It sits on the wall
A painting in black and white
Of a huge stopwatch,
Staring down on the lounge.
Its two wooden hands
Always say one o’clock,
It seems to be waiting…waiting
For its one moment.
Every twelve hours,
Only for a moment,
It really does tell the time,
but only for a minute.
Yet it does not regret
the shortness of its glory.
In twelve hours it will feel glory again,
But only for a minute.
The one o’clock clock.
Respect
Respect is to a friendship
as water to a tree.
I must have yours,
you must have mine.
for, without respect,
our friendship cannot take root.
—————————————————
I love you,
You love me.
That is a beginning,
but it is not enough.
We must work together
to prevent an end.
—————————————————
First of all, I wasn’t expecting it.
But then nobody ever does.
That’s what everyone tells me
when I tell them I didn’t expect something.
“Nobody ever does.”
But sometimes I do.
So there.
—————————————————
A fleeting glimpse
Perhaps –
But not fleeting enough
that I could not realize
that I love you.
I just need
to ask you
one thing –
Where did you leave
the bananas?
—————————————————
Peace be with you.
“Who knows what evil lurks
in the hearts and minds of man?”
said the sign
posted at the crossroads.
The young one scoffed
and walked away
laughing
down the road…of lonliness,
to the distant calling
of manhood…
A place from which
no one has been known
to return –
unscathed:
by slings and arrows
and that misfortune stuff…
That men are made of,
and women, too,
for that matter.
Though everyone took their time
admitting it to themselves
or friends
or ties that bind.
Yet still
the young one
walks alone.
A rhythmic, steady
beating on the roof,
an ancient tribal ritual
he’d heard before,
drumming into his soul
calming the restless spirit
for the moment,
a peacefulness
of the moment,
that was new (or long forgotten)
As the rain came.
The drumming continued
pulsating endlessly,
barely containing the restless spirit –
The world lay still,
as memories drifted by
insignificant,
to the beauty he knew,
insignificant,
to that place in time,
that was new (not soon forgotten)
As the rain came.
A rhythmic, steady
beating on the roof,
an ancient tribal ritual
he’d heard before,
Rhythm and beauty sharing
the soul of the restless spirit,
returning the joy,
a peacefulness,
returning the joy,
that was new (not soon forgotten)
As the rain came.
Pioneer minister
dressed in Sunday go-to-meeting clothes,
on the back of a strong steed,
traverses the country side.
Residents of the woods
perk up, looking towards the commotion,
disturbing their solitude,
on a country Sunday morning.
Lazy autumn leaves
in silent mid-motion while falling,
feel the Lord’s reigning presence,
in the minister’s passing.
Rifle across saddle
a problematic duality
quiet pen with screaming sword
peace and violent protection.
Sermon in drifting thoughts,
or at least significant scriptures,
interminable miles pass
under knowing, pounding hooves.
Church waits – anticipates
in a grove of tall hickory trees.
salvation starved pioneers
waiting for the word of the Lord.
Business on Saturday,
baptism at water’s edge by candle light
services Sunday morning
minister heads toward his next church.
Pioneer minister
dressed in Sunday go-to-meeting clothes,
on the back of a strong steed,
traverses the country side.
Times of love,
Times of grace,
Years of waking up
To your sweet, lovely face.
Times of sorrow,
Times of tears,
Years of having you
To love away my fears.
As I have you,
You have me,
We are us,
Us is we.
Our love was beautiful
Thirty years ago,
It is amazing now,
Incredible, mind-boggling.
Thinking of you
Being in love with me,
Makes me dizzy
And it is difficult to see.
When I think
of the beauty that is you,
I’m so thankful it was us
On whom God’s love sparks flew.
Our love is so complete
I sometimes get silly, or nervous,
Living in awe of the magnificence
That is the we that God gave us.
[From the upcoming book, Timepieces, Contrasts, and Memories, by Dan Roark.]
Peace be with you.
He walked through the streets in darkness,
Homeless but not alone,
A man on a mission of reverence
beyond the mundane chore of survival,
in a spirit of grace and mercy.
___
He stopped at Johnson’s Laundry
With it’s Closed for Christmas sign,
He knelt on the sidewalk outside the door,
Quietly saying the Lord’s Prayer,
the only prayer he knew.
___
Thanking “Papa” Johnson
For the clothes left unclaimed,
He left a small package – a crude, homemade cross
With a card on which was scrawled,
“Merry Christmas, from Jesus.”
___
Next was Garcia’s Grocery
For the leftovers not yet spoiled
He knelt and prayed –
Another crude cross,
And the card, “Merry Christmas, from Jesus.”
___
Ten blocks later, Miller’s Hardware,
For his sturdy, cardboard box dwelling,
and timber for his bed,
A kneel, a prayer, a larger crude cross,
And the card, “Merry Christmas, from Jesus.”
___
Too far from home, the mission closed,
He found a bench in the park,
after a passerby bought coffee
and he walked – recalling forgotten memories –
without knowing what they meant.
___
Early the next morning on Christmas Day,
he fought the wind and rain,
through the cold streets to the mission,
where Christmas dinner was served, the soul sustained,
and life again had purpose.
___
The rain stopped, the wind died down,
as he trekked on home,
home – an alley behind the church
white and made of stone,
with a view of the cross on the wall.
___
He turned into the alley
and stopped in his tracks.
Where his cardboard box had stood,
was a sturdy lumber shack,
with a roof, a window, and a door.
___
He opened the door to a sturdy wooden cot,
An orange crate table, his few possessions inside,
with something new on top.
A suit of clothes hung on a hook,
with the laundry marker still on it.
___
He closed the door because he could,
he’d forgotten what it felt like.
Walking to the table he turned on the lamp,
it had been years since he had his own light,
but then his breath went away.
___
Also on the table sat a Bible, brand new,
inscribed with a name he hadn’t used in years,
next to a picture of a family he’d forgotten he had.
He stood staring at them, his mind racing,
memories bombarding his thoughts.
___
He sat on the cot and picked up the Bible,
after staring at the picture a while.
He ran his fingers over the only thing he owned
that wasn’t worn by wear or weather,
with emotions he couldn’t control.
___
Through tears, with shaking hands,
he opened the Bible and read
“Merry Christmas, from Jesus.”
___________________________
© 2009 Daniel L. Roark
Merry Christmas!
Peace be with you.
Chasing After Wind 