Your's truly...

THE RAIN SPEAKS LOUDLY

The preacher speaks with a steady and confident voice
Not booming, but it filled the room
But through the window, I watched droplets descend like manna from
heaven
And the rain spoke more loudly
Because God spoke in the rain.

He tells the story of an ailing friend
An allegory loosely linked to his message
He forces his point, awkwardly jamming religion into his story like a
square peg in a round hole
While God spoke in the rain.

TULIP?
The Solas?
Or maybe it was the ABCs
I hear they've added a "D" now
I wonder how many commitees it took to manage that
No matter
I couldn't hear him anyway
I was too busy listening to God in the rain

You were not in the fire
You were not in the wind
You were not in the flood

AN APPEALING MAN

I view him at a distance on Sunday mornings
I think his name is America

A man appealing to the senses
And a man appealing to the senses
Perhaps he should be blinded so he can see

A fine suit
The scent of fine cologne
Glittering rings and a watch
The 10 that owns 80, and nothing at all

A man appealing to the senses
And a man appealing to the senses
Perhaps he should be stoned so everyone else can breathe

........and not be charged for the air

And how the preacher loves him
Always careful not to upset him
"Millionares don't like to be told what to do with the money they have"

.........or the money that has them

A man appealing to the senses
And a man appealing to the senses
"But God will destroy both it and them"

A third-world baby bloats and dies
The contents of his stomache emptied into a rich man's wallet

A man appealing to the senses
And a man appealing to the senses
Perhaps he should be blinded so he can see

A man appealing to the senses
And a man appealing to the senses
Perhaps he should be forgotten altogether


ODE TO BASAVANA*


The Church is a god.

Scripture is a god.



Morality
is a god.



My theology is a god.

My belief is a god.

My husband is a god.

My wife is a god.



My Family
is a god.



My son, daughter, sister, brother, mother and father are gods.

My doctrine, upbringing and belief system are gods.



Happiness is a god.



There is one God.

And there is nothing else.

(*Inspired by and largely imitative of a poem by the Classical Indian Bhakti poet-saint Basavanna)

TO BE COMPLETELY HONEST...

To be completely honest, I would rather have heard that you were unhappy

Petty of me, I know

But confusing, more so

And not only to you



To be completely honest, I think you should be less happy than me

And probably are

But I begrudge you this one thing

Because I think I am better than you



I am David, the rich man with many flocks



To be completely honest, I never even wanted you

Not in any deeper sense, at least

All I wanted was you wanting me

And I feel the loss of that



To be completely honest, I'm ashamed to be completely honest

When it comes to this subject matter

Ashamed for people's sake? No, but for God's

I learned long ago that the only one worthy of the honor of my shame is God



There's nothing wrong with being honest

But there's something wrong with needing to be

Forgive me


SMILE, MY LOVE

Smile again, my love, and show me everything
The kind of man I want to be
The kind of man God loves

Smile again, my love, and show me my future
I hear my laughter in your own
And the laughter of my children
Who smile like you

Smile again, my love, and show me beauty
The kind of beauty I haven't earned
The kind of beauty I couldn't earn

Smile again, my love, and show me what I'm not
And what I can become
But what you don't need me to be

Smile again, my love, and show me contentment
...at long last

Smile again, my love, and show me everything
The kind of man I want to be
The kind of man God loves

HOLY MT. ZION*

On holy Mt. Zion

Seated between the cheribum

That's where God lives


They envelop Him, arched wing to arched wing

They are layered in the finest gold

They crown Him God


On holy Mt. Zion

Seated between the cheribum

God is honored there


They envelop Him, arched wing to arched wing

They are crafted from the finest wood

They crown Him Majesty


On holy Mt. Zion

Seated between the cheribum

God is loved there


They envelop Him, arched wing to arched wing

They sound the finest music

They crown Him glorious


On holy Mt. Zion

Seated between tone and timbre

...craft and gift

...string and nail

...they envelop Him, arched wing to arched wing


That is where God lives

(The church I played for at the time of the writing of this poem was named Mt. Zion)