Thicker

His blood's thicker

than troubled water,

that much we already knew.

His blood's thicker than Pepsi,

I tell ya that's good news,

for the generation.

His blood's thicker than

cowboy coffee

boiling under the stars,

thicker than a Guiness

'tween a drunken driver's knees.

His blood's thicker than a sea

of sorrow, thicker than

the tears of all tomorrow, thicker than

a tide of grief or the pride

of a thief.

His blood's thicker than bad blood

between brothers, brother.

It's thicker than your skull,

thicker than skin,

gratefully, we drink it all in.

When we empty our hearts

its His cup we fill,

sweating the details in the olive garden,

bowing

to our Father's will.

By One

My father's last breath

will follow

his next to last

by one.

My father's last breath

won't have the will

to cool a tea cup,

but it will change heaven

and earth

by one.

My father's last breath

will leave us looking at the lake,

the lake evaporating

to make clouds,

the clouds going dark

to make tears.

Eternity will begin

with this last breath.

Wheat and chaff,

the only consequence

worthy of our soul,

separated, one by one,

by the One.

Pillow Talk

It's only after midnight

you can force the clock to jump.

Ask the minutes to miss

a tock or two.

My neck is stiff,

muscles sore from pushing

the days away away.

Break two eggs in a pan for one.

Calendars get filled

tearing away pages,

moon becomes new

vaulting the pines.

 

Only an empty man

is full of himself.

This is sleep without you,

pillow talk

beneath my breath.

Jesus in Jeans

Jesus in jeans

isn't much of a stretch,

tool belt, thermos,

some decent boots.

He might shave for Sunday

sit in the back pew

of every church in the world

and smile at the preacher.

He's an everyday Saviour these days,

raising our spirits,

raising our sights.

Story is He overheard a cafe conversation,

"O halfway houses are a good idea,

but not on my street."

Jesus leaned in,

paid for the gentleman's coffee

and whispered, "According to My Father

the whole world's a halfway house.

Don't forget to tip

the waitress."

He's an everyday Saviour these days,

donating blood, again.

Every time we lift a finger to help

we're helped.

What would Jesus do without us ?

Truth is He couldn't stand it.

That's why He stands at the door...

ready to knock some sense of Him

into the heart of the world.

Counter Top

Always a spoon for sugar,

never a pinch,

get something that sweet

on your fingers

Mama make you wash your hands.

Salt is something

a cook can rub together,

smile come across your face

cool as a cloud of Vidalia onions

and sweet celery.

People with real jobs

get equal at lunch,

briefcases and bandanas

led by their bellies.

Day will come

we'll pass our hearts

easy as pepper

at the Lord's Table.

Right now, eyes big as

sliced tomatoes,

we put in our order

and wait for grace.

Too Familia

My daughter flips

earmarked magazines

from a chair in the lobby,

a mountain of brooding men

modeling revolutionary colognes

and capture the world watches

in half dressed leather rooms.

I won't whisper to her

but hope she hears me,

"Don't expect the world

to be the world to you,

every piece has been sold,

everything touchable marred."

We pay the insurance,

make a bond to collect her due.

In all her years I might shape this minute

or that, pass on a smile,

the wealth of a psalm.

We hope and we know we hope,

we lift eyes and head each morning

to the mockingbird's trumpet.

Some of the day's march

falls silent on our knees.

If I could hand her love in alabaster

velvet smooth and white,

a cup to catch the tears of Jesus,

holy water for her branch giving leaf,

then I'd be a father worthy.

Sand and pearls will

make her song.

Distance keep the war from hurting.

Dinners with grace and the boyfriend

careful to care,

I buckle as she drives us

home.

Mandatory Eight

I circled today to stop lying.

I'll need to make another mark

to surrender snide,

pick a date to bury

the fake New York accent,

lay the sharp tongue

and Woody Woodpecker laugh

to rest.

Don't speak when hungry

except to say, "I'm hungry."

Don't speak when lonely

except to say, "I'm lonely,"

"Tired" when tired.

A mute button

would be bionic mutation,

what better machine than

a scale to weigh my words,

a vision of my voice in the world

as perceptive of sour notes

as American Idol judges.

This different drummer,

unsteady in time,

skips from the lightness

of laying down the mask.

As I step through the ropes

for the knock out punch,

my ears perk to the bell

ringing true.

Fits the Hammer

A boy's hand

fits the hammer

shy of his father's grip.

You grow into this business.

Center the nail

plane the planks,

doors, chairs, tables,

sign your name in sweat and sawdust.

Easy to daydream,

hope swinging from a tool belt

on the pegboard,

someday all this

will be all there is to it.

A beach girl

eyes the line of blue wind

and water,

her mom measures the clouds

for storms.

The difference between them

will narrow with years,

today's sunshine and sky,

the one thing they'll wear

forever, whether the house is full

of dreams, screams

or memories.

If it were only that,

buttering bread

and naming kittens,

we'd all be kings in castles

and our children saints.

But homes are broken,

holidays divided,

the most we hope for

is half of what we had.

Losers weepers.

Brother's keepers.

The ounce of prevention

roots underground.

An army of the other cheek turned

springs eternal from the empty grave.

He's charged us to carry the cloak in danger

a geography of extra miles.

Pick up where we're crossed

and swallow free,

there's only so much a cup

can hold until

it runneth over.

Sky-Stomach of God

Today  the butterflies are flying scared

the butterflies fly scared today

in the belly of God.

Butterflies fly scared

in the sky-stomach of God,

blue powder, gold powder wings

torn like the ozone layer.

Among a ring of monarchs

a petition circulates,

billions of butterflies needed

to fly in formation

above Antarctica snow.

The crimson rose of Ceylon,

the windmill of Nepal,

spearwinged cattle heart of Venezuela,

Burma's jungle glory,

blue adonis of Latvia,

purple spotted swallowtail

the island butterfly of New Guinea,

Mexico's figure eight and the Grecian shoemaker,

the red lace wing Filipino

and the sky blue morpho of the Amazon,

Nicaragua's blue doctor,

the clipperhead of Vietnam,

Hong Kong dragontail,

the button jewel of Dublin

and the Berlin emperor.

Butterflies in a row,

a living thread

to sew

the atmospheric wound.

saxopoem

To expand my tiny heart

I go to the woodshed.

In an expression of empathy

with everything awkward,

I take in air

and let loose through the brass

bell of a soprano saxophone.

When my embrochure squeaks

I wrinkle my brow

to feign intensity.

Hoping to claim a serpentine charm

I begin each hour's lurch

with a long single note,

alone in a minaret

I call myself to prayer.

In tremolo,

I imagine legions of men

dropping the walls of our stubborn

private Jericho.

Brothers in circles playing

saxophones to learn what moods swing

when we come home from work.

Brothers playing saxophones

in compassionate schools.

Mentors humming harmony, as

the I am responsible reed section

mixes courage, saxophoning and air, 

expanding

the practised hearts

of men.

The secure test of hammocks

Never alone when we read,

always alone when we write.

Worst fear

is can't afford

a lessor one either.

A lesson is what prevents

a lessor one

from climbing the list.

I sin less in the kitchen

than other rooms,

the eye consumed

with small beads of air

in the honey.

The ghost of mama's spoons

whisk me away.

I have a minute

to pen a poem.

I have a pen,

just a minute,

it's a poem.

Early encompasing dark,

the Devil would say perpetual,

sunlight warmer through glass

and the grace to set ink

on a page, proves its not.

Time with,

time for,

all secondary queries to

Who is time from ?

A day of blue

sun baked

I've been drinking it all day

as He fills the cup.

What we did to someone here,

not even a footnote

to what He did to get us clear.