Confidence

My confidence in myself is this;
that I shall surely fall.
Though skills apparently persist,
the Lord sustains them all.

From Him comes the gift that lets me trust
the firmly planted Vine.
Apart from Him I’m less than dust;
in Him all things are mine.

photographer

To capture, as if it were possible
the morning light
to show others what they miss
not being him, not being with him
in chill early darkness
he leaves comfort behind, slips
through dim woodland
across dusty waste
around shrouded stone
climbs up or down
to the vantage point
to the hidden spot
his secret spot
the just-right spot
and waits and adjusts and fiddles
and watches and the moment comes
or moments, and the button is pressed
click and click and click and
later he pries the images, his images
from behind the lens
spreading them before you
as if seeing them could transport you
as if seeing them could deliver you
sound of water or birdsong
brush of dewdrop or cobweb
scent of damp earth or cedar
knowledge
of what he knew there
or knows there
in the hidden spot
the secret spot
as if it were possible
in the morning light

antidote

the first symptom of
the serpent's venom is
the conviction that
you aren't snake-bit

if you don't believe me
just look at the world

if you don't believe me
just look at the mirror

if you don't believe me
why is John 16:7-11?

...and over and over and...

Please

don't expect me

to always

do anything

the same way again.

Why, I can barely

be religious

about religion.

St. Valentine's Lunch Break

He leaps the curbside snowbank
like a youth, this balding man,
and into the store he goes,
shortly emerging
with one small perfect bag,
a smile and a beating heart.
Now - to find a cheeseburger!

last winter

Who shovels your snow when the new year comes,
when January blows pages off the calendar
with a wicked blast of frozen whistling white?
Is it the half-grown red-cheeked boy,
eager to learn from cold hard struggle,
to scrape your steps, your walk,
to pad his pocket and earn perhaps
a glance from the pig-tailed girl next door?
Or does the appreciated neighborhood hero
venture forth to find your driveway
with his latest howling seasonal machine,
while you watch from behind loose windows
gratefully, through curtains of dusty lace?

Do they know
you once could kiss like springtime,
my tottering frail-but-fair?
Do they know
you shine like summer in my heart?
Do they know
this embarrassed stricken warrior,
bound to his bed in your hidden chamber,
who only longs to clear paths for you
and taste once more the January wind?