Big Ideas vs. Little Ideas
Big ideas are little ideas that had the chance to grow
Into something more substantial that everyone would know
As nothing like the little ideas that somehow come to be
In front of minds that kill ideas instead of set them free.
Sheep Surgery
I saw a sheep that needed sewing.
So he’d withstand the hugging, beating, throwing
And other things that one speaks of
When referencing a child’s love.
I decided I could sew well enough
So I found my Father’s sewing stuff
And grabbed a needle and some thread,
Came up stairs and brought back the dead.
Garage Sale Superman
Nothing makes Matthias calm like a garage sale superman.
I imagine he’s making him fly as he passes from hand to hand
This tiny blue figure with red undies and boots,
But I doubt that flying’s something that his mind computes.
The toy is dated to be twenty six years old,
But his limbs are just the right shape to hold
In a five-month-old’s hands that find him intriguing enough
After a night of crying that was unceasingly rough.
The wrong toy is like kryptonite
Increasing the will to fight
Any calmness and relaxation,
Whereas the right toy relieves my frustration.
At some point I’ll be looking for a new super toy
To capture the mind of my little boy
Who only sees Clark Kent and then
Starts crying for superman again.
Spring November
How do you grace me
so incredibly
when all I have for you
are sins I can’t give up yet.
I’m set in my ways
which sometimes sway
towards and away
Your will for today.
but in this November Spring
you bring rebirth
worth more than that which is lying,
laying, playing on the ground in the wind.
I’ve found I begin
to be created anew
my old leaves crumble
and mumble
incoherently
till I can’t see
what they meant to me
because I am created in you
anew,
through grace which you relay
on a Spring November day.
I wish I took more elevators so I could fake a sneeze
And then ask you, “Please excuse me and my saliva breeze.”
Meanwhile I’d extend my hand, because that’s what you do
When you welcome someone to the club that people call the flu.
My Children’s Hero on Garbage Day
On a magical day of the week
My children come to take a peak
On the couch pressing the window
Where they watch our garbage go.
For little girls and little boys,
It’s more exciting than their toys.
They’re beckoned by the rumble,
A garbage trucking grumble.
Jumping on the cushions of the couch
Like they won an Oscar the Grouch.
Their excitement verbalizes, “I can’t see,
Where is it?” Leaving my response to be,
“Be patient, the garbage truck will get here.”
Their delight is mixed with a whine of fear
That they might miss the garbage truck,
They’d blink and then be out of luck.
Sure enough the truck rolls into view
The heroes grab a can or two
And hurl contaminants inside
The truck they stand on when they ride.
And that was just the neighbor’s trash
That caused my children’s glee to thrash
In jumping motions looking out
To watch the garbage truck in route.
Now it was our trash’s turn.
The garbage that we made would earn
It’s rightful place in the unclean,
Massive, mystical machine.
My children were already big fans
When our hero one-handed the cans
As if they were filled with vapor.
He tossed the bags like Christmas paper,
And like empty shells from a good guy’s gun
The cans rolled on as witness, he was done.
Off to clear the streets another day,
While my children jumped inside singing “hooray!”
New Shoes
After taking off my perfectly fitting skin
I get the courage to begin
Trying on new leather
And whether
I like it or not
My old shoes are shot
With stigmatic flesh wounds on the bottom,
Two years after I got ‘em.
It’s time for me to replace
The open space
With newer shoes
That are whole,
With a newly created sole.
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
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
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.
BonjourPoetry 