prayer to end procrastination
my son rattles off his high school deadlines
with certainty
positive he’ll get it all in on time
oh Lord
may I sit down
with a clear heart
and hours of untasked time
to subtract out the use tax money
and write the overdue
or early
(depends how you look at it)
grant report
may I cheerfully pound out what’s needed
and then sleep
untroubled by doubt’s cold flames
encouraging words
boxes stacked toward the ceiling
of the still living room
I sift through the papers
of the years
of heartstrings
so many souls
keep us alive
and more –
keep us dreaming and doing
becoming more than we might have
exceeding our own expectations
stretching to just barely
nudge against theirs
never enough time
seconds flash by like
bullet trains
possibilities closed off
for what feels like forever
choosing choosing choosing
living with a lump in my throat
and an eye on the sweep
of the second hand
barely time to gather the beloveds
in a hug
and all this in a time
when our past life has slowed
to the mere vibration of
a solid
its crystal lattice holding space
for us to do something
meaningful
deliberate
intentional
with time now
and still it’s not enough
at least I haven’t made it be enough
to be able to rest
doubt
typing up the manuscript
one moment it’s
wow!
next minute I hear internal paper crumpling
along with my confidence
is it any good?
does it have any teeth
any heart
any tears?
(I’m decidedly uninterested in brains)
sometimes I feel like
I’m removing my insides
polishing them up
artfully plating them for consumption
then nervously waiting for them
to be sent back to the kitchen
other times I feel
I’m just spinning candy floss
making a big sweet pastel globe
of fluffy nothingness
good on the tongue
but nothing to bite into
nothing to stick to your bones
and keep you going
when you’re out chopping wood
I don’t know
what the world wants
from what I can do
all I can do is trust
keep learning and growing wiser
keep giving what I manage to make
and take pleasure watching
my work leave my hands
not worrying so much
about where it comes to rest
egg gathering
put your hand
deep into the dark
feel around
for something smooth
draw back out
cradling a warm sphere
made of echoing rings
little wondrous worlds
rich nourishment
to fuel your waking
mud people
Then there were the first humans, whose job it was to offer prayer, tell stories, and remember the passage of time. Made of the clay of this earth, the mud people of the first creation did not endure; when it rained, their bodies grew soft and dissolved.
– “Creations” from Dwellings by Linda Hogan
mud people
we soft squish
puddle and
wear away
tears run rivulets
into furrows into
cracks into
crumbles
we have no hard
to hang onto
no set stone spine
instead we bend bow sway
pray palms high
heart pressed low to
earth’s chest listening
to pulse and wave
pliant supplicants
consumed by awe
all we need
is to make:
prayer / tale
sound salve
time taste
and for you to please take
what our muddy palms
hold out open
trembling
mission 2020
I want to burn
some bittersweet love for being
into your heart and brain
until your passion
for this little life spark
won’t stay inside you either
and we all break down
these flimsy plastic facades
that keep warm bodies stiff
and nurture every last
needy other soul
(yes, even our own)
sound work
I am rolling o’s and l’s
into lolling logjams
pushing s’s and z’s
into lazy buzzes
growling r’s gutturally
until they resound
in the hollow chamber of your chest
trying to use
little dots and lines
to make you feel
something
new in your body
not just your conscious crown
two masters
with a limited number of breaths
where shall I put my time:
making
or
finding homes for what I have made?
the simple answer is
both
the harder answer is
I will run out of air
before I can sleep
Ode to 2 AM
to the computer battery, giving up the ghost
the screen going blank
whirring fan going silent
to the dry pen barrel
nothing left to give
to my heavy lids
and slumped torso
fighting off inevitable sleep
to the freezer icemaker
rattling me awake
to the steady ticks
of the analog clock
marking the dark seconds
until light breaks
to the silent sleeping souls
whose cacophony makes
the swirling days splendid
and whose blessed nighttime stillness
allows thoughts to form
and expand like clouds
blowing up over the plains
adrift heavy with the promise of rain
that might soak and satisfy
the columbines
bowed by the house’s heat
to the locked doors
keeping the bears at bay
to the chocolate and wine
whispering in the cupboard
and the warm bed
countering their call
to the fuzzy blanket
tucking me in
in my half-asleep state
agreeable for examining
the dreamy subconscious
to the paper obediently absorbing
graphite, ink, ideas, my self
to those who will
put up with me tomorrow
and those who cluck their tongues
at my questionable habits
my inability to do
what’s right and reasonable
to the quiet stars straining
to put all this and more
into expanded perspective
to the sofa’s creak
when I finally tear myself away
to all these
I insincerely promise
I will do better tomorrow
(goodnight)
