For My Wife on Her Birthday

A little something I wrote quite some time ago, but nonetheless still true.

For My Wife on Her Birthday

Not many know you like I do
That sweet knowledge is mine alone
For like a pocket to a shirt
So my heart on yours is sewn
True, I sometimes forget about ketchup
And syrup and such
When I pour them on
You turn and chide me
– But never too much

For it’s when I think
(Without thinking)
That the one I like best
Likes what I like too
So, please, don’t be insulted
When I bracket the things
I like with you

Not many see the treasure
That is by my side each day
Few, indeed, know the pleasure
Of your impish teasing way.

Thirty-seven years of age
And sixteen of them with me
Three kids, two homes, four cars
An apartment on an alley
So it should be with a life
That is shared
Only we two can remember
As we celebrate together
On this joyous day in December.



Our Obedience

Our Obedience

Were we to see
The fruits
Of  our
A glimpse
The tiniest
What behind
The veil
Is marked
By radiance
Our eyes here
Would swim
With tears
Of joy
That are endless.


The Builder’s Son

The Builder_s Son

Measure once, measure twice
Only to have it right
Will suffice

He who transformed
A rock
To water
And water
To wine
Come transform my heart
To wholly seek You
Let me not wander
Nor ever wonder
About Your love for me

Let me run, let me run
To the side of the Builder’s Son
There is none, there is none
Like unto the Holy One.


Forever Him

Forever Him

In the days of lonely sorrow
Down dark stretches of tomorrow
Set your mind on things above
Forever Him
Forever love

Hemmed in by troubles large and small
Pressed and squeezed past any recall
Look to Heaven’s sweet release
Forever Him
Forever peace

Hung in tangled webs of madness
Look up from dead-ends of sadness
Choose instead His praise employ
Forever Him
Forever joy.



The Flesh

The Flesh

Anéanti, anéanti
The flesh invites destruction
Anéanti, anéanti
The flesh has earned destruction.

One is either deceived or
One further step
When wickedness,
Sweet to the taste
Is hidden under the tongue

But you can trace it back to a moral choice
As to why you won’t leave the things you love
The things that will destroy you.


The Really Real

The Really Real

Filled up with longing
For the really real
The clock tick-tocking
Down until I feel
The earth beneath me
Spinning like a wheel

Stalking belonging
A creature by half
Shunning the taunting
And the cruel laugh
Me plus I is no-
thing- so says the math

Until I enter
Into the quiet space
And take the time
To take a breath
And give it back
In songs of highest praise
No longer half, I’m whole


Crumb Crunchers

Crumb crunchers

Crumb crunchers
So dear to me
Thumb suckers
Cling to my knee

Who knows
What I’ll find
In my pockets?
While guarding
Their fingers
From power sockets

I am the
Tickle monster
Who ekes out
Giggles galore
When up-turned faces
Beg for more

I toddle among
Knuckle gummers
Whose mouths
Have a date
Across the summers
Here and there
They osmose
Through their tongues

Tis the age and
Time to whet
Their palates
So they’ll know
The uniqueness
Of Your Word
Through the sweetness
Of the honeycomb

So that in time
To come
They shall not depart
From Him.


I Met a Poem

I met a Poem

I met a poem
All unaware
She was one

She did for
The least of these
And was told
Twas for the Son

She submits
Her scheme
To follow
His theme

Her metre
Marking time
To His beat
Her rhymes
Line by line
Toll complete

And raises
Others up
With no thought
To her own

By which was shown
We too can poems be
Songs formed
On the lips of God.