i cannot understand

He,
whose breath
ignited the stars,
who hands
(dripping clay)
formed the world
and set it spinning,
he
who called forth life,
played hopscotch with kangaroos,
and touch tag with turtles,
he
who cycled
the rain, air, sun and soil,
who conducted
the orchestra of creation,
he
bent down
and washed my dirty feet.

beginning of the end

The juxtaposition
of the anointing by one
and the denial of another.
The humility of washing feet,
the brazen arrogance of pitting in a face.
The abandonment of self in prayer,
the forsaking of a friend in need.

This is the terrible beginning
of an amazing end.

while you wait

Use what you’ve been given
do not hide it underground.
There’s a bank in heaven.

who’s your daddy?

Hard times a-comin’!
Gotta get back up
every time this world
knocks you down.
Gotta stand up straight;
hold your head up high.
Gotta keep on goin’
even when the road is long.
You know it’s comin’.
It’s at the door.
So get ready.
Know whose you are.

news

Wars
and rumors of
wars.
Nation
rising against
nation.
Earthquakes,
wars
and rumors of
nations rising
in famine.
Wars
and rumors of
wars
with betrayal
and desolation.
The sun
gone dark.
The stars
fall
from the heavens.
Man
standing
where he does not belong.
Wars
and rumors of
wars.

Please
turn off the telly.

woe

when the inside
doesn’t match the outside,
you’re in trouble.

when your words say “yes”
but your actions say “no.”

when you disguise greed
as righteousness.

when you smile and speak blessing
as you plunge a knife into a heart.

when you disassociate yourselves
from the sins of your fathers
then turn around
and follow in their footsteps.

you walk a perilous road.

it’s the highway to hell.

in the sycamore fig

Outcast,
hiding behind
fig leaves
(like your ancestors),

I see you.

Don’t point fingers;
point the way home.

Tonight
we dine at your table.
Thereafter
we’re at mine.

misguided is

a man with a misconception
a wide-eyed youth
a series
a politician
a dieter
an opportunist with empty pockets
a movie
well-intentioned friends
a joke gone wrong
hearts on sleeves
an album
a small window
limited knowledge
often: me

sweet

coming home

smelling rain

spring’s first flower

baby’s giggle

a headbutt and purr

the gleam in an eye

an embrace in heartache

a familiar face in a crazy crowd

the widow’s mite

a comforting song

a peace-filled sigh

coming home

generosity

And so
we begin
again.

Around
and
around
and
around
we go.

“One more time, Dad.”
“Read it again, Mom.”

Infinite loop

until the coder
writes
an exit() function
in C

and we all revert control
to the operating system
to leave the program.

Amen.

*********************************************************
November Poem-a-Day is back!
(And I am behind!)
Difficulties with time and internet mean that pieces are slow-posted.
And I am going to try to combine the daily prompts with my daily scripture reading. (Hang on, this should prove interesting!)