What Happened to Our Tribe?

Our Big Gayborhood

The Winter

The Word as Sacrament

For poets, it’s the Word as sacrament…

We gather to hear the Word

Which has been held deep down inside

Where it cannot abide

It must be spoken

This, the true sacramental form

The outward and audible sign of

Inward and Spiritual grace

The grace of the Word is free

The Word enlightens our minds

Stirs our hearts

And strengthens our will

And we will speak!

In the Beginning was the Word

And the Word was spoken

And through this, all things came into being

And without the Word, nothing has being

The poet knows this

The poet lives by the word

            The sacred word

And the poet desires to share the word

Because the poet believes in the word

If you doubt the power of words

Read the first chapter in a book called Genesis…

LET THERE BE LIGHT

And we are trying to echo that ancient command

Trying to say something that stirs

The Universe or (at least) someone’s heart

                        To life…

Something astounding

Something incredibly moving

Like...

Let there be

POETRY

A Rainbow Reflection

Our Big Gayborhood

The Plunge

You say I’m getting ready to take a plunge

A lunge straight into hell

I might as well jump off the Empire State Building

But I say, it wouldn’t be so bad

A good time could be had

And right now, as I contemplate the trip

I feel the pull of gravity, magnetic

A gigantic force
I no longer have the will to fight

It ignites a curiosity

Enticing me to see if I could survive

So dramatic a dive into
What could be oblivion

Or might I get caught in the weather
Float like a feather

In the drafty winds blowing about

Here and there, up and down

Hovering above the town
Where the lights twinkle bright

A delight to my sight, calming my fright

As I lean further than sanity allows

I’m not sure what kind of trip I’ll have
Such is life

Terminal or Eternity

Suspended in a moment

Forever in a breath

Nothing like life or death

            Being

I look down to the street below

Hypnotized, no time to rationalize

I fall

I see you at the window on the 83^rd floor                 

You yell, “How’s your trip to hell?”

I shout back; the wind in my lungs

Riding the breeze, feeling release

The ease of burden left behind

“I don’t know, but the view looks good from here.”

Tolerance

I do not feel invited to the banquet

The communion rail is a fence you stand behind

Dispensing the sacraments, blessings and forgiveness

Your eyes grow wide as I approach

I see your tight smile, your upturned nose

The muscles in your neck flex

When you offer me the bread

Your hands tremble as my lips sip from the chalice

And I begin to doubt

The Feast of the Saints unsettles my stomach

I’m sick, bloated with depression, feeling rejection

After drinking from a cup poisoned with tolerance

Your tolerance is endurance, condescending

It does not persecute

Yet, it does not accept

Your tolerance does not deny, nor does it embrace

It doesn’t stand for something

And it doesn’t take a risk

Your tolerance is cowardice looking for a place to run

A silence of smoldering resentment

Waiting to explode

Your tight smile, your wide eyes, your upturned nose

They betray you

And don’t ever think, not even for a moment

I don’t see your furtive stares or hear your whispers

I feel the squirm in your handshake

And I understand the meaning of your stiff hug

Your tolerance is a glass ceiling

A wall of silence

A circle of fear

A subtle message that says

You’re not really wanted here

Tolerance is neither hot nor cold

Neither soothing nor refreshing

Tolerance is lukewarm

Fit to be spat out

The Genius Of The Crowd: Charles Bukowski

Photo by Matt McNeil oklappraiser@aol.com

The Wind

 

Oh, I long for justice

But with you, I know it’s going to be Just Is

I know I’m justifiable

But you laugh and say

Only just...if...I...able... myself

To see you as a human being

Not a freak

I scream and shout, run about

Up and down the street all day and night
Asking for equality

But you don’t hear my voice

Listen to my words

Perceive my being

We must seek common ground
But you say

We have nothing in common

Not today or any day

I do know this...

After we sift through all the mud and shit and dust and rubble

Dig down to one essential thing

You cannot deny that I draw breath

(As you do, too)

And that’s enough for me to know

We are the same kind of creature

Because we breathe

We share the air

Air is free

You can’t grow it, age it, or refine it
You can't define it, monetarily

You can’t order a select cut of USDA choice air

Air is free

Take a breath

You must know, you breathed the same air
I breathed moments ago

But don’t worry, I’m not contagious.

You can’t turn into me nor I into you just by sharing air

Unless, you believe like the ancients did

In our breath resides the spirit

Breathed into us by God

And when take our last breath

The spirit leaves, joining with the breeze
Since we'll be together
One way or another
We might as well start now

We must understand
When we die, we expel our spirits into the wind
To move what we will move
To go where we will go
And, you know, only God knows
Where the wind blows
How it goes
Whom it moves

So, listen

There's a message
We hardly ever hear
Stop the clutter, the clatter

All the senseless noise

Draw near

In Communion

Oh Come Union...

Be together in peace

In Community

Oh Come Unity...

A prayer
Carried in the wind
To the ears of God