Friday, August 28, 2020


No One Left Behind

Grace under siege

overheating rage

Combustible fear


Counterfeit lawful

order recycling 

 Evil impulses escaping

their cages

Scabs pulled off

scars sighted

Masses unhuddled

yearning still

Weakened by

enfeebled hope

Diluted by archaic


Across widening chasm

buddy system

Reciprocal respect

fueled by caring

Together lifted from

the sorrowing

Manage the rage for

the arduous trek

Threatened with


We twist and turn to

find the light


Thursday, May 7, 2020

Wanted, a Safe Place


Mask Covid's spread
Uncover denial
Recall for duty
Hope's spirit bearers

Friday, April 24, 2020

Unforced Hope

Deflect panic
consecrate the good
convert pain
Hear the evil see the
good feel the pain
hope translates
Despair alone
For God's sake which
is to say our
The smiling spirit
transparent beneath
the mask
Leave breathing space
for heart piercing
Challenge the spread
of contagious
Filter the fog
of bureaucratic
On guard for placebos
that trivialize
the grief
Prepare to be
startled by unrestrained
Act with loving
presence to
reshape the pain
Pray into the presence
of a God whose habit
it is to walk with us
Face the world
boldly with
tragic optimism

The last line of the poem are the words of Viktor Frankl, author of Man's Search for Meaning. Simply put, tragic optimism is the ability to say yes to the no of even the deepest suffering. It does not mean that we ignore reality or that we don't do everything we can to stop the suffering. Case in point: to withhold or mismanage resources we have presently to combat Covid-19 is inexcusable if not criminal. And not to pay attention to the science is dangerously shortsighted. But tragic optimism also means we go deep in our soul to find the hopeful strength to triumph.

Tuesday, April 7, 2020

 A Walk in the Woods

Mid December
     rain slowed to
         a slow drizzle
Time for a ten-year
old and his
                long absent father
Slow quiet heart-filled walk
in south
                   Alabama woods
Over a carpet of rain soaked
leaves birds and small
          animals the only sound
Carrying shot guns
          just in case a squirrel
         or two for supper
See that hickory
the one with a
                hole 'bout 12 feet up
I could see it coming
          a story but I had to give
       him time to tell it
When I was a kid on a day like today
my Dad and I saw a tall dead tree
 with a hole half-way up
We never thought
about a snake
          being in the hole
Went home got the wagon and
a crosscut saw came
                back and cut if for firewood
Threw all the pieces onto
              the wagon never thought the
                     one with the hole had a snake
Stacked all the pieces out
              back of the house including
               the one with the hole in it
Burned that wood all winter
            and come early spring threw
                       the one with the hole on the fire
He quit talking I waited
             as long as I could was there
     a snake in the hole
I don't know
I never
                      thought about it

     One year when I was nine, going on ten, my grandmother died and my mother and I moved down to stay with my grandfather in south Alabama for a couple of years to help out. My dad, who had been teaching for some twenty years with a two year teaching certificate took that time to go back to college and get his degree. Money was tight and I don't remember seeing much of my Dad during that time. The one time I do remember was when he came home for Christmas the year I turned ten and we went squirrel hunting, just the two of us. That was when he told me this story. I tell it now with no overarching purpose except to offer a diversion for these trying times. I don't know, can snakes climb trees? I suppose I could google it.
     Are you still there? Got another minute? I have another take on I never thought about it.
     The morning after I composed this poem, I had a video appointment with my cardiologist. At the end of the visit, he said, "Just be sure to wear a mask whenever you leave the house."
A couple of days after the call I went outside to set the sprinklers. From a comfortable distance I watched a neighbor visiting with the mail man, neither of whom wore a mask. After he got his mail he came over to see what I was wearing around my neck and we visited. A few minutes later as I was making my way to the backyard sprinklers, I met another neighbor, who also was not wearing his mask, getting his mail and we visited for a few minutes in my driveway. I finished my work with the sprinklers and came inside. That evening my wife asked, "Why weren't you wearing your mask?"
     My answer? I never thought about it.
     All this in the midst of the Covid19 virus pandemic. Think about it. I certainly will, from now on.
          Be smart, stay safe

Sunday, March 29, 2020


These are the times
     that open
          the soul
Pernicious evil
     the smothering
Deny oxygen to
     the nerve-wrecking
     the simmering
Save that
     energy for
Raise the humor
     volume to
          balance the tension
Breathe the bloom
     filled air see the
           hope-filled elegance
Hold the heart
     door open
          for the stranger
Poised together we
     shape the world to
          fit God's dream
Wake up
     to a new

     Covid-19 has hit hard and keeps on hitting. What can I do? I wash my hands, keep my distance, donate, and pray. I compose a poem. And last week just before our Mayor imposed more restrictions, my wife drove me to the Blood Bank and I donated a pint of my best. (She can't donate because her immune system is compromised). I'm told my blood will help three other people. That's a pretty good return on an investment. It was something I could do.
I share this as a prompt for all of us to continue to find our own appropriate ways to overcome helplessness and contribute to hope and healing for all.

Friday, February 21, 2020

Open Hours
Shrinking interludes
expanding horizon a
present challenge
Time shrinks
between waking
and sleeping
endows existing
slowness for a
world on speed
Spending time
to practice
Feeling the contours of
a moral and
spiritual life
I can't keep up
read what everyone
is reading
Know what
everyone is
Fear of being left
behind stresses
the spirit
Revisit the intermissions
remove the
stumbling blocks
Egress from
a season of
To a chance
to embrace
And find new
ways of
growing up

My Dad

Contrary to conventional wisdom, I contend time does not move in regular intervals. To be true, circumstances may determine the amount of time we have, but each one gets to decide for ourselves how to use the time we have. One year when I called Dad to wish him a happy birthday, my mother answered the phone and told me Dad was out back planting walnut trees. She asked me to wait while she went to get him. When he got to the phone I asked, "Dad, you're 80 years old: are you planting the trees for the nuts or the lumber?" He answered, "I've got time." When he died, 17 years later, the trees were bearing and could have been cut for lumber, but that, of course, was not the point.

Wednesday, February 5, 2020

A Penitent's Prayer

I pause on
the borderline
of prayer

My soul
simmering in
sorrow and joy

Searching for
a place to
push off from

Prophets of quietude
distracting with
empty phrases

Declaring love is
justice and

Grace does not

Replace the counterfeit
with fresh and
honest words

with the substance
of hope

Linking transcendent
myth and
reasoning truth

Tools I can
use to repair
my story

Thursday, January 16, 2020

Prized Possession

I told a
story well
with humor
His hungry
heart said ummm
is that all
A compound
fracture left
Let me
Funny as it
is life is
no joke
Answers without
questions don't
nourish the soul
The serious may well
lean toward
story refreshed
A holy man (aren't we all)
finds a
precious ruby
Freely gives to a dispirited
pilgrim who
They part company
reunite years later the
pilgrim still heartsore
He pleads give me now
what allowed you
to give me the ruby
there is
And the way out is not
the way
we came in

*This poem was inspired by a response to a Sufi story I once told to a group of college students who had gathered for worship. I asked them to imagine what happened after the pilgrim and the monk reunited. I waited but there was no response. After awhile I said, "I'm serious, I would like for you to help me complete the story. Any ideas?" Again I waited. Time passed. After several more minutes, I noticed that a young woman sitting on the front row was starting to cry. I said, "What's wrong?" Her voice was hardly above a whisper. "We're not supposed to think, you are supposed to tell us." Later when I was alone, I cried..