#bloginstead: Party Line

It could bear any title

As long as it were free

To snap to position all parts

Notch into notch, smooth gears agreeing

Mind the party line.

 

Well, unwelcome shock

Well, intruding doubt

Well, whole heart half-living

Well, quiet now,

Mind the manual, chapter 14, article 11, clause 3A.

 

The important thing is to move

Move the machine

The machine deserves

Power, please don’t question

And turn off the light.

 

Are we making the Kingdom?

Hopeful gears think now and then

To themselves as they fit together

Click, click, click

The main thing is moving intone the machinists

Move your piece, forfeit peace, axel grease.

onebreah

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#bloginstead: The Hermit’s Lament

I cannot wring water from stone

There is no kneading of air to make my bread

And words, like water, must have a source

 

There has never been a carrot tempting enough, perhaps

To make me pump for water, rather

Than spill what must overflow anyways

 

A writer…I cannot deny it

But, the joy is all in the spilled writing, see it?

The math of my exultation, thoughts+attention+neural acrobatics=a translation of what is, filtered through one soul, though small, bringing some light, some beauty

 

Well suited to be a hermit

Lend me a shovel, for I have a talent I’d like buried

Why?  It is easier.  What if I offered it and they said it had no light, no beauty?

 

Who can put out their own heart on the auction block?

Tell me, how do you get the hermit

To give her littlest light?  To give such small beauty?

 

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The Dishwasher’s Prayer

shortstory3She bent low, being tall

Light touched her face from the window, touched the bubbles

She was careful with the water

Don’t let it flow, don’t let it waste itself unheeded down the drain

She was careful with the soap

Dilution, always, mostly water

Shaken in the worn bottle, coaxing out suds

Your eye can see all this and then

Come, come around to the side and watch

Her lips which betray the words

Her heart is whispering to God

Have you seen eyes like that?

Seeing dishes and Heaven, at once?

Come away now

Here is every goodness at once

And we too must begin.

 

Singularity

Singularity

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It is beyond my ever-obvious limits

Lay it down, here, on the floor

Your heavy expectations- I cannot hold them

I’ve been learning, see, what my arms can hold

And what they cannot.

 

I am not you

There’s delight there, see?  Only one you, only one me

Are you not glad to be singular?

I know, I know you see all my flaws

Who doesn’t?  Yet, some are tied

And knotted, and woven, into the good, the gold.

 

He knew what a busted pot He’d chosen for His kitchen

Madam, aren’t your arms tired?

Hold your goodness; it is yours, perhaps

Discard these stones, mixed in- they are not good for you either.

There.  Good.  We can embrace now, see?

You, being you, me being me.

“Moses”

 

You, cast upon this resting water
Held by bowing reeds, attending
Steady nursemaids, heads bowed
They peer at their charge, basket-borne
Searching mouth and fists tightening
The air is emptied of her-smell, touch, voice, and the reeds know no lullabies
You cry–of course you do and
The water stirs and perfumed hands
Find you, reeds parting, nursemaids swaying, watching.

 

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Hold

Why, wild Giver,

This loathsome, leaking

Wretched blackness

Threatening to swallow, to swallow swift

All good gain, all light

 

You say it so softly, so softly

Right into my tingling ear

Wrought red by weeping, by raging

-My love, despair not

Take this wretched, this leaking, this puncturing

This pain

Take it in hands of flesh and hold it.-

 

I cannot hold it

I scream

It weighs, I bend

Hands slip under my arms

-Hold up your arms, I aid you-

Tight, tense, through pale lips

I CANNOT HOLD IT, TAKE IT AWAY

-Hold, beloved, hold.-

 

I hold.

Screams.

Arms, every muscle quivering, alive with weight pulling into the ground

His hands under my arms lifting.

-Stronger than the weight

Dear one

We hold, we lift.-

 

Up it rose, past my swollen face

With salt, salt of tears, all traced

Up and above us

Held.

-We go to offer it, we go to make an offering

This way go the martyrs; they held

Take courage, dear one,

You will not always lift

I myself will lift you up

When arms no longer tremble, when backs threaten not to snap under the weight

This way go the martyrs; they held.

Dear one, hold.-_mg_8393