Author: Andy Bonjour

Poet

Power Tools and the Hypostatic Union

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Power Tools and the Hypostatic Union

I’m not saying Jesus wasn’t skilled
But maybe He tapped eternity and willed
Some power tools to His time back in the day,
Kept in the back of his place, out of the way.

So when someone had some project to be done
That Jesus thought wouldn’t be as fun
As spinning the world on his finger
He might take the project and linger

In the back for a much briefer duration
Before emerging with a woodworked creation
That was routed and sanded much faster,
Since His tool selection was vaster.

This granted Him more time to pander
Why His human intellect would wander
To things like what exactly is
This hypostatic union of His.

It’s Monday

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It’s Monday

It’s an overcast-without-the-Sun day,
Weekend’s passed and now it’s Monday.
Clock blinks twelve oh what a fun day.
Running late un-mundane Monday.

I spread the grounds of coffee on the counter,
A Sleepy-eyed, spilled-over mistake.
How many scoops am I … should recount or
Welcome one more weakened coffee break.

Looks like the dishwasher didn’t run last night
So I add more soap in hopes it might
Actually save me time by doing the dishes
But Murphy is victoriously vicious.

“I want one more weekend coffee break”
My mind says as I get ready in the dark..
I grab some mismatched clothes and take
That dress shirt with the weird shaped coffee mark.

I pour a to-go cup of coffee, leaving it on the table
Lack of caffeine makes my hands unstable
As I’m scraping off my car that’s caked in ice.
One more day of weekend would be nice.

I drive all the way to work before I notice
that the coffee cup I’m holding’s awfully cold,
And it’s slushy, which makes me want to throw this
cup of coffee from last week, now four days old.

I balance the cold coffee on my shirt against my chest
Then step into my office, close the door to get some rest,
But Murphy steps in too and once again retorts
As I somehow spill slushed coffee on my TPS reports.

Fell In Love With a Belt Sander

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Belt Sander

Fell In Love With a Belt Sander

What I learned this time around
Is that I like the feel and sound
Of a belt sander.
My wood plane and chisels on the ground
Didn’t understand her

They looked up but saw dust flying above,
Termite manna from God,
that must have looked odd,
With my smitten face in wooden clouds of love.

Halloween without Trick-Or-Treating

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Halloween without Trick-Or-Treating

I can’t think of another holiday that’s quite like this,
Where you move an event and then somehow miss
The holiday altogether when the day rolls around
The costumes are all worn and lying on the ground.

Trick-or-treating was a couple days ago
Bumped out of place by a football show
But without the trick-or-treating, what’s one do
When the day called Halloween’s un-costumed too.

In Memory of the Franciscan Sign

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In Memory of the Franciscan Sign

How will they fill this sign-shaped hole that’s now inside my heart?
They’ve taken down Franciscan’s sign and broken it apart.
I hope they don’t replace it with some corporate looking art
But rather choose a design that will iconically impart

The feeling from the sign they took, how it used to be.
The wooden sign from Old Franciscan’s now a memory
Without the sign for Camp Franciscan, how on earth will we
Know where to turn when driving up on University.

 

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The Halloween Social Contract

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The Halloween Social Contract

Don’t stare with your eyes all a glaze,
As if it’s somehow my fault
When you don’t say the simple phrase,
And your race comes to a halt.

On my front porch, if you don’t engage in
The Halloween social contract,
Don’t try to convince me we live in an age when
The candy’s simply sacked

Without the secret code that tells me to release
Sweet sugary droplets into your bag.
My stash of candy depletes so yours can increase
So your pillowcase fills and starts to drag,

But only when the words are spoken
Will I give you a sugary token.
If you hold out a bag and our eyes simply meet,
That’s not the same as saying “trick or treat”.

Still Life

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apple and pear
"Apple and Pear" by Carrie Mitchell

Still Life

If a picture speaks a thousand words,
How does a painting get through a conversation?
There must be hundreds of things I haven’t heard
Staring at this representation

Of an apple and a pair.
The complexity of the gradient on the sphere,
The shadows and light draw me near
To what it is that I can’t hear,
And so I simply stare.

Perhaps if I cock my head just like so
Then the words would start to flow
And maybe my mind could retain
The words the painting speaks in vain.

Hmmm?   … Nothing

***

The Painting above was done by Carrie Mitchell.  If you have money to buy some nice art, go to her site and buy some art.  If you don’t have money to buy nice art, go to her site and flip through all the paintngs she’s posted up there.

Play Money

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Play Money

My son asked for some money
Pretend though it might be,
He thought that it was funny
When I suggested he

Pretend to earn his pay,
Play with money that he’s made.
“If that’s the game you want to play
Go work and then get paid.”