Weekly Poems: A Poem for Easter and More

EACH OF US MUST KNOW YOU PERSONALLY

Each of us must know You personally –
As friend or father, counselor, mentor, guide –
Someone we invite to come inside
That we might be Your witness literally,
Even of ourselves, though we may die,
Resurrected only eye-to-eye.

KINDERGARTEN GRADUATION

Kindergarten graduation
Is the end of a beginning.
Now we start the numbered grades,
Dancing through the years of grace.
Ends require celebration,
Rituals of well-earned winning,
Giving kids the accolades
A dancer needs to keep the pace.
Rejoice, then, in the raw sensation,
The shyness bursting, rapture spinning.
Eventually, the glory fades,
Nor can it run so long a race.

I MUST ACCEPT BUT CAN’T WHAT CANNOT BE

I must accept but can’t what cannot be.
I see you and my heart dissolves in pain.
You are not dead, but you are dead to me.

What happened to our love’s a mystery.
I rummage through our empty past in vain.
I must accept but can’t what cannot be:

That someone else now shares your off-hand “we,”
Now feels your tender tongue all feeling drain . . .
You are not dead, but you are dead to me.

I cannot lay aside my agony:
Again, again I play the same refrain.
I must accept but can’t what cannot be.

And yet I know this tortured ecstasy
Is just my way of holding you again.
You are not dead, but you are dead to me,

And still I cannot bear to set you free,
That of our love some remnant might remain.
I must accept but can’t what cannot be.
You are not dead, but you are dead to me.

FROM THE DISTANCE OF OUR SEPARATION

From the distance of our separation
I see the whole of which I was a part;
I see the way my temper tore your heart,
And then the love beneath the laceration.
I see the landscape shaping our relation:
Your fear that I might choose with little art,
My anger at the dreams you would impart,
The ancient paths that lead to confrontation.
But knowledge needn’t linger in regret,
Nor wait upon some wind to clear its sky.
We are none the worse for what is gone.
The moments that I never will forget
Are those whose careless grace must make me cry,
Safe within a heart forever won.

HERE AMONG THE SAVAGES

Here among the savages we amble
Apart from those not designated dear,
Pleased to watch and wonder as we ramble,
Playing with what else we’d have to fear.
Yes, we are aware of what our game is
Even as we hide behind our smiles,
Arrested in perceiving what our shame is
So long as custom clings and faith beguiles.
There’s neither love nor joy but in a gamble
Each must lose before the stakes are clear,
Revealing what, unknown, the heart reviles.

PASSION IS THE WINE, AND LOVE, THE GLASS

Passion is the wine, and love, the glass,
As ritual reserves the times for drinking.
So life gathers dignity and mass,
Sustained by scripts that free the mind for thinking.
Our love waits upon the white-robed table.
Vintage holy fills our hearts with joy.
Elijah comes, that wanderer of fable,
Restoring what the wide world would destroy.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM, FROM YOUR DEAR DAUGHTER

Happy birthday, Mom, from your dear daughter!
As you would put me first, so I now you,
Pleased to have this chance to change the order,
Pleased to please your heart in all I do.
Yield, then, for this day the joy of giving;
Be a receiver temporarily,
Inverting your accustomed way of living,
Returning soon enough to normalcy.
The interim, I trust, will be a pleasure,
Happy to the undefended root,
Delight too deep to monitor or measure,
A retrogression one can only treasure,
Yet know too well the years have rendered moot.


- Post Time: 01-21-17 - By: http://www.dk-descrier.com