Can You Hear Me Now

Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.

Plato

A few weeks ago, I worked up enough courage to read some of my poetry at the 16th annual Unity Unitarian music, prose, and poetry night. Despite the fact that I have been writing poems since I was a teenager, this was the first time I ever stood in front of a large audience of people to read them aloud. It was a humbling experience.

We were told to keep our contributions to a maximum of five minutes. It took me some time to find the right mix of poems to fit those guidelines, but I am happy with my ultimate lineup.

I began with one of my lighter pieces

To Be Puck

To walk upon the garden soil
intoxicated with the dew of infatuation
to reach for that which was never mine and not have my hands come up empty

To feel
to linger over words that burst through the cracks of my twice swollen heart
to cry like a banshee in the darkness of night

To be Puck
an honest yet mischievous Puck
casting his spells of enchantment on reluctant and sleepy lovers

I wrote this one shorty after hearing about the migrant children being locked up in wire cages after crossing the southern boarder.

Saint Francis

What would he say
this lover of birds and God’s precious beasts
to the child
motherless and starving
to the sick and the weary

What words would he speak
what promises would be given
what signs of hope would he bestow upon these pitiful, wandering souls
this friar of the poor and impoverished

What would he say
as these beautiful, frightened children
are hunted
herded
and locked up like the cattle he so dearly loves

I love how every Unity service begins by acknowledging those who are dealing with pain, illness, sorrow, loss, and addiction. Here are two poems about latter.

Weeding Your Garden

There are weeds and there are weeds
some, like the chickweed and the purslane
admit defeat and surrender with hardly a fight
you grab, you pull
and in one fell swoop you rid your garden of their troublesome
and vexing spread

But not so for the long rooted
and the painfully stubborn
the dandelion who laughs in the sun
while he secretly digs himself deeper
adamant and determined to stay put
fouling your garden and haunting your life
for as long as he is left unattended

Bit by Bit

First one
then another
still another
little by little tiny pieces are shaved away
until a blue sky is engulfed by gray
and a beautiful child is lost to the world

The man takes a drink
the drink takes a drink
the drink takes the man

Bit by bit by bit

I ended on two cheerful notes.

The Artist is Born

When hands become brushes
and fingers the means of insight and transformation
when eyes becomes mirrors
gathering then reflecting the images of beauty and truth

When legs transfigure into the stand of an easel
and the heart becomes a palette of color
texture and light

The artist is born

Lastly, I wrote this one for my amazing wife and life partner, Linda Winsor. She has put up with a lot from me and yet we are still together.

Across

Across the table
across the room
I like looking at you
knowing that you like looking at me
across the span of our lives

It’s essential that I put myself into new and sometimes uncomfortable places. It’s where my most important growth happens. Thanks to all that attended Cafe Unity in person and all that made it to the bottom of this blog article.