Donald’s poem

Donald wrote this poem for his mother. Pictured with him is everyone's mom, Judie Brown.

Dave talks jobs

Dave talks about the need for jobs and his hope that people looking for work won't dispair.

Money talks Michigan

A week after Barack Obama is elected President, a Grand Rapids, Michigan, man talks about his hopes for the future.

Profession of mission

I’m not sure why I gravitate toward poetry. I guess because I like spare in my words. In my words, I like clarity. In my words. But in my thoughts and deeds indeed clutter runs amok so I go knocking over chairs and cursing mirrors in what I am called to do. I ask the heavens to make it as simple as a single word on a page. Be. Do. Think. Feel. Love. Can the clarity of one’s life be encapsulated in a one-word Mission Statement?

I’ve always found them silly, corporate, until today I find myself at a crossroads

Winter

Winter wind strand of pearls

Promises broken and summers forsaken

The silence grows

Brooding, alone.

One by one, those pearls spill forth

Scatter on a silver lake

And roll to the ends of the earth.

 

I’m left holding the solitary strand

Just a string

A something that once meant something.

As I go to clasp it in my hand

Winter wind grabs that

Last remnant

And pulls it away.

 

I walk home across the diamond land.

Spring

And on this first night of spring

After the equinox, yes,

But when that scent first fills the air

And we’re on the verge of verdant

An inauguration of sweet ecstasy

There it is, yes,

The moss, yes,

The crocus pushing through

March into April.

You’re such a tease, a caress.

But we’ll take it.

We’ll take all of it.

We breathe deeply for the first time in months

And it doesn’t hurt.

And when I call your name, spring,

It echoes in the air, illuminates the night

And on the dawn, well,

A new year is born.

 

The farmer pushes the seed in the ground, pushes,

But don’t get ahead of yourself, farmer,

Sowing and plotting.

Take spring for the soft rain

For the clotted mud

For the clouded mind

For the cup of wine.

We take with the caveat that we give.

And in the spring

On this first night of spring

Close your eyes, clench your fists, your breath, then

Release, face and palms raised up to the Heavens, exhale,

And let the clean rain, yes,

Let the unadulterated rain

The breaking-no-commandment rain

“And it was good,” rain,

Anoint you, favored son.

Run

To run in February means to slosh slosh not grip just glide weather whether you like it or not note to self take one day at a time no one hour no one moment one foot in front of the other slide slide until you hit your stride and the rhythm is yours.

Parallel universe

Well

Here we are

And it’s spring again

Alleluiah Alleluiah

You walk over the hill

I see first your hat

Then your bib overalls that cover your heart

Your muddy boots

Cresting the hill

Hallelujah Hallelujah

Again spring

We are here

Well

Ashes of Roses

Ashes of roses

Pool on the far side of the moon

Marooned in eternal abyss

Bliss

Dust of our days

Solace our savior

Austerity of January

After the trappings

Of tinsel

Of glitter

 

After

Lite Brite

Starry Nite

 

After

Electric deer

Whiskey cheer

Frozen fear

 

Enter Epiphany

Eureka!

The white-out austerity of January