campfire

Autumn calls and sends a lovely chill
down my sleepy spine, against the waves of will.
An orange campfire wakes under my skin,

and when you’re near it glows with oxygen.

Come, gather round with marshmallows and sticks!

I am warm and wonderful and full of tricks-

could walk a tightrope stretched across the town,

or toast you to an expert golden brown.

But sadly, you escape my trembling hands

and shoot up like a spark into the wind.

You carve a quick orange trail into the sky,
a trail I cannot walk, nor can I fly.

So I let the marshmallows burn to total ash.

and learn the taste of fire, reckless, rash.
I sing familiar campfire songs under the stars,
and welcome the inevitable winter with my inevitable guitar.

waiting

I remember lying in the grass,
waiting for rain to come-
for ideas to flow
like droplets from the sky
or grass up from the ground
into my skull.

I remember lying
with my back in the snow
and my face to the white sky,
soaking in the blank,
waiting to fall asleep
and wake up frozen
in a snow bank.

I remember walking
down the sidewalk
and in aimless circles
around the cul-de-sac,
waiting for someone
to suddenly appear
and save the day
or listen to me talk.

I remember sitting
silent on a rock,
listening to the trees'
roaring applause.
The wind had given them
a sensational show.
I could not see a single act,
although I felt him bow.

I turned into a little leaf
scooped up by a gust
and carried to your feet.
You were there in the rain
and the grass and the snow
all that time I waited blind,
oblivious to the show.

soul

Your arms around me
are curling, splashing ocean waves of joy,
ever shadowed by the dark clouds
that I'm sad to call "goodbye."

Remembered waves of your embrace
wash over me at night.
I wait for the sweet someday
when you will be always, only mine.

When I will rest safe in your arms
and never fear again.
When I will give myself to you
more honest than the pen in my hand.

The deep, black ink of my feeling
will spill at once
into your clear blue love,
and not pollute it at all.

Your arms around me
are like a promise-
a direct link
to your eternal soul.

thanksgiving

If I were a pumpkin,
would you pick me from the patch?
Would you scoop out my seeds,
carve a smile onto my face,
and fill me up with light?
Would I sit with you on the front porch
every night?
If that’s where I grew old,
I wouldn’t mind.

If I were a pumpkin,
would you bake me into a pie?
Would you mix me up with cinnamon,
place me gently in the oven,
and watch me rise?
Would you top me with the whipped cream
of your delight?
If that’s what you had in mind,
it would be alright.

If I were a person
and not a pumpkin,
would you choose me just the same-
if I were not always sweet and smiling,
and took much longer to decay?
By grace, in the wonders of the night
and the long labor of the day,
would we join an eternal Thanksgiving
and daily give ourselves away?

september

September stands shyly

in the doorway of a school.
She sings in her head

"Give me something to aspire to-

Some beautiful change,

some standing on truth,

some person to show me around-"

she is new.

September steps into

a classroom of kind souls,

who hang peace like paintings

on every wall.

A hopeful stranger

standing on the edge of Fall-

She aspires to be like them,

candles all.

sunrise

I meet you the moment 

I open the curtains

and am surprised by the soft glow

of a lovely sunrise.

You greet me with warm colors

and gentle light-

a new, sweet hello each time

we've been parted by night.

Your smile illuminates the edges of clouds,

then slowly, all the world around,

offering every day an invitation

to be beautiful again.

I want to believe

that you really, truly could love me.

I want to know

your mercies, new each morning.

Your perfect peace

that passes understanding,

your faithfulness

that persistently keeps rising.

You know my need for sleep

and let me go into the dark,

if only so that when I wake

I may savor your light more.

I savor your light new

each precious time that I look through

the curtains and see your face,

knowing I only see by grace.

You call me from the shadows

and take away my grave clothes.

You speak with me

and draw me through the window

To the place where you are,

the embrace of your care.

I meet with you again

in the meadow of prayer.

seen

I’m pounding on the glass of my eyes,
waiting for you to reply
to a question I can’t verbalize,
to open the door
and find me sitting here outside,
knocking with silent hands,
spilling over with sighs.

I’m pounding on the glass of my brain,
searching for an answer
to the problem of pain,
for strength to move,
for words to speak-
knocking at the door of your love,
longing to be seen.