Allege

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NOW COMES the Respondent, another wave in the tide

A meritless crash upon an innocent shore

Another Excuse lacking an answer

Forcing me to question my sun and my senses

Allege a wrongdoing, a heartbreak, a theft

And cry a toddler’s tantrum as the sand swallows then recedes from my feet

Mother of A Son

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I’m telling your Mother

That she should not feel less than full delight

The pouring out of her heart, the raising up of her prayers

Reward

Now comes you, feet firm, breaking rules and records ‘neath the firmament

With kindness and heart-strength -look at how you look at us

We, treasure to you and reasons to hope, so you come close to learn

Simple and virtuous, your needs

Unafraid to speak from love, write of love, to be and die for love

Lovely Mother, you’ve lived Right, you have not squandered Light

See here, your beacon, your boy

This Cup

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I’m learning how to cry in deep despair and pour my blessed hot coffee at the very same time

Pain and gratitude in the same cup, indeed

I’m becoming better at praying goodness for others at my broken heart’s expense

Love and sacrifice from the same vein, it frees

I’m deciding to live with the dread of the box I was put into and with hope that I’ll one day be free

Abuse and healing in the same lifetime, glory

In Sales

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The left of my brain, omnipresent, churns in the background, planning to acquire real estate, shaking hands with all my synapses, as a snake, propagating the message, “don’t ask for too much.”

The whole of my heart, hope-trained, stands in the line of fire, clad in silvery full armor, bravely readying my skin, deflecting endless barbs of propaganda, imparting the beautiful truth, “I am her too much.”

The Slumberless Way

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He almost asked me out I know

But the law got in the way

I gave him my sky, I preyed him, go

Tell what the stars have to say

Each night I’ve dreams I wish to share

But time’s gotten in the way

It’s midnight, and no one wants to care

A woman’s prophesied play

I’m watching out for his soft heart

But my ache, it wants its way

It’s likely I’ll only know such art

From afar, my eyes kept at bay

Unorthodox

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Each of us has a Saturday song, resting patient in our heart

It stays there, soft, anonymous -almost nary a one makes its way

Upstairs and outward it ought go, and easy it must stay

Into our head, that our ears could hear to conduct our hands and feet

Combined ethnicities and God-ward now, as it should have been

Take her, the song, into your arms, and find together, the dance

(Architecture Credit: Frank Lloyd Wright; Annunciation Greek Orthodox Church, Milwaukee, Wisconsin)