Everyday
At least one prayer comes out as a flame.
Syllables sip saliva and slide out
Under the breath of your name,
Untranslated, but slated for repetition,
saying something to me,
Saying something to be
beyond a doubt
more than a mutter.
This slyabic stutter that won’t go out
gives way to every day
speaking more of you.
Hallelujah
Like water into my mouth
The word flows out,
Floods the air
To leave it’s absence bare.
Leaving warm honey on my lips
Viscosity transforms, and the flow
Hangs thick in the Spirit.
The lick of the tongue sings,
Tasting resurrection.
St. Joseph’s Strength
St. Joseph, I know you had it rough.
You couldn’t be blamed enough
In fact, every family feud
That you imperfectly pursued
Ended in you being wrong,
Mary and Jesus were right all along.
In arguments, you’d take a step back and say, “It’s me”
So that all the world could see
A man’s love is that strong.
Seeking Translucence
I struggle with giving you glory in everything.
I hold onto things that I want to bring
Glory to me. Some days I feed off of it,
Finding it hard to stand by or sit
And watch something I do become translucent.
Though everyone sees the light that you sent,
Part of me’s in a bright orange vest as the one
Directing traffic toward your Son.
Flying to Miami
We’re sitting in vibrating chairs
Each surrounded by blank stares
Of people with sudoku puzzles and books
Occasionally taking second looks
At the landscape outside
Of our airplane ride.
I’m looking past someone repeating
The motion of peanut eating
To jagged cotton mountains
Or the base of foaming fountains
Frozen in time that goes on forever
In a white sunlit endeavor
To make me mention
That God grabbed my attention.
Taking down the Christmas tree
The most effective way to see
The needles flinging off the tree
Would simply be to set it free
From living room captivity.
Stripped of all of its décor,
We’ll try to get it out the door
Leaving memories once more,
As treeless needles on the floor.
I have dry skin
Our microfiber tablecloth is like the devil to me.
I’m the sinner to who absolutely has to see
Why my mind’s set to a frequency
That desperately screams out to me,
Screeching “Don’t touch that!”
But never the less in no time flat
I’m gripping the deadly sheet,
My fingers are forced to meet
The elegant cloth turned into rags
Caught in dry-fingered snags
That act like chalkboard fingernails.
The fabric cringes me and prevails.
After Church
I go to church and get filled up with tons of graces
But I’m left with empty spaces.
There’s a hole inside. There’s room for one more thing
That only a post-church donut can bring.
Joseph and the Manger
Secure and pure.
Jesus slept tightly curled
In the arms of his mother
While Joseph rigged a stranger
Crib than any other
For the savior of the world.
Vacancy Signs
A couple thousand years a go
There was a pregnant woman, nine months along.
She carried the savior of the world and so
Joseph thought it would be wrong
To stay in a barn all night.
He tried every Inn in sight
In hopes that he might
Find something a little more “right”
Than out in the barn hitting the hay.
Where the animals lay.
But truth is it was fitting the way
Jesus entered the world that night
‘Cause what a horrible sight
It would be if I had to see
Little inn scenes every year
With glowing neon lines
Of vacancy signs.
…But I suppose we should wear those
As we’re staring, preparing the manger scenes
Lining up kings and things.
We should have big old letters across our hearts
Reading “Vacancy” to say that He
Can come in now.
To say, I’ve cleared you a place
My heart now has a space
That you can take and make your own.
Pardon the mess. I’ve been living alone.
BonjourPoetry 