Empty Tables

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3 Haikus

Our years precede us Mem’ries, like friends left behind All that’s left is time

If this is crazy I want to be crazy too Love only comes once

I exercise bike Faster than you to nowhere Sweat dripping like tears

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Fertility Haiku

Every carrot needs a stick Each son, his father Sisters, brothers to bother

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The Living

Come, you strokes of life,

and deal me a blow.

I am here.

Alone, I may be

but I am armed

with my intention.

Spattered though my hands

may be,

by the ink of

wasted dreams,

I twirl my pen

from tip to end,

I cannot come clean.

I have walked this road

too far

and my feet

have no ears to hear

friend or foe’s

checkered steps

to anchor them

nigh to here.

Stripe after stripe,

lash after lash,

my tracks will bleed

no tears.

How far can he go,

that friendless,

stubborn man?

Will the empty,

hungry, wild winds

freeze him,

or the warmth

of a false friend’s 

hand?

My friends are the whips

that push me,

on and on

I bite the bit,

and were it not for

my heart,

my teeth would have

worn to fit.

And oh, the warmth

of fires

from hearths

I once knew well,

like grooves of love

worn deep in earth

by feet I cannot tell.

God alone knows if this warmth

lies yet ahead

or down in hell.

If you knew how empty

my hands were

would you bind me 

yet

to sell?

All I can do is

carry on and

whisper words

of love,

the sparrow’s song

in my heart

grown peaceful like

a dove.

If you look here

and find my bones in spring,

remember that

it wasn’t I

who taught these birds to sing.

Place them in a velvet pouch

and walk them to

my King.

I am here,

dead men feel

no sting.

[livinglifeinstead]

Roots

My goings to and comings from

are fraught with you,

My quiet moments, my dreams.

Growing up I never knew

the taste of

“too much”.

When others turned away,

I ran back home,

never understanding

how it could be otherwise.

And having grown and seeing

how friends have found

their way,

I find my heart

waiting for you,

unwilling to go but unable

to stay.

And I thought my love

for you

was the proof that you

love me.

But now I see through

coursing years

that this was not love,

but fear.

I used to think the greatest power

would be to know

all things,

but now I see

with strangers’ eyes

that our lies protect us.

We feed off of

half-grasped

truths

wrought in the

warmth of dreams.

Gentle light

—truth—

comes costly,

to what we hold dear.

It finds roots,

cool rain down deep,

and says gently,

“grow or die,

wake or sleep.”

To the man who’s found it,

truth is his only friend,

to the heart who’s touched it,

it’s the end

of love.

[livinglifeinstead]

Again

Lesser fires burn bright

when, compelled,

we sit under stars.

He, the Essence of Essences,

casts us off

in a world of not-Him,

to see if we could find Him,

to see if we

could swim.

But who among us

has ever been able

to see

unaided?

To really be a human,

a true man?

He mocks us,

to give us an eye

that cannot be opened

when a touch from Him

shows us everythin’.

To shake at the touch

of our lives

is dishonest,

a lack of faith

in the All-Praised,

but how to know

when we’ve fallen too deep

to rise again

from our grave?

How not to recoil

from ourselves

when we have seen

God

Himself?

He holds the secret,

the single word

in His breath,

that transmutes

what we are

into what we profess.

A servant’s chain

reminds him to be thankful,

a copper coin, of what’s

really his,

a child’s empty home

a reminder

of what to be loved really is.

And when you cry

because you’re bad

and weak,

too tired to pretend

that you’re perfect again,

remember that this is grace.

To see a sign

that’s not there,

to savor the sweet

in the bitter,

is the wine

we’ve been promised.

We find secret stores

of joy

when we turn away

and find Him.

He reminds us

that before our choice

was His choice,

that it’s in our nature

to sin

and to sin, and to sin,

and to sin again,

it’s what our love

is wrapped up in.

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The Truth

Of all men the most sinful is the poet for he is, assuredly, a hypocrite. He sees the truth and speaks it and delights in it but cannot become it. This is why we call them drunks. And they see the heart as a glass full of whatever it contains, but their own, despite their love of empty, themselves cannot completely drain. They soar on mountains and unlock treasures in the sea but, as the wisest of the wise once found, they know not what these might be. Like a crow, with stolen treasure, they line up truth like little trinkets to adorn their worthless nests, and nothing that belongs to them could be counted among the best. And all tongues come together to proclaim this, all that we want to be is no more than a phantom’s wish. It is to cut through command like butter to be unknown in the company of friends it is to take one’s place on the open road released from starts and ends. And traveling here —a poet peddling truth— he sells it for a penny less than his immortal youth. Poets live forever because they are not themselves. They see truth and become lost in it until they wake up empty shells. You cannot love a poet, but only his pen and breath, for he is like the rest of us when the truth has left.

[livinglifeinstead]

Love

We came with our thanks

to the bank

of a river

and it would not

take it

--it had no hands.

And having lost some

on the way,

we offered it

to our mother,

but she had

no time.

Wrapping it

in weary cloths,

we brought it

to our home

but no one

was home.

Finding none to

share it with,

we set it down

and when the dogs came

they knew not

what they had found

and left.

My tears

became a river,

and bore my thanks

away,

the mother of that

reedy boat

from an earlier day.

And carrying it to

the edge of what I own,

my thanks

made those unknown sands

the banks of its

new home.

A palace for the pharaoh,

an altar for the priest,

a tomb of gold for the rich,

and for my old heart,

a piece

of infinite love

which only knows increase.

These breathless nights

draw from my lips

two words

from

their sheaths

--I love—

and only then,

have peace.

[livinglifeinstead]

Broken

In how many ways

can you dip your body

in pools of ease

before we sleep?

And how many nights

can be spent

looking at ocean waves

in darkness?

The body is a cup

that cannot be filled

beyond brimming

and whether it is gold

or water,

all that is known

can only fit

in that cup.

But how vast

the mysteries

beyond our bodies,

ones that only

become real

when the residue

of our desires

becomes

exposed

to air.

If we would

fit them in our cup

we must

be broken

and, facing

every direction,

we will

catch

the light.

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Served

I am a crystal

in the sand

made from lightning,

--a strand

of life.

I am the note

blown on a conch shell,

an arrow released from a bow,

I am light,

I am life.

I am what He made me,

be it broken like a cup,

or a shadow,

without form

and unwhole.

And though I try,

I can never be more

than what He made me,

the gain of being

who I thought I should

could only make me

useless.

Because the goal

of life

is not to be God,

this is reserved

for One,

it is to enjoy,

in total confidence,

our own helplessness

and be served.

[livinglifeinstead]

Led Away

You only have

this moment

to sense

the fragrance

of nearness.

It will never

be closer

and, in an instant,

it will be gone

vanished,

like vapor

into memories

like everything else.

If you incline to the right

or left,

if you let your pain

conceal you,

if you melt

into ease,

you won’t even know

you had a choice

and our mouths, are small

but powerful

--they can call down

angels.

Our hands,

though bound together

by our own carelessness,

could be said

to be

folded in prayer.

And though we,

ourselves,

are darkness,

with a flash

we are unsheathed

--born again.

And in the end

is release.

[livinglifeinstead]

What He Gives

We’ve been given life

to throw it away

again, and again, and again.

The water of life lasts

forever

but it must be taken

every day

and each time

we lay ourselves

down,

as dust,

we get a foretaste

of bliss.

A prayer,

if offered right,

is a martyrdom.

A life,

if lived correctly,

is spent.

And what is the secret joy which,

in a prayer-closet,

tells us we are

human?

It is looking through the gates

of paradise

and not wishing for a thing.

In the womb all a baby can do

is to receive grace,

this is a lesson

for worlds,

for lifetimes!

When we are ignorant,

like a rock,

He draws us out

with diamonds.

When we are a rose,

He does it

with a breeze.

When we are merely

ourselves,

He tempts us

with paradise

when we come to Him

He requires our lives

and for what?

To be like Him.

[livinglifeinstead]

Life

I have looked for Him

in the mountain

and the sea,

lo, He was not there.

I had turned my eyes

towards heaven

and found it

empty, bare.

Looking to the kings

and men,

my eyes came back

again.

All that I had asked for

was not

scattered through creation

like my own thoughts

among the seen

but given to me fully

in a way I could not

dream.

He came to me quickly

with no warning,

He found my heart

and, scooping it up

in His loving hands,

showed me that all these things

are lost

in a single Man.

How great the ocean

that lies

in a cup!

How mighty the sun

in the mote!

How tender the love

of a sufferer,

how fearsome

the law

He spoke.

How pleasant the yoke,

how sweet the praise

that, itself,

has the power

to renew,

and how lowly, how humble,

how deep,

how sound

the life we find

in You

[livinglifeinstead]

Rhyming Words

My blood burns hot

and my rage is soft,

patience and love

are my favorite

weapons.

I ride high

on the waves

of life

cuts,

renounced,

my tender lessons.

No prison can keep me,

with its golden walls

of screens,

though time, itself,

may beat me,

I’m faster than

I seem.

For I’ve found

the secret of life,

the one spot which,

when gently tapped,

unravels

the armor in which

we’re trapped,

to mere heaps of dust,

to steam.

You see, I can turn

rocks to gold

and stones into hearts,

I can find a diamond

in ashes

and paradise to me

starts

with a word

“He”

“be”

“we”

[livinglifeinstead]

Stars When the Lord is my anchor, who could be my rudder other than me? If all you have for a heart is a stone, You could only throw it and hit no more than my bones And I might pick it up...or wait Until, it flies away like it was supposed to Or simply melts back into the folds of solid earth When a child asks you, What does a flower smell like? Can you say anything other than, Itself? When you look for God All you can see is “Beyond your eyes” When Moses protested, “Lord, how can I speak?” Did He not, take no more than a touch of earth to his tongue? The reason is because every atom of creation has been made to say all that can be said. Is there anyone who can stop us, other than ourselves? This is freedom, Knowing limitation This is wealth, Rest in the good of what is This is enlightenment, Returning the fruit What is there to live for then, Beyond an endless blade of joy? Because when we lay down to earth, will we bring with us all we had hoped for and dreamed, or radiate those things out so, rising like steam, they will meet us in the stars?

[livinglifeinstead]

These

Don’t cry for me

when I’m gone,

I’ve wanted this

all along.

And though I’ve tricked myself before,                                                

I feel in my bones

it can’t be long.

How far can one go

in this journey

before finally laying down

his pack?

How many miles

of wisdom still

till He meets me on

this track?

I’m a deer

and He the hunter.

I run because I’m supposed to

but who has more skill?

Round and round

we’ll play this game

willing to lose

my will.

Don’t grieve

for the dirty hands

who bring to me my prize,

how often has

the loved one come

in another man’s

disguise?

Cruelty cannot touch me here

neither sadness nor loss.

I’ve always been

where I am now,

a bridge with its across.

He always keeps secrets.

He told me,

if He said all that was true,

I’d lose my patience

and come to Him,

what more could

I do?

Remember me

for being patient,

a gentle breeze

heard through leaves.

And when His call

whispered to me

I passed it on

through these:

love

loss

truth

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Gifts

He can make weakness

into strength,

silence

into talking,

stillness

into action,

tripping into

walking.

He leads us

again and again

into

the same situations,

sinister

in temptation

though just within

grasp.

And when we gasp

for air

after coming up

from falling in,

we may only have

a single breath

before sinking back

again.

And though we cry

and threaten Him

with our death,

there are no shouts

heard underwater

and our tears

melt

before they reach

the surface.

But this is

a birthplace.

Stop struggling!

Your life is not worth

so much.

You were born

with your swimsuit on,

this is why He threw

you in.

God, Himself,

invented

the game

of sink or swim.

To win

is not to float

clinging to a rope

flung to you for pity

to climb back in the boat.

It is growing up,

never tall enough to touch the bottom,

but to choose to fight

and by fighting

begin

to take the strokes,

bloody and broke,

squarely on the chin.

He’ll bring you up for

a breath,

He’ll bring you up to keep

you going.

He’s preparing you

for bigger battles

without your even knowing.

You must learn to love

the water

and see it as your gift,

God’s great mercy

to us

has never been more

than this.

[livinglifeinstead]

Friend

Happiness

is a hole

that gets wider

as you dig it.

Like a sand castle

melting into the froth,

it wears away

your rough edges.

The friends

are a potent instrument

to clean off who we are,

If we could only rely on Him

and allow ourselves

to be scraped clean.

Every ring

has a finger

it was made for,

every necklace

a neck,

He’s given me

to you

in a way

you couldn’t

expect.

At first we were enemies,

almost,

friends in the rough,

like diamonds.

It took years

of bringing us together

before we rubbed off

enough of our

natural roughness

to find each other

inside.

Family is like this;

you don’t choose them,

you choose to live

with them

and by bringing together, forcing together

magnets that repel,

He shot me out

and spun me round

until I came back

and stuck

to you.