physically), paying tithing, fasting for others, doing favors for others, listening to others, mourning with others, bearing testimony, comforting others, priesthood blessings, visiting fatherless (orphans) and widows in their affliction



The Example That the Son Has Set
July 20, 1997

The example that
The Son has set,
The Son will set no more;
He will rise up
With healing wings,
And buoy us to the shore.

Three times to shore
We come for birth:
The first, to Earth;
And two, for sin;
The third, the waves envelop us,
And pull us from our skin.

But Christ the waves ignored.

Some poems I wrote in 1996

1996

I Am Nothing When I Waver
January 29, 1996

I am nothing when I waver;
I am real when I'm relaxed;
I am strength when I'm relaxed,
For then I can move mountains.

The faith will surge like lava,
The tiny rocks will melt,
The gelatin spine will stiffen hard,
The merciful mind will remember things felt, things learned;
So sleep swaddled and confident ---
Bring your friend to tomorrow's day: Jesus Christ.



There Was a Time (When Love Was Bleeding)
February 10, 1996

There was a time when love was bleeding,
When heart's desires were exceeding;
Now I spend my leisure reading.

There was a time when heart was yearning,
When love's new flame was kindled, burning;
But lessons well learned need little re-learning.

There was a hope that burned my soul,
Today that hope is charred to coal;
I'll sit and have to count the toll,
Perhaps tomorrow re-build the goal.

Here I come.



My Moderation Starts to Melt
February 25, 1996

My moderation starts to melt,
As I flashback to how I felt;
And though with her I've been three times,
My hurried heart reads 'tween the lines,
And hopes for rocks amid the sand,
And thinks to harbor in her land,
To moor with her, and drop my anchor,
Gaze and praise and finally thank her.
So if I breathe my heart out on this sheet,
And pause, in patience, till complete,
Then maybe I'll breathe easy when I'm by her,
And, as balanced, come across for sure;
For to come across as balanced exacts hope ---
The straight and narrow path along the rope
That leads from one to oneness for the fixed
Is crossed by precept-stepping whilst betwixt.
And eye'll lock on with rod of iron, balance pole,
And fix my gaze opposite: tightrope goal.

And I'll hold tight to iron rod,
And (let it snow) I'll think of God,
And untap good borne in my soul,
And leave again the hopeless hole,
And look for love appropriate;
Ignore the scar, bind up the cut.

I cannot float alone....



Now Jesus Was a God
March 1996

Now Jesus was a God, then a Man,
Then and now forever more a God;
And Jesus built the Earth, filled the Plan,
Came through birth, balms with mercy after justice rod;
And Jesus led the way, made the way, is the Way;
Each circumstance to fairly weigh and give repay.



Inhib-Oceans
March 3, 1996

I am tired of the sadness, of the boredom, of the sighs,
Of the lying perpetrated through deceitful, lying eyes.
I am tired being lonely, indirect, and undirected;
I would look you in the eyes but I feel so unprotected;
And I want to gaze at people with a frank and honest look,
And commune with other people, 'stead of shrieking in this book.

I need to answer truthful to the people who stand near,
And tell them of my love (or anger), thus dispel my fear.
At times I'm anxiatic to reveal my true emotion,
It oft is buried 'neath a tide of social inhib-ocean;
My seabed, though, 's a loving man, of tenderness and strength,
Compassionate, opinionated, yet often river-banked.

Conclusion to this writing is to bare my soul despite
All the fears and inhibitions that extinguish my life's flight.



Salvation Is a Soul-Cut Word
March 9, 1996

And salvation is a soul-cut word,
Curing, drying, relaying what's heard,
From God to man, then man to God;
He line-upon-lines us with Godly prod,
Re-aligning, de-maligning, showing, shining,
Unearthing, hoping, re-combining;
We become what He now is
From clay deformed to Master('s)piece---
And I am willing to be pounded, blue, suffocated, too,
For 'cause to bring about some Heaven-good.



Floating Bird
March 10, 1996

And so this girl walked in --- a woman rather ---
She knew my door and how to talk,
To make that social door unlock;
Unannounced and barely bid,
This floating bird flew to my head;
It fluttered there, mussed up me hair,
Crowded all my precious air,
And didn't seem to even care;

But she gave me love.
So, I let her stay.

She nested there atop my head,
And filled my mind with what she said;
I listened, grew, forgot my dread
(So fatalistic) to be dead.

She raised me with her pair of wings,
I couldn't help but leave my things,
And float to her....

(Inspired by a woman, and also the last verse of Sting's "The Lazarus Heart" (from his album Nothing Like the Sun), which makes me think of birds of creativity and hope flapping about my head and refusing to let me fall into despair.)



I Miss You, Kate
March 10, 1996

"I miss you, Kate," was all he said,
"And love you too," beneath his breath.
But this unheard, Kate backed away,
And spun, and ran to weep among the thicket.

(Inspired by Sting's "I Miss You, Kate," an instrumental from his "All This Time" single.)



God Will Conquer Me, With Me Gladly Accepting
March 27, 1996

God will conquer me, with me gladly accepting ---
For only God can mold my clay,
Exalt me on my knees,
And heaven-send me with the keys;

So destroy me, God, if Thou please,
For Thy destruction is instruction,
To help my carnal eyes to see,
And my spirit eyes to seize.



Will the Marriage Hold the Soul?
April 10, 1996

For will the marriage hold the soul,
And will the ex-love lost betray the goal?
And will I find what slithered through my fingers?
The pain of losts and ifs and whys so lingers.

Hear me when I speak ---
Help me when I'm weak ---
Hold me when I shriek ---

For rhythms only last so long,
And caverned souls can echo song;
But why be hollow on this hill?
When hermit-hope aspires love-lot fill.



This Perimeter That I Call My Home
April 10, 1996

Out here in this perimeter that I call my home
(A no-holds-barred unreasoned zone),
Where as a pauper, yet on throne,
I reign within the brain I own;
I will control myself and nothing more,
And let the Holy Ghost control the score;
For, when abandoned, I lose grace,
And, unprepared, will lose the race;

For God sees me, and lets me mindlessly run to learn my lesson ---
Hopefully I'll commit no crime
(Absolutely hold myself for heavenly inclusion).



Let Words of Worth Flow Out of Me
September 22, 1996

Let words of worth flow out of me
Like giant green apples, or nuggets of knowledge;
New apples, ready to be picked



Carving Time
September 25, 1996

Carving time: getting out the pen and rasping it against a hard mind to sharpen it up
The earthworms of existence begin
Pulling out the drawers of thought
Pen-word pen heard across the planet
Age-old mull,
Sit-time breathe-spine lull
(Same old bull?),
Choice thinking
Delicate moments



My Heart Is Pumping
October 21, 1996

My heart is pumping, I feel confused;

Grasping in my brain
To label nameless pain
A melancholy bosom can't explain
Its throb, its grief, its pain ---
Perplexed, yet falling, falling, once again,
A lonesome cloud dispatching rain,
Forming one gigantic, muddy vein,
A downhill, dirtspill, unprosperous strain;
My chest heaves forward like a train,
Mind-bent descent to valley plain;
This can't be love! For it's insane!
It must be elsewhere --- not her --- not here --- somewhere far ---

My heat stops pumping; I feel abused.



The Boy Cries, the Father Comforts
October 21, 1996

The boy cries:
"Why can't I train my heart?
No matter how I practice, eventually apart
My heart is blown like brittle glass, and frozen wind can penetrate
The tender interior of an impulsive soul."

The Father comforts:
"So sleep tonight, my loving child,
You unburdened your bosom and gave it rein;
Now sleep, recuperate, tomorrow rise again,
With healing in your wings;
Your troubles will shed like scales, or a small blanket off a warm shoulder;
Thank God for who you are and what you have and sleep in peace,
Let peace speak to your heart;
You weren't meant to suffer long,
So unburden, live, learn, release
The swellings, or your heart will go infected;
Release and renew through peaceful sleep,
Where you shall rest protected.
Sleep, young loved son."



The World Seems Mostly Dirty
October 22, 1996

Everywhere I turn to, the world seems mostly dirty ---
Parents under eighteen, singles over thirty;
People treading several paths,
Double-minded world en masse ---
A billion salesmen lunge at me, contriving incredulity if I don't indulge in their binge;
All methods of mating and arousing are exposed and debased unscrupulously, thrust on screen, glossy page, catchy lyric, and school bathroom wall;
People running red lights, hit-and-runs, shameless liars, parents disowning children, children disrespecting parents, outrageous fees for simple services, new exercise machines, lose-weight-fast-and-eat-what-you-want diets, get-rich-quick schemes, padlocks and security systems everywhere, every person partitioned in a private apartment, nobody gets to know anybody anymore, men and women lawlessly giving free rein to their loins with not a consideration for consequence, increased swearing, increased disrespect, people cursing God and dying, pseudo-self-esteem, violence of every conceivable medium, flaming sarcasm, loss of God, loss of country, loss of remembrance for the past, loss of identity, loss of responsibility, loss of tradition, loss of family, loss of wisdom, murder, everyone screaming to be heard.... (the list could go on)

And yet....

Please let there be hope anyway. There are still good people out there, and good parents, and God-fearers. I've seen them and met them. Please let there be hope. Please let there be trying.



Better to Burn But Just My Feet
October 31, 1996

What if I want to remember,
Even face, even shoulder,
The troubles that I caused?
(The responsible soul will never be lost,
If you but plead the Mercy clause)

I will walk this bed of penitent coals,
And meet Christ on the other side;
Better to burn but just my feet,
Instead of losing all to heat;

Instead of losing all to heat,
Better to burn but just my feet,
Than find my soul has died
Death with the dead, unrepentant souls.

And these coals are but just a lifetime
--- No more ---

Then I will bathe in Cristo-balm,
All troubles washed away;
This troubled soul will then be calm,
And Satan kept at bay.

So burn me if to purge me,
With Holy Ghost, with fire;
And cleanse me from the inside out,
To bridle my desire.



Amusements
November 4, 1996

God has seen me run away,
I run, then come again;
It's so hard to stay, to hold in patience,
When the world, like a merry-go-round,
With its flashing lights and screaming colors,
Begs me come go for a ride;

Says, "Boy, come go for just one ride!"
And so I leap, forgetting Father, thrusting me from Him;
I catch a pony by the reins,
And ride with bridled passion.

Colors flying, going by,
Vistas on the blurry move;
Father, flitting, catch my eye,
And bid me back unto Thy love.
For this world is merry-go-turning,
Screaming delights that whisk me by;
But soon, too fast, the lights low-burning,
Colors blurring, fading, experiences jading,
Amusement park thrills begin to die,
And I am left with nothing valued;
Money spent, wisdom drained,
Hardly aught but quick-rush gained.
Remembering Father, I turn to Him,
Tears welling in our eyes;
He waited long for my return, patiently, on the side.
He silently takes my hand, and slowly we walk home, in the twilight, Father and son.
The Sun sets on the repentant boy, the day's labors over.



I'm a Man
November 6, 1996

I'm a man;

I'd rather fold it firmly than iron it;
I eat out of cans and bowls and microwaves;
I sometimes don't make my bed;
Yeah, I do burp, but I say "excuse me;"
I lick my knife;
My sleeve is sometimes a Kleenex, or a napkin;
I do not have that hand-washing phobia;
I enjoy a good game on TV occasionally;
I don't claim to understand women completely;
Sometimes I need time in my cave (but I'm not a caveman);
I'm not into crafts or color themes;
I generally prefer comfort over fashion;
I express my frustrations and then get over it;
I like to open the door for ladies, and treat them with respect;
I clean things only when they're dirty;
Yes, I am sensitive, and I do not appreciate when females treat me as if I am uneducated, incompetent, and mannerless;
I hate mind games, especially in romance relationships;
I hate male bashing, and I hate female bashing;
I don't own a gun;
I like to stay physically fit and am attracted to women who do the same;
If I don't like it or don't agree with it, I'll say so;
I don't like to falsify my concern or emotions;
I love to laugh (long and loud and clear);
If I say "I don't want to talk about it," it means I don't want to talk about it;
I don't want you to change me;
I'm stable, honest, and romantic;
I sometimes leave the lid up.

I'm a man.



The Great and Terrible Coming of Jesus Christ
November 9, 1996

I sat on a rock, and waited for the heavens to part.

Then Christ came down, or Lightning,
Angels screaming, white horses pumping,
The veil rent as well as many hearts;
His semblance shown, a waxen ball of shining glory;
The Man behind the cloud was God,
And all eyes now looked up to Him.
Flight was useless, time expired, all knees bent, my tongue confessed,
My heart throbbed wildly, my sin melted away, I yearned for his embrace ---

He was dressed like a King;
And all I could do was stare and weep, grateful for the Inspiration;
All petty and trivial desires shriveled up;
There was only one desire now: to be worthy of the Lamb!



When I Envision God
November 14, 1996

I close my eyes and think of God,
And envision a loving, white beard;
Stability, calmness, bridled power, wisdom,
Comprehension to the core of the earth;
Discipline, justice, eternal laws to obey,
Dwelling in a kingdom-sphere, transcending our decaying laws,
Able to wholly comprehend, Universe Traveler end to end,
Power, light, space, no time, communication with the elements,
Mind connected and fully employed.

Some poems I wrote in 1995

1995

Spirit is Energy
February 9, 1995

Spirit is energy, a flowing energy;
Happiness is positive spirit energy, flowing;
Negativity / Anger is contra-flowing energy, perhaps deteriorating.
We get things to flow correctly by getting in touch with the flow of positive spirit energy;
This is done by submitting to the flow (humility), making a riverbed for it to flow through (faith);
The Spirit will come to you and flow through you if you prepare for Him, allow Him, desire Him.

It's a rhythm; a river (of energy).



A Love Hid From View
August 19, 1995

She could be alone (I know I am),
She could be hid from view:
A fish below my very boat,
A mermaid waiting for my dive,
A queen bee droning for my hive,
A victim of love about to survive,
A gashed wound begging for the surgeon's knife ---
(An unsuspecting girl to wife?)



Another Rambling on God and Woman
August 31, 1995

You pray to God and try to flow to Him,
You pray to hit but you barely skim,
And swim in diversions as if it weren't sin;
You hardly know you when you haven't slept well,
And your eyes do the swelling though your heart should swell;
And she's so far away when you need her the most,
To assuage your gaps and comfort your ghost;
And the heat of the night sends a message of drowse,
That drags down the heart and hoists up the brows
To heaven (or woman?)
To bind up one's chest,
Till man, unabandoned, perceives how he's blest.

God, woman, man together
Brother, sister face the weather



Heaven's Falls
December 23, 1995

And I know that I'm alone,
And I know that I've no home,
And I suppose I can abuse
By freely roaming where I want to roam.
For there's no one here but me,
No inspiration without caverned chastity;
And thoughts impure are only withering smoke surrounding the vine,
While Revelation's circumference divides on Earth divine the time.

And Heaven's falls are not that far away
For he who takes the dive,
With eyes sealed shut,
And arms outstretched ---
Night-die-ving
From one Eden --- through Hell --- to next Eden.

Begin again.

The time spent praying rewards us with a sharpened conscience, and a delivery unforeseen
True reality is Heaven
True reality clarifies.



My Heart is Packed in Cotton
December 23, 1995

My heart is packed in cotton, within a muffled box,
My time for emergence is I-know-not-when;
My time for hibernation seems to come again, again.
I need my building time again,
I crave for time alone;

And poems are only bits of life.

But I must be content to write the Forms,
And only yearn for long Ideals;
And hold the mast in bitter storms,
And thank God fervently for my meals.

Some poems I wrote in 1994

1994

When Then
February 20, 1994

When the Heavenly God whispers to my soul,
When the human influences dissipate,
When my inner strength returns to the water's surface,
When surrounding colleagues cease to give me numb advice,
When I can face the truth with an uncovered face,
When backbitings die,
When enticings lose their edge,
When iniquity is not an option,
When my options and possibilities are maximized,
Then....
I will rise up



A Host of Flitting Images
March 13, 1994

A parent in a distant land
An unrecognized classic
An invisible, comforting, warm hand
A fair maiden
A jug of chocolate
A hardened stomach overfilled
A diet of nature's berries and seeds
A guided image in a lonely room
A sweeping dusk, so beautiful
An art not making sense
A sense of direction in my past
An aliveness rarely felt
A smile, a gel, a pasted-on look
A favor for a lover-friend
A myriad of delightful colors
A poorly defined instruction
A song of inspiration
A death, an image, a watery grave
A friend you wish you could help
A union betwixt colleagues and comrades
A judgment from an unclear distance
A tyrant
A crooked-toothed man with purpose
A sensual experience
A roomful of sweat
A treacherous, beckoning smile
A man who once knew me
A solitary conclusion
An effortless composition or construction
A dynamic steeplefold
A reverent bow-down and submission....
Somewhere in a field.



Ramblings Upon Falling Asleep
March 19, 1994

And when I drift into this sleep,
My day's clothes jumbled in a heap,
My head into the pillow seeps;
And when my mind has cleared the day,
Expulsed, exposed from mortal clay;
And when this heart runs even keel,
And when this soul continually prays,
And when I show love without fear,
She'll come to me. And I'll be here.



Leaving Her Behind
April 23, 1994

Deep down he knew (or felt) what he needed to do ---
--- But it was so incredibly hard ---
When he severed the ties, he was able to drift,
Almost mysteriously right into the arms of God's will;
When he severed the ties he was in the dark;
When he severed the ties he made the leap of faith;
When he severed the ties he momentarily fell,
Like a rock through a spider web,
Directly into the waiting palms of an anxious God ---
He was so happy to have leapt ---
It was more than worth it ---
--- A surgery rendering great blessings ---
This was a time of rejoicing, of true loving.

He then moved on
Eyes shut
Arms outstretched blindly before him
Guided by Breath, Feeling, Heart.
Incredible.



The Single Mother
April 24, 1994

It breaks my heart to watch the single mother;
No decent man around, so she settles for whatever's there (a shadow of a man),
And this shadowman either beats her, bleeds her of her resources, or verbally destroys her.
So she moves on, alone,
Not knowing who she can trust
Not knowing a good thing when she has it,
Wasting her assets,
Living without thinking (because thinking hurts, thinking reveals an anguishing reality);

--- I wish I could encompass and protect them all ---

And our children
Are growing up without fathers.



Love is Murky
April 24, 1994

Love is murky
A massive vast wall
A deep indigo pit
A corner
An invisibility.

But we crave for it
Feel along the wall for it
Dive into it
Head for it ---

Scoping
Groping
Hoping
(Eloping?)



No Title
April 24, 1994

A pile of my possessions falls, suddenly, as if by accident, off my bookshelf;
In a split second, without any forethought or planning, the possessions instantly arrange into a still pile on the floor.
Transformed from one state to another, instantly.

My life is comparable to that.

Sudden changes or feelings, no pre-planning, landing into unforeseen shapes instantly, settling so quickly,
And I must react to the new change.
Sometimes I embrace the change, sometimes I just grit my teeth and pick up the pieces.
It all happens so quickly. Sometimes I don't have time to think. And sometimes there's no going back.



Innocence
May 12, 1994

A small child named Innocence was backed into an unlit corner and made to stay.



Words That Stick
May 12, 1994

Words that stick
Like butter on spoons
Smearing into and out of your unconscious



A Battered Man Who Seeks a Fight
May 16, 1994

A battered man who seeks a fight
Readily backs into a corner:
Bring on the challenge;
This has been his only life.

He will speak with swings and jabs,
He'll drink with one hand,
Punch with the other;
Blood smeared down his face and shirt,
Muscles tight and pulled and strained.

Nobody ever bothered to ask him
Why he grew this way,
Nobody ever seemed to care;

Getting socked 'side the head by Dad everyday took its toll ---
Now he'll take the his turn giving the socks;
And the cycle will continue until they all die off --- or embrace Christ.

No song, no possession, no victory, no amount of beer or whiskey
Will ever fill the hole ---
Until he stops;
And hears his soul.

(Written about a friend of a friend. The fellow described here is from rural Utah, and embodies the typical country boy. He is the "shadowman" referred to on April 24, 1994.)



Sensitivity vs. Numbness
May 25, 1994

So much of today's world offers us the means to deaden our sensitivities --- that is, to numb us. I believe Satan is behind this. He has in a sense opened up all of the floodgates in society. We are exposed to an overdose of television, music, violence, sex, movies, newspapers, magazines, murders, fads, styles, advertisements, words, information, data, stimuli, etc., that our hearts and minds have become inundated. There is an excess, an influx, an overdose of information --- too much for us to see, hear, feel, taste, touch, read, ingest, smell, process... so we end up shutting out and ignoring, in an effort to preserve insanity. At this point we start to become numb.

When we are thus overstimulated, our sensitivity diminishes. Unlike Samuel the Lamanite, who prophesied what the Lord made him feel in his heart (Helaman 13:3-5), we easily fall out of contact with the still, small voice of God. His whisperings are so hard to hear or perceive when everything else is penetrating our sensors, screaming for attention.

If our sensitivities have eroded, then anything looks acceptable. The ability to distinguish between good and evil will become fuzzy and indiscernible. In our distorted eyes there won't be any perceivable evil or good, just neutral existence which is meaningless (2 Nephi 2:11, the last clause of the verse).

I move that we heighten our sensitivity; that we eliminate the constant barrage of distracters; that we give a little bit of room, silence, space, and meditation for our God to work within us.



The Governing Heart
June 12, 1994

Not the actions,
But the heart;
If the heart is in its place
The actions will consequently follow.

The heart as a compass;
The heart as the hand in the puppet;
True motives inevitably yield true actions.

A few basic principles to govern my lifestyle;
See God in all things;
Fight for your spiritual rights;
Am I not happy when anxiously involved in a good cause?



The Sacramental Bread is Here
July 17, 1994

The sacramental bread is here,
To show us Death won't last;
Soon the water will appear,
To reconcile our bloody past.

And Jesus the Anointed,
Whose Expiatory treasure,
Restores to all disjointed
Unsurfeiting eternal pleasure.

Give out thy alms as freely
As the sins you guard inside;
Then Christ's body, sold completely,
Refunds life to those who've died.



A Brief Glimpse of a Wedding Reception
August 18, 1994

So bring us rice and rose petals,
And capes to trod upon;
Bring us harps and dried bound nettles,
And slush punch on a lawn.



Leave My Life
August 18, 1994

Leave my life, vacate my heart,
Before it's stretched in two;
You torment me as if an art,
Yet claim you wit not what you do.

Just one more straw and I'll collapse,
My back is bent and breaking;
I've drained my reserve and, perhaps,
If you leave, I'll stop aching.



Let Words Come Out Like Raw Clay
August 20, 1994

Let words come out like raw clay;
Mold them, rub them, till what they say
Is what you mean,
Tells where you've been,
Depicts your scene,
Makes you clean.

And when those words have found their mark,
And when your prayers are made with faith,
And when your hungers are appropriately channeled ---
Your waters will run pure,
And you will be sure,
And you will have your cure.

No music now will drown these thoughts,
No food will serve to plug these clots,
No intra-peace-through-venous shots.



From Sense to Sensation to Sense
August 23, 1994

People, especially poets, need to make sense of things, to be the midwives of meaning. Don't confuse us with complex structures, or couched meanings, or glitzy, decorated facades which cover or misrepresent truth.
Make sense;
Be plain;
Seek to enlighten, not impress.

But my mind darts and dodges,
(There's so much in front of my face ---
To see, hear, digest, taste, consume, ingest)
The colors and sounds and flavors are almost too much, when suddenly, subtly...

I've arrived into a silent night.

There's no complaining in the silent night,
No one trying to sell me anything (incredibly, even salesmen sleep),
No one or thing crying for my time or attention (no one to say "no" to);
Only rhythmic crickets, my summer colleagues.



Go Without and See What Comes
August 23, 1994

Go without music
Go without TV
See how your thoughts will blossom
See how inspiration seeps in

Go without
And see what comes

We blow our minds on influx
We glut our brains on stimuli
Everything is flitting images
Too many choices
They all flutter by at break-neck computer speed

This is the selfish epoch
Swollen in consumption
This is America (?).



Revelation's Hill
September 11, 1994

Pray continually for Guidance
And then won't wisdom and God's will
Flow down from Revelation's hill?

Two streamlets join to make a rill,
And, gaining speed, they dash to fill
The body at the bottom,
The soul not God-forgotten,
Drenched in dews from God's deep well,
A Resource you cannot dispel,
And rinse the mortal, purge the hell.

Then make us rise from dry lake bed,
A resurrection from the dead,
A blessing given on the head
Of lakes that are receiving,
Of lakes that o'ercome grieving,
Of lakes steeped in believing.



Roles of a Teacher
November 6, 1994

The multiple roles of a teacher in this age include: teacher, friend, baby-sitter, psychologist, career guidance counselor, entertainer, stand-up comedian, parental figure, slave driver, coach, example, role model, values instructor, enemy, disciplinarian, facilitator, guide, paramedic, bodyguard, warden.

Some poems I wrote in 1993

1993

Some Kind Girl, So Insistent
June 11, 1993

Some kind girl, so insistent ---
Her wide brown eyes a polygraph ---
Her words few, but well chosen at the empty restaurant ---
Her ears draw from me a string, a river of anguishes.

So I told her, to her eyes and to her ears
--- I needed to tell somebody ---
And she listened well.

(A dear friend, Kim Bartlett, went to dinner with me on this evening, and through our conversation helped me to begin healing from an emotionally draining relationship.)



Be Vague
June 11, 1993

Brush stroke one particular feeling
A thousand times with words
And maybe you'll catch it

Be vague

Be vague
And people will love it
Give them a thousand different bricks, or words
Tell them to build what they want
Be vague

Lovers will understand
Anyway



Girls Come and Go
June 22, 1993

Girls come and go
They smile, leave a glow,
And glide on through the door.

Girls they come, and play with words,
Saying and doing things I've always feared
(Their emotional make-up allows them to do that)
And I pause before them ---
Sitting there;
Sit there;
Glazed.

I've rehearsed a thousand times the scenario (of love)
With mentally ideal results;
But the plane
Knifes through the clouds
Speeding downward
Towards destruction



Here I Sit
July 19, 1993

Here I sit, or lay, alone,
Within this basement home;
Only words to comfort, or to travel,
To this bound heart unravel.



The Man in the Distance
July 25 to 26, 1993

The Man in the distance signals to me:
It's Jesus Christ.
With one hand He beckons,
With the other He waves me to take it slowly, surely, in appropriate moderation;
To see His face and live may take a lifetime.

So live ---
the zeal of LeGrand Richards
the thoroughness of Neal Maxwell
the love of Gordon B. Hinckley



Nephi
August 8, 1993

A golden ball absorbed your faith,
God made raw meat taste sweet;
Your brothers bound you, smote your face,
But shipwreck-threatened did retreat.



Christ's Word
August 8, 1993

Christ's word:
A sword, a globe, an iron rod, a rope we gather in,
Whose tied-end product is a fruit,
Whose whiteness cleanses sin.
Christ is the Word;
Christ is His word.



Encounter on a Lonely Beach
August 15, 1993

When the ship of survival leans to me, and catches me silently curled up on a dark shore, weeping, I strive to muffle my pain and shoulder my faith once more. I begin walking along the shore again, this time trying with a renewed concentration to maintain a rhythmic gait.

I am left alone on an abandoned shore, far from understanding ears and people willing to weep with me...

In the distance I vaguely see a hazesome figure walking,... I can't tell if she's coming or going.... she's coming. Along the distant sandy shoreline. Night is falling, and the shadows of illusion play games with my eyes. Suddenly she is in front of me.

"I am woman," she says.
I pause. "I am man."
We stand there looking at each other.
We found each other on this lonely beach.



Stupored in Transition
August 21, 1993

It's just that ---
In my heart of hearts ---
I'm stupored in transition ---
Shattered into shards ---
Isled in derision ---
Beached, abandoned, compassless,
Trying to enter rest ---
No routine to secure my days,
No clear skies in this soul-lost haze,
No clue to flee my mental maze;
If patient I'll be blessed.



Pearl
August 21, 1993

Pacing the shore for a certain grain
Of sand to make this pearl ---
Why did I take this pain?
My jewel won't be made from a girl(!);
She can't do such thing to this boy,
The answer's already within;
Pearls of self-virtue give me joy
Pearls from others only cover my sin.
Pearls may appease,
But world-pearls don't give peace.



Thoughts Too Deep for Words
October 3 or 4, 1993

Thoughts
Too deep for words
Complexities
In life
Too knotted to ever undo
But we try
And we slave
And music envelops us
And sanity is neatly wrapped in a blanket of poetry
And unconscious music is in the head
And words float
And some people don't see that I so often revert to this medium (writing) for soul-searching salvation
And that I mean no harm
Nor have any apostate intentions
And so it goes



Living in Waves
December 24, 1993

Living in waves; that is,
Sometimes writing poetry, but not always.
Some days very physical,
Other days very mental, or spiritual ---
In other words, not always doing the same things each day.



To a World That Has Essentially Forgotten Christ
December 24, 1993

For a world that has essentially forgotten God and Christ:
We still celebrate Christmas yearly,
We still calculate the year from His birth,
Many still remember Him in their cursings, or desperations.

Some poems I wrote in 1992

1992

My Mind Wanders With Direction
February 25, 1992

I am freer than the darkest night,... when I bleed with pen;
For somehow my mind detaches from the shore, floats to a solitudinal island, and strikes anchor.

My mind wanders with direction,
Errantly, yet in cause;
The wonder of a supplication,
Married to a pause,
Holds solid homes in tempest-weather,
Sweeps lead-brick burdens with a feather,
Keeps sanity and itself together,
Till they are one --- in peace (and only peace),
Never to be wrenched apart,
Or suffer esteem disease;
And when a blow comes to the heart,
It's overcome in natural ease.



Live to Mull and Weave
March 18, 1992

Mull and weave; mull your own words, then re-weave them into new ones; new combinations, new orders. With one grain I build out, adding variations, until filling the shore.

Live to weave;
Malleable words,
They fit my grip;
With these clay words
I build clay worlds
Or a tabernacle;
Tub, urn, ache;
To burn ash;
Two burnished swords in my hand:
Wit is the one, the pen is my brand,
Fashioned ashore a beach of sand;
The words slip through my fingers,
Not even one grain lingers.
Words are like that.



Eis o Poema
May 17, 1992

Eis o poema
Que nos estica, estendendo-nos como uma teia entre dois pontos extremos.
O poema efectivo faz com que saiamos do abrigo emocional e enfrentemos o que antes era impensável.
O poema deseja-nos moldar;
O poema quer ser a nossa escritura pessoal;
O poema é o bordão mágico do poeta,
Sendo-lhe um meio de auto-declaração.
O poema é personalidade em papel,
Coração palpitando na fina madeira.

(Behold the poem
That stretches us, extending us like a web between two extremes.
The effective poem gets us to leave the emotional shelter and confront what was once unthinkable.
The poem seeks to mold us;
The poem wants to be our personal scripture;
The poem is the poet’s magic staff,
Being a means of self-declaration;
The poem is personality on paper,
The beating heart on thin wood.)



The Spirit (Im)Pulse
September 5, 1992

I quietly ask myself in anything that concerns me, “Which?” or “What way?” and my spirit (im) pulse helps me see the good choice. Often the choice has supposed unappealing consequences, at least temporally (temporarily); but I don’t care as much, because I followed my Heart’s pulse, and I rest assured that things will eventually result in good. And they do.
I’m constantly experimenting with this, or have been for the past week or more, and the results have been very good.

It all seems to work when I honestly, truly detach myself from the numerous influences and temptations and selfish desires telling me what to do. When I am completely, wholly honest with myself to the point that I know when I’m exercising God’s will over mine in my life, then I am sufficiently sensitive to be guided.

A key in being guided by God is to stop and listen to your mind in all seriousness. Listen to your mind! Turn off the music, stop talking, stop planning, stop reading, stop exercising,… stop everything and think in quietness.



A Death Confronts a Living Person
September 26, 1992

A death confronts a living person, by surprise, and forces all other base preoccupations to dissolve as mist. Every line points inward, every element, every particle of the soul, centers; true focus descends.

True issues arise:
"God help us!"
"I must cleanse my soul!"
"I love my family!"
"My loved one is dead but shall embody again someday."

All masks are removed around a death, and we see each other and our own selves as we truly are; no façades or concealing can exist; we see truths everywhere and in everything for a brief moment.

No make-up, or concerns about appearances
No machismo
No bickering or social gossip
No social manners
No acting
No money worries
No obligations or appointments too important to break



This My Brain
October 23, 1992

This my brain, some sort of sort of sort of train,
Making way through hill and plain,
With energy I can't explain ---
Bursting bursting bursting on the scene,
From foliage thick to meadow green,
With no one thought to solely preen;
My thoughts are not sure what they mean,
But wordsthoughtsfeelings all explode,
Whenever they can't hide;
At times I can't refute this mode,
For doing such I'd be denied.



This Soul It Loves
Late 1992

This body's soul white as shewbread ---
Refutes the baking Son ---
My carapace a browning crust:
Sepulchre less sin.

Once dead, now leavened,
From chamber home leavening oven,
I made to rise a vow ---
Sacramental Jesus given
E'en to unacknowledging Jew.

Some poems I wrote in 1991

1991

Di vorce
January 1991

Cold bodies
Frigid air.
Separa tions.
Shoulder | blade | discussions.
Mute and deaf inquiries.
Stiff spines,
And lost causes.
Anguish, and shrieking, howling loneliness.



Whoever She Is I'll Know
January 1, 1991

Whoever she is I'll know I'll know I'll know
Whenever together we'll flow we'll flow
Wherever she wants we'll go



Creative Crumbs
January 2, 1991

Creative crumbs
Stick to my mouth
Like crags among a cliff:
I lick my lips....



Why Did You Lead Me on So Long?
January 2, 1991

Why did you lead me on so long...?
Why, now I feel a fool!
For love I labored, and now it's gone,
And gone's my lover too.

So now I have to shoulder life,
Once more upon my own;
No shelter as I carry strife,
No confidence (confidantes?), no home.

I'll rest my weary head
Alone on this big empty bed



I Must Let Flow
January 5, 1991

I must let flow; I must let go;
I must walk sure; I must think pure.



A Good Way to Write Poetry
January 8, 1991

A good way to write poetry is to ask yourself questions that fix your mind; then, in succession, attempt to answer those questions as thoroughly and clearly as possible. A self-scripture, where the answers already wait, buried deep in your heart. Tap those answers.



So Many Ideas
January 11, 1991

So many ideas
Wash up on the shore;
So many ideas
Grow from one small spore;
So many ideas
Pummel my skull (walls) and burst forth a path;
So many ideas
Brainstorm in filth, demand Editor's bath.



(Educational) Slaughter
January 17, 1991

The bell rings.
All animals leave their pens,
All animals enter the chutes,
And are channeled
To their next destination.
At each pen they are fed;
Fattened;
Bloated;
Then hurriedly taken to market.
Willingly, they lay their limbs on the slab;
Willingly, the butcher starts to stab.
The animals willingly submitted themselves to their own killing.
Such fine animals;
But with animal minds.



Why Then You Turned to Stone
January 22, 1991

If we, together, reconciled
Why then you turned to stone,
I'd soon begin to heal.
But unexplained, and love defiled,
And lovelogic unshown,
My vacancy is real.



Not Lost in Thought
January 24, 1991

Not lost in thought, but found;
For in deep thought solutions abound.



A Flood of Information
January 31, 1991

A flood of information
Pours out and on the floor;
A dam of inspiration
Has broke and drowns the shore;
It uproots all and rumbles forth,
To overcome my life ---
Renovating thoughts decayed;
Cauterizing ends once frayed;
Subsidizing sins unpaid.

The anarchy of strife
Brings calmness of another sort.



Many Times I've Loved
February 17, 1991

The first time that I dared to love, my face was all too pink;
I rinsed away sunshine in bliss,
(And now I shrink to picture this)
Imbibed your liquid love by moistened kiss.
But mildewy memories
Leave their rancid odors in my mind.

The second time I loved, my face was sort of flushed;
I cultivated room for growth,
But soon the rose was crushed.

The third time that I looked at love
It glimmered in the night;
Though distanced by a sky above,
We shared the stars by sight.

A thousand times I've loved (or more),
But rarely ever true;
For love's a glove, it hardly stays,
It only warms a while;
And when love's bored,
Without a word,
Removes itself and strays.

From now on out, no love seems new,
I'm wary when I think;
No matter what I pray or (think or) do
I fear my earthquaked love will sink:
Sink into infinity,
And meet oblivion;
And prove my love a vanity,
Or thwarted dominion.



Face in the Mirror
March 1991

Merely a mirror, the mirror so queer,
Reflections of the now;
Within the mirror a me appears,
Or so me likes to think;
Reflection-glass, of scars from past,
Tears drip in the sink.
Tear smears on mirror,
Reflections run,
Drip down upon the sink ---
Pitter-patter, drip-drip, shave-nick!
Mirror image, mere mirror
Left-right, there-here,
Reflecting in the mirror;
Sink, hair, blood, drip drip drip;
I'm back again: I cut my lip!



A Woman, This Man, Another Man
March 10, 1991

There was a woman,
She cried so hard,
But I loved her anyway.

There was this man,
He tried so hard,
Brought his bread home everyday,
Believed in love,
Recognized his God above (even though he never saw Him),
Had peace in his heart (and God recognized him because he did his part),
And a chain of Hope about his waist;
And in his soul temptation saw no place.

There was another man,
And far away he lived;
His heart was hardened tar,
His veins crisp and brittle;
He lived in a shell which he built himself.
His confidence was wax;
Vain, and pristine.


O Renascimento
March 21, 1991

I gently embrace a castle wall,
A battlement brick crumbles in my hand;
My eyes gaze a sigh over the quiet vale,
But my heart pines within for epochs past;
I shall see this old world no more.

Alone;
I leave the turret,
Descent of millennial stepstones,
Smooth and worn from time beneath my leather sole.
I spiral along endlessly, slithering, descending, undetected, palpating 'round ancient walls of graven rune: maybe scripture, maybe history, maybe stories of fallen people; blague details.

An earthen chamber awaits me,
Welcomes my weary clay;
My hand is dust, and I recline back slowly into my casket,
Heavy arms crossed over my hollow breast,
Head of brittle hair; body laid to rest.
The years of experience weigh me down into the ground, leaving me with wisdom and scars.
Motionlessly I slumber.
A thousand years or maybe more, until...

The silver trumpet sounds;
A whirlwind force pounds my heart again;
The Earth rumbles;
Tempests rage an upheaval of the elements, in the vengeance of recompense;
A brilliant Light emerges in the heavens;
A thousand tombs around me rise to attention;
A thousand tombs,
Mother Earth's new wombs,
Surrender bodies to the sky.
I too awake in the commotion,
Clothe myself immortally, and
Ascend to meet Adonai.

(“O Renascimento” is Portuguese for “rebirth”. “Adonai” is Hebrew for “My Lord.”)



One Thought
March 25, 1991

One Thought
Begins to grow,
It broke the earth that held it low;

Some sought
A way to make
The seed be sown for humans' sake.

I brought
To life my seed
And watered it daily by deed;

God fought
To help each one
Develop under His warm Sun.

(Christ, missionaries, me, Heavenly Father.)



If the Gratitude We Once Possessed
April 2, 1991

If the gratitude we once possessed
Weren't thrust out in the wind,
And

If every sick, in faith, were blessed
(An outward state of those who've sinned),
And

If God, hands down, received receipt
Of our grateful recognition,

Would a miracle be such a feat
By the Omnipotent Physician?



Thought on Poetry
April 13, 1991

You can't just write poetry, you must embody emotion, channel your passions through to acceptable means (paper), and sleep for long draughts of blissful, rejuvenating time. You must daily struggle to cross the bridge between you and God. You must be somewhat intemperate, moody, and harness / harbor great emotional fervor, great faith. You must be able to speak through your heart to the masses.

Life must be a fight where you are happy.

You must be full of great draughts of passion; frenzies of ideas followed by eye-of-the-storm calm organization, followed by more frenzies, then more organization, and so forth. So help me to die, I'll never stop writing.

You must love; you must communicate. You must improvise.

So
So what
So sleep.



On Rising to an Occasion
April 20, 1991

Let us not rise to an occasion; instead, let us be consistently and progressively prepared for that occasion.



The World Makes No Sense
April 28, 1991

The world makes no sense
God makes pure sense
He is the wise Father
We are blind babies
And He knows us intimately
And He knows what I need, and you.



In a World of Disorganization
May 11, 1991

In a world of disorganization, let us watch with care
That which seeps in under our hair.
To rise up and out of the slop, the filth, the brine:
Clean as a newborn baby, as mother's milk, as running waters that gather no grime.
I do not worry when my hidden burdens are sent to God.



Rhythms, Rivers
May 19, 1991

Rhythms
Rivers
Flowing, soaking, continuous, pounding, saturating.
Let the poem write itself.
Let the river, which flows inside of you, flow out of you.
Let the rhythm be released; show rivers.



What Are Words
May 29, 1991

What are words but mere dancers,
Darting on my cerebral stage,
With accuracy, agility prescribed.
Not for those of age,
But those of stride.



Explode Your Heart on Wood
May 29, 1991

Explode your heart on wood,
Or parchment deed,
And let your ink
Be what you think;
Your soul be what you bleed.
Bleed inky soul on paper,
Bleed blood of ink,
Bleed words,
Bleed emotion;
Get it out by getting in,
Through to people
Through their veins.



I Was Blessed With a Wielding Tongue
May 30, 1991

I was blessed with a wielding tongue
And forkéd mind,
And desire to beat double time.
I make the rounds of life so quick,
Electrifying magnets till they stick,
Finding hope in unthinkable holes,
And embracing my religion for this ride called life,
A trip worth the taking,
Quite valuable in making,
A vault over hot coals.
A garden awaits us after the strife.



I've a Stone Deep Within My Bosom
May 31, 1991

I've a stone deep
Within my bosom;
Impermeable granite,
The roughest on this planet,
Polished without, enough to see reflection;
Jelly within, the sweetest in confection.

Sugar stone, caked dry mud,
Scabs upon bone conceal my blood;
Spirit-flowing through my core,
Emotions gleaned, the rest ignore;
If a heart not imparted, then what for?



Christ's Resurrecting Force
June 2, 1991

Christ's resurrecting force
Is like the power of a horse;
Unbroken steed, yet broken bands,
No power of hell, no demon hands
Could throw His will off course.



Treasure Guard
June 23, 1991

In Evenstorm, six miles from here,
Midst preparation, I grabbed my gear,
And headed for the mountains.
Six miles more I tread alone,
Up pathways marked by stone,
Past forest springs and fountains.
Ancient pillars led the way,
Stone pillars, white, smooth in decay,
To where the cavern in the heart was dug
To where I met Sir Kindenstrug.
With spear embraced he held the gate,
And had done so for centuries --- eight.
His beard hung down around his armor,
And age was in his eyes,
And, like the phoenix, his time-bound fervor
Burned to escape through ashen skies.
In clothes of war he held the cave,
His youth preserved by potion;
Eight hundred years he held the treasure safe
In medieval-knight devotion.
But now the time had come, we knew,
To change the treasure guard;
And that is what I'd been called to:
Replacement for this Bard.



Sky Destiny
Approximately July 1991

The young man in a windowless room; mirrors on the ceiling, on the walls, on the door, on the floor; eternity in every direction, endless duplicated images of his here and now, the room expanded out into forever.

This mad boy wearily arose from off his bed, where he had lain, staring at the ceiling for hours --- and went to the door. Opening it, he stepped one foot out onto a spongy cloud. Hesitation. Then he pulled the other leg onto the cloud, as if to test its buoyancy, which securely supported him. Looking back into the empty mirrored room, his eyes scanned its contents one last time. Out in the clouds an eagle screamed. He felt the moment of life within. In his heart he felt that he would never enter that room again. At his front hung the real eternities. A city in the sky that he would build filled his mind. He looked at the barren, padded clouds, and leapt.



The One Who Bled
July 28, 1991

Then the One who bled,
The One who said,
"Let this burden be erased from off my head,"
Was then made dead.
But up He soared with healing in His wings,
And showed us what at-one-ment brings.



Eyes-Closed Writing
August 19, 1991

A pen for a walking stick
Writing through to the light
If more people wrote with their eyes closed
If we just tapped into the flowing instead of the interruptions (self-editor!),
We could be guided



Drinking Escape
August 19, 1991

Many times the young boy arrived home late, tipsily drunk,
Stumbling quietly into his room;
He locks the door and surrenders to his bed
The liquid stench of alcohol
This fleeting drunken pastime
This desire to be alive elsewhere
It controls him and he's not himself
Hates his home
Hates his parents, they don't even know
Hates the future like a low-ceilinged room.
Looking through the bottle as if it were a telescope,
He sees a future he's designed;
It's in his mind ---
Or in the wine?



The God Within as Physician
November 8, 1991

The God within you sees without,
Through soul windows of stained glass.
Dimly glimpsed, except through reflection,
He knows the panes to remedy (correction),
And where they tend to shatter.
What appears broken on the outside is fixed within;
He must carry "Doctor" as His title,
And we, Patience.



The Less I Think
December 13, 1991

The less I think
The more I drink
Sweet thoughts to liquid words;
My quiet side,
When not denied,
Will perch like untamed birds.



Ó Meu Amor, Divino e do Céu
December 14, 1991

Ó meu amor, divino e do céu!
Quando nasceste sabia sim que sempre eras meu.
Deste-me confiança, deste-me sã razão,
Ensinaste-me depender da minha oração.

(Oh my love, divine and from Heaven!
When you were born knew for sure that you were always mine.
You gave me confidence, you gave me sound thinking,
You taught me how to depend on prayer.)



The Sweet Beauty of Soft Reason
December 16, 1991

The sweet beauty of soft reason
Has set my love a’ tapping,
Denouncing stifled love as treason,
And wild love as trapping;

The same soft reason indicated
That love alone's not love,
But a one-oared ship, navigated
Uselessly in an exitless cove.

O give me inspiration, empty heart!
Let me draw from vacant bowels!
Stay the wicked barrel that at my temple scowls
And vows to see potential vows apart.

My heart, if I'm not careful,
Will soon swoon with a twitch
At the first to cede an eyeful
To this core veneered in pitch;

But, happily, deep within the core,
Beneath the pitch veneer,
A wise, tender Sage of yore
Awaits a perfect match to appear.

So I will wait,
And imagine,
And deem my Fate
A fashion.

Some poems I wrote in 1990

1990

Animal
January 1990

I want to be animal; to survive without dependence on the unnecessary.
Live in a jungle, eat from the trees,
And do without electricity.

I would be my first resource,
To live where survival was the natural course;
No grades, no bills, no planned deadlines,
No social ladders for me to climb.

Return to life essentials crude:
Water, shelter, cloth, food.
No temptations, no concerns:
That is where my deep heart yearns.



Fast-Paced Life
January 14, 1990

The weights of a fast-paced life surround me,
School, work, religion nearly drown me;
Responsibilities, errands, social cups to fill,
Impatience, angled motives, hollow goals to fulfill.

We flail in place and our progression is but holographic
When our goal is but to beat the traffic.
Fast paces, needless worry,
I watch the mindless citizens scurry.



A Moving Thought Inside My Brain
January 18, 1990

A moving thought inside my brain
Races and plummets like drops of rain;
It soaks my instinct, affects my cool,
And moistens dried ideas from a droughted pool.
No longer is this parchment paper,
But fluid means to your own skyscraper,
Or unknown planet, or blue universe ----
You're your own god for better or worse.
Decisions, decisions, new paths to take,
Perilous paradoxes that bend you or break.



The Temple
January 23, 1990

The temple is the doors.
The doors between the known, the worldly, the present reality, and the mysteries of godliness.
The temple is the supreme connector between Earth and Heaven, between the footstool and the throne of God.
It is the means to return back through the veil.
It is ultimate in sanctity, sacredness, secretness.
God's sacred knowledge and power are there.
It is at the core of Christ's religion, a conduit where God's power is evident.
Protected and hallowed.
The temple.



A Wounded Soul Finds New Concentration
February 6, 1990

A wounded soul finds new concentration,
From partial physio-mutilation;
A flustered focus buckles down,
And, challenged, you become your own.



Militancy
February 6, 1990

Fire-charged in noon brigade,
A soldier green in new parade,
Marches, marching, stepping style ---
A new man, khaki, militile.
Formed in masses, strained from life,
War-like minds, discipled strife;
Praising themselves with blunt emotion,
For warring deeds and whorey notions.
Saved for death and trained to kill,
Generals murder from a windowsill.



Life Out of Balance
February 10, 1990

Stimuli ---
Swift currents of information, news, activities, opportunities, coupons, sales, inventions, must-have items, technology ---
It whisks by me, then whisks me away from that which I had originally deemed as necessary and good and satisfying.
Too many appointments.
Bulk quantities of everything, little private time.
Too many relationships.
Too much instant gratification.
Life out of balance. Koyannisqatsi.

The answer: regression to your roots
A back-to-basics project
Simplicity and nature
Avoid confusion and complications.

("Koyannisqatsi" is a Hopi Indian term meaning "life out of balance.")



Empty Head
March 26, 1990

Empty head, you make me whole,
You give me peace of mind;
I sit alone -- no leaden thoughts,
And let myself unwind.



Self-Doubt
April 7 to 8, 1990

It's time I shed my shoddy skin,
And showed the world inside;
Let noon-light vivify within,
All that I used to hide.

I weep, I moan, my soul doth bleed,
I spill my contents out;
I swear an oath to never lead
A life filled with self-doubt.

But next day came and soon I found
That Doubt returned to rot me;
I shook my soul and hoped aloud,
Before It really got me.

Doubts are weeds in my mind that I must constantly kill.



Self-Declaration
April 28, 1990

I am creative.
I'm a creator.
I participate in creation,
And even if they burned everything I wrote
They'd only be burning my footsteps;
For there's more where they came from,
And they'll be following me the rest of my life.



What Is Within
May 6, 1990

I look in a pool and have no reflection,
Yet I reflect all that I dwell in;
I look in my soul and have no protection,
Yet I protect that which I fell in.



O God, Give Me the Valor
May 9, 1990

O God, give me the valor
And the gumption to reveal
My true thoughts and feelings to my colleagues,
And what I deem as real;

For if I couch these caverned nuggets,
Jewels of truth within,
I'll die a mined-less pauper,
And to Thee expose my sin.

For it is evil (is it not?)
To hide the light I hold,
When there are others who've forgot
Their inner soul of gold.



Grape or Wine?
May 11, 1990

My head is being trampled like a grape within a vat,
As the wine (op)pressors trod me down;
They want to burst my unique soul of a grape,
And strip me of my oneness.
They think to blend me in is fine,
Transformed into a drink of wine,
Blended, bottled, labeled in a cellar,
And left down there in that cold mausoleum,
To mindlessly age.

I am not liquid
I am not wine;
Instead, a grape
Upon a vine;
Sweet and harmless,
Liable to be crunched,
And experienced only once.
Non-alcoholic.
Vulnerable.
Unmixed with the liquid crowd.



Riverbed and Spirit Water
May 13, 1990

I am an empty riverbed.
And then...
A nonchalant, meandering trickle of aimless water runs up my leathery back.
Eyes hurriedly flip open in suspicion, heart revives;
My coagulated scabby blood mixes with this spirit water,
And I become hotter.
My tanned, riverbed back and body are soon enveloped in this God-sent godsend.
The Spirit Water and I gradually become one;
Joined, we tear down the mountain together,
Affecting everything we encounter, and spreading life.
Slowly I forget myself,
Engaged in this cause,
Married to this work.



Night Covers Me
June 3, 1990

Night covers me;
And urges me on.
I am welded to the night, and we become one,
Lying still, recoiling, thinking loud thoughts in the mesmerizing stillness.
Pervasive: like a cold, wounding blade, steel and emotionless (precision incision).
The night wraps 'round me,
And lays me softly on my bed.
Forced to drowse, I fight no more the relentless yearns to relaxate.



Life Unnerves
June 3, 1990

Life unnerves and life behaves,
The vulture birds peck at the graves;
We came in droves and left in draves,
And realized only Jesus saves.



Only Love Will Remain
July 23, 1990

As the intense glow of passion cools into a few embers, only love will remain, always burning, ever so slowly, yet somehow never consumed.
True love shall remain, weathering the torrents of time,
And improving like wine.

I dread the thought of stale relationships, insecure mother-type figures, parental obsessions, and spouses clinging to each other like innocent lost babies. Naked without each other, they refuse to live if left alone. They are each other's life-support systems; no, death-support systems ---! For as they "sustain" the life of each other, personally they die. Is this living? Existence with a dependent clause is not existence.



Reflections on a Mirror
August 1990

I stand wide-eyed in front of a mirror,
A full-length view, with no one here;
I see my soul like no one does,
I reflect on now, and then what was.
I've lost the fear for having found the cause.

Stretch!



Trinity's Love
August 1990

Triangularity, Divine Charity,
A Threesome if you please;
Gods: the Father, the Son, the Dove,
They love as One, They love with ease,
Even those in disparity.



The Dream of an Intervening God
August 6, 1990 (5:42 a.m.)

As I awake this morning, I close on one of the most impressive dreams I've ever had. I had decided to go skydiving with a friend of mine, Bryce Suzuki, somewhere near the coastline of the state of Washington. As we jumped out of the plane, everything was running fine, and I was having a fantastic time. When the time came to pull the ripcord, I did, and the parachute was released from my backpack. But it didn't open up.

Very quickly, a numb shock set in as I realized that I was powerless. As I looked down to the forest below (and ever so quickly coming nearer) I realized that I was going to die.

Sickening feeling.

When I was about a few hundred yards from impact, a gentle but immediate wind swept across the forest and carried my body a quick but considerable distance, until I was directly over the ocean, about fifty to one-hundred yards off the shore. Head first, I plunged into the sea, and hit the shallow, muddy, soft bottom, which cushioned my crash landing. Still conscious, I swam to the surface then paddled to shore. I fainted when I made it to the rocks. A few minutes later (I suppose) I regained consciousness. I then walked along the shore, to the surprise of many fishermen who had witnessed my fall, until I found Bryce.

No other explanation weighs more pervasively in my mind other than the fact that I was gracefully preserved in a direct, obvious act of protection from God. In other words, I was totally saved by God.

The dream lends itself to some deep reflection on my part, for it leaves me tearfully grateful, ponderous, and thoughtful as to God's interventions with and manifestations to man and His purposes concerning us all in general and me in specific.

(See John 3:8)



Wearing This Here Body
August 11, 1990

I am wearing this here body,
My eyes are my spirit.
I am wearing this body like a costume,
And, like a glove,
I manipulate and pound this body to my liking.
I look through this body,
And often assume a role
Unreflective of my soul.
This body is nothing more than a medium,
A means to soul(f)-expression;
And often to the wizened eye, one can see my very soul reflected (though vaguely) through my flesh clothing.
I am responsible for this body, for I am sole-(soul)-entrusted owner.



Seeds of Wild Love
August 16, 1990

There was a time when love was flowing,
A new life was growing,
A new shoot was going,
Reaching, aiming for the sun,
And enchanting it was.
The seeds of love were safely planted,
But cultivated not;
Left to grow aimlessly, savagely in the wild.
And wildly these seeds grew, until they were a large collection of entanglements.
And the only way to exit their presence was through forging violently with a machete.
Severed as to let me through, I cut to survive,
But I also cut you, and I'm sorry.
I should have grown with you better,
I should have attended to your needs with care,
But I let weeds come between us and scraggly vines till I could hardly see you there.
I'm a novice gardener, and my thumb's not very green;
I've handled roses very rarely for fear of thorns unseen.
But! as the positive man I am,
I do believe
I can relieve the difficulty here at hand.
I shall prune; and I shall garden,
I shall dig about your roots!
And we'll plant again this seed of love, this time in fertile soil,
And stand nearby to watch it grow, this time prepared to toil,
And I'll never give up my vigilance,
Until I have a beautiful rose,
Or an old sterile seed.



Hope, Despite the Wounds
August 19, 1990

And now I'm faced alone to see
(To writhe, to cry --- and easily)
A future swelling with so much in store!
And Hope...
She will be our guiding wind,
Her billowing cheeks and energy
Transport us through tempestuous sea,
And knifing sin.

So cut, but yet so much re-healed,
I'm wounded for a lesson;
In turn I scurry to the mast top high,
To drink in a gaping vista.
Each wound I got along the way
Enabled the view I now have today.



Praise to the Invisible One
November 9, 1990

Praise, O praise the Invisible One;
My hope in Him must e'er reside,
If I'm to see the Sun.

Here comes the Son, or so I've heard,
On the verge for hundreds of years;
Is He the Only Holy One, the awaited Word,
Whose feet I'll bathe in tears?
Why does God let the world run so,
Amuck, ablaze, in stain?
I do not know --- yet;
Yet He is God and so's His Sun,
And unitedly They reign.



We're Witnessing Against Ourselves
November 9, 1990

We're witnessing against ourselves,
We're wallowing in this mud;
A testimony to our Savior Lord,
Whether we accept His blood.

His blood: a symbol, a religious rite,
For all who've washed themselves;
For somehow red will make us white,
And somehow the dead will see the light.



Inner-thought News
November 9, 1990

Smilingly, I take my place,
In a thankless rank of the human race;
A poet shorn in Gospel shoes,
A soul spread on paper with inner-thought news.



Fame
December 13, 1990

Fame is a very rentable veil. It rips with eggshells. Fame is a book cover. Fame is make up. Fame is the main drag of an old western ghost town. Fame is the dirt accumulated on my body each day. Fame is a contrived attitude. Fame is proper bladder control. Fame is a waste of time. Fame is curtains. Fame is a whited sepulchre. Fame is cosmetic surgery. Fame is bluffing with a sincere face. Fame is facial. Fame is terminal, contagious, infectious. Fame controls minds. Fame is not freedom. Fame is nothing to an iron will. Fame is what you heard from somebody else. Fame is a chance to look acceptable. Fame is a game. Fame.



My Love Has Turned to Stone
December 17, 1990

My love has turned to stone.

She has changed.
She is no longer happy, she is slate.
She is no longer my love.
The past is not the present.
She is cold stone,
Cold, and unfeeling, and cold.
Expressionless.
Chalky, desolate, bloodless.
It is sad.
Was is not is.
She is tombstone, and cold rain falls down upon her.
Glazed; a lonesome, indistinguishable figure.
The love that was in her is removed.

But I still have my love;
I have it, and I let it sit in fervency within me.
It is portable, soul-tappable.
I may pour it out upon whomever I please ---
Nevertheless they may or may not drink.
I can still love.
I am not stone.



Meant to Be Here
December 27, 1990

It's like we were meant to be here.
Every once in a mangy while,
Out peeks God and shows His style;
A (so-called) coincidence, a lucky choice,
An answered prayer, a Conscience Voice;
From real to realer, we must move on,
And carry burdens that make us strong;
But 'least we can sing as we walk,
And lighten loads through mutual talk.



The Construction of a Poem
December 27, 1990

The construction of a poem is never new,
Since words exist and so do you;
Unplug the holes inside your mind,
And trickle out the truths of time.

A poem I wrote in 1989

1989

Unfulfilled Aspirations
December 28, 1989

Unfulfilled aspirations,
Trial runs and desperations;
Failed dreams and plastic love,
Is what my soul is sickened of.

It's time for love, and loyalty,
It's time for one to settle down;
A patient confidante for me,
And I will give her all I own.