A Heartfelt Description of a Prayer

The balding minister lit candles, waiting
To feel the blessed peace of Christ, descending
On a fragile and flawed saint, hoping
For the light to overcome the darkness.

Mary the Mother of Jesus: A Good Friday Sonnet

Oh my son. Oh my son. Oh my son. Oh my beautiful baby boy....

My heart is breaking for you; I'm dying inside; I can't even speak.

I want to die instead of you. But you are so strong; and I am weak.

You are hanging there with nails in your hands. You are in so much pain.

And I can't help but to think of the night you were born... and of the rain
That was falling cool and hard. And of how Joseph was annoyed,

“Surely somebody has some place for a pregnant woman to have her child!”

There was plenty of pain that night. But now it is you, not me, travailing -

Birthing God's promised redemption. It's been a treasure never failing

For me since the angel spoke. But I know that first you must be reviled

...and die. The light has gone out of the sky. This darkness is heavy like lead.

Soon, though you deserve only the very best from us all, you'll be dead.

Oh my son. Oh my son. Oh my son. Oh my beautiful baby boy....

I am dying with you, in front of you. Dear God, my beautiful boy.

Peter: A Good Friday Sonnet

Oh man, why is my mouth so stupidly big?

I failed him. I'm no better than a pig.

To crawl down deep in a hole would be bliss.

But I know that I shouldn't run away.

Didn't I tell myself, “I have to stay”?

But crucifixion? That I'd rather miss.

Oh God, you know how bad I want to flee

Oh God, why did you even fashion me

In my mother's womb? Give me a cold, dark tomb.

I just want to run so far. Don't make me see

Him.... dead. Send me to Ninevah. There's room!

Yeah, send me anywhere at all. Make me pay.

The sin I've committed is heavy like stone.

The best I can do is to sit here and groan.

Pilate: A Good Friday Sonnet

These pompous Jew beggars coming to me before sunrise

As if I was some kind of hit man for hire. Well, surprise!

This Roman isn't too interested in playing that game.

They walk in, filthy and reeking of their food, with proud eyes.

Restraining themselves out of fear, but spitting that one name...

“Jesus: You don't get him dead? You'll be the one who gets blamed.”

Can I ignore them? No, damn it. There's no way to tell

What they might do. They might rebel. But I'd make their lives hell.

Well, here's the thing: I'll see the man and I'll take his measure.

“Bring him unto me, this Jesus. It will be my pleasure.”

I'll ask the questions. I'll make this Jew see the light.

I am Pilate and should be feared,... everyone knows that, right?

“Hello there brave Galilean. What brings you here today?

What, cat got your tongue? Haven't you some begging words to say?

Well?....”

Le Printemps

Chill breeze and warm sun,

Greening, freezing, and hoping,

Spring is in the air.

Three Lines of Eight Syllables

Rain pours down in December.
Sewage rises in my basement.
Bye, bye books in cardboard boxes.

A Hindu Limerick

There once was a cow from Calcutta
Whose owner was once heard to mutter,
"This bovine looks tasty,
But I mustn't be hasty,
Lest I end up dead in the gutter."

Stains

How do stains get on ceilings?  

Do they crawl up there when no one is looking?

Are they the fruit of over zealous cooking?

Do they sneak down from the attic above?

Do they just want to be loved?

How do stains get on ceilings?

The Fat, Snuggling Poet

If I were a poet of girth

Known for romantical worth

I'd snuggle a rhyme

Then, after a time,

This verse to a poem'd give birth.

------------------------------------------
My wife informs me that the first iteration of this poem was actually very naughty.  Somehow I missed that.  Sweet naiveté, I guess.  In any event I edited a bit.

Geography

To the west of dear Iowa
Stretches a plain,
Rich in its greatness
And packed full of grain.
Also there's cattle
And don't forget sand.
And rocky-type mountains
That really are grand.
And going west further
If further you goes,
You end up with water
A-tickling your toes.

Just Nonsense. Just Because

Rest is often deception
Promising relaxation,
But not delivering.

Pizza, on the other hand,
Does exactly what it says.
It, um, pis.  And it zas.

The Home Front

He had a bowl of Grape Nuts.
He drank a glass of juice.
He talked a bit at table,
The domesticated moose.

Algebraic Breakfast

One scrambled egg

Two pieces of toast

Three little sausages

Four cups of coffee, no cream.

(First word's value) + 3 = syllables

Here Lies A. Dormer: He Got Tired

Weary old headstones
Lazy, leaning epitaphs
Bleary-eyed bon mots.

Severe Thunderstorm

Rendered blind by a falling wall of water,
Knocked aside by a wind as strong as Thor,
I'm still standing with my arms up to the heavens,
"Give me more, mighty rainstorm, give me more!"

(Just kidding.  I ran as fast as I could to get inside and went to the basement.)

"The Immodesty of Law" or "The Sly Humor of Irony"

In future there will be a law
That rules must exist without flaw.
But irony lurks
Gumming the works,
Saying, "Law without flaw?  Ha, ha!  Bah!!!"

Motion

Wind-rustled grasses
Cars rushing by in all haste
Motion by motion

Affliction (and a glib response to it)

Do you know how, in northern climes,
Your car gets surrounded, covered
By salt and dirt and snow-booger slime?

Or how, in more tropical places,
A guy gets bug-bit and sweat slathered,
Overcome by a miserable stasis?

Some days discomfort will hunt you down,
Smear you with honey and pepper,
Try like a devil to make you frown.

Wash your car.  Get A/C.
Take a shower.  Smile.  Be free.

Throwback Thursday

I found this haiku in the comments section of something else.  It referred to my gassy daughter.  She's better now.  A bit.

On the Southern Front
Mustard gas was daily used.
Chemical warfare.

My Boy

Sometimes in the morning
My boy brings me coffee.
If I would have slippers
He'd bring me those too.
He's eager and willing
To serve and be helpful.
I need to make lists
Of the things he can do.


[I write this in a jesting kind of way.  But I really do need to remember to give him things to do.  I don't just want him NOT doing things, but taking joy in serving and being helpful.  He's already a natural.  I just have to help cultivate his God-given impulse.]