Poem: The Hills Are Always There

The Hills Are Always There

  I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.

My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. ̴̴̴̴̴ Psalm 121

The air can be oppressive, thick with smoke

Forcing us to swelter inside. Others,

Though, are forced from their homes. We are still home.

Just because we can’t see the hills doesn’t

Mean they aren’t there and smoke will blow over.

 

At other times it’s the oppressing air,

A thick blanket of fog blinds us again

But still we know the hills are always there.

At these times we have to stoke the fire’s flames,

Not pray for rain to clear the air of smoke.

 

Others might dwell in the clouds or the smoke

Oblivious to the hills, green or brown

But always there, hidden beneath a cloak.

We might live with smoke and clouds but we know

By faith, the hills are always there.

 

August 2015

About This Poem

I wrote this under the inspiration of the Psalm during a time of intense wildfire smoke. You couldn't see Moscow Mountain from our house (which you almost always can because it's so close). It felt important to remember to look to the hills even when they can't be seen and to remember where your strength comes from.
 

Poem: My Sunset

 

My Sunset

 It’s kind of crazy to think of myself

Running out in the woods here at twilight.

I don’t often come up on the deer here.

They typically cross my path, their white tails

Waving danger. In winter I wouldn’t

Run because of the snow. One time I was

Running on Veteran’s Day and fell and

Broke my hand. I was so embarrassed

That I popped right back up not knowing that

I was even injured. I ran a half mile

Before I even noticed the throbbing.

Now it’s summertime and I go traipsing

About through the woods frolicking with deer

Not even seeing that they are there and

Certainly not thinking that I can fall

And injure myself here when it’s almost

Dark. Then I smell the syringa heavy

On the air. I take a deep breath, look out

On the field, the last glimmer of sunlight

Changes the clouds and I think about all

The disease and my age and that I might not

Have much more time to run at twilight

In the woods. What if I fall and get hurt?

I shake that thought with just a tinge of red

And run on into what is my sunset.

 July 2020

About This Poem

I realize that I still act like I'm a kid sometimes when I'm out roaming the woods. One time I was out running and started thinking about my age and how I have hurt myself while thinking I'm younger than I am. This poems is what came of that thought.

Poem: Glossolalia

Glossolalia

 A sounding brass, a tinkling cymbal,

The tongues of men and of angels,

Un-understandable language

Sounding out its emptiness

To the Universe.

 

But it is a gift, this babel

Every bit as intelligible to

The Father as baby talk is

To the doting parents

Of the Universe.

 

We cry out, “Abba, Father!”

In a senseless reverie

Of intense meaninglessness

Glossing the emptiness

Of the Universe.

 

In hopes that He will

Hear our cry in all the

Emptiness of our existence

Building towers destroyed

By the Universe.

 

So that all we have left

Is this empty cry to

A father we hope will hear

Our meaninglessness

In the Universe.

 

A sounding brass, a tinkling cymbal,

The tongues of men and of angels

Interpreted by the I Am

Our very present help

In the Universe.

 

February 2022

 About This Poem

There is always controversy about religious practices and speaking in tongues (Glossolalia) is no different. It is not part of my religious tradition, but it is something that happens in Christian circles. This poem is my attempt to explain how it isn't necessarily that different from any other mutterings we do as humans, so do we really need to pretend people who speak in tongues are a little crazy (because if you've ever been to a service where it occurs you might feel a little uneasy...).

 

Poem: Joseph's Well

Joseph’s Well

 Thrown in a well because dreams I did tell

To brothers dear who could not understand

That I only meant well by that I told.

That me they would kill I could not fathom

Though from the well Reuben did retrieve me,

Into slavery he readily did

Sell me. Well, I can’t comprehend how he,

My dearest elder brother from mother’s

Sister who in a well would quell

The love for my father or for myself?

This confusion rages well within me

As now with me my master’s wife would sleep,

Yet well for his love she could not compete.

I dream no more here in this cell, yet here

Come men with dreams to tell and I know well

Their visions as once I had my own.

But brothers dear threw me into a well

Barren of water and my dreams now dry

Only to tell others of theirs in wells

Of thirst-quenching water while here I dwell

Interpreting well the dreams of others.

Bereft of father, brothers, dear mother—

The well will fill here with my tears as I

Reveal the dreams of others. Oh God,

Have mercy upon me who here in wells

Of sorrow betrayed by all I have loved,

Cry out to you well, the dreams of others.

Deliver me from the wells of my grief

In a well that is barren of water

And these damned dreams that now come from others.

 

January 2022

About this poem:

This is another poem about Joseph. He is a really fascinating character to me and I enjoy exploring his thinking lie in this poem. It's also a poem where I play with the word "well."

 

Poem: Joseph, Joseph Dear

Joseph, Joseph Dear

 By now, at dinner time

They should have seen him in his prime—

Visage of their scorned brother

Who, overcome with another

Emotion left the room

And wept, Joseph hiding his gloom

Seeing Ben, mother’s son.

Now Benjamin was there and none

Could see Joe for he left

And alone in other room wept.

In spite of all those dreams he knew

It was as brothers grew

Apart. “But God, how could you do

This to me? Parted so

Forlorn, accused of nothing and

Imprisoned, interpreting damned

Others dreams while there I rot.

Having my brothers serve is not

What I wished, yet told them

Such as I saw brought on this grim

Being. Now on this dais

Of both Egyptian scorn and praise

Freeing from famine, yet…

I wrestle with you, my Lord. Let

Me not like father be

But at peace with the God I see.”

All these struggles and tears

He hid, oh Joseph, Joseph dear.

 December 2021

 About this poem: This is another one of my poems exploring thoughts of biblical characters, mostly from Genesis. Since I'm the author and nothing is recorded, it's obviously a projection based on how I'd feel if I were stuck in Joseph's place. 

Poem: St. Patrick's Day

 St. Patrick’s Day

 

Today we celebrate Ireland,

The land of the emerald green

Where potatoes are grand

In this wee little land

And the snakes have all gone away.

 

The sun shines bright on Ireland.

Today may the clouds roll away

And the men of the land

With a lass holding hands

And the shamrocks all in bloom today.

 

This land all knows about Jesus

And he lets the faeries here stay

For St. Patrick came singing his song

And the snakes all fled away

So Jesus let the wee folk stay.

 

It’s magic, you see, in Ireland,

The land where the music does flow

With lyrics so fine sung all the time,

The beauty from Blarney they flow

As clouds bring green to the land we know.

 

Today we celebrate Ireland,

The land of the emerald green

Where potatoes are grand

In this wee little land

And the snakes have all gone away.

 

So raise for a toast to St. Patrick

And the men and women he loved

And the saviour he brought to the Irish

In this wee little land of green

For today we celebrate Ireland.

 

March 2022

 About this poem: I'm not Irish, but I've been there a few times and I love it. It is beautiful, the people are friendly and it's just fun. This poem is a tribute to all of that along with the Saint of the day. Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Poem: Ah Reuben

 

Ah Reuben!

 

Ah Reuben! eldest of Jacob

Rubbing the feelings of your dad,

Mad not your desire to make him.

Whims o’ertake you and you love what

Lot he does. Take little brother—

Mothers not shared—he’s a great pain

Mainly in arrogance thinking—

Winging on dreams his brothers will

Willingly serve him like the moon

Swoons to the sun and you know he

Sees that your father loves him so,

More than you or your brothers

Smothered not by gifts like he—

Peeled away from the family,

Jacob inconsolably mourning—

Blasting rubbish of bowing sheaves

Weaved into his elaborate

Fated aching dreams that cause you

To want to rip him from the world.

Twirling through your mind the things you

Truly love—Old Jacob and his

Mistress, and his youngest son.

Fun to throw him to the wolves

Gloves on so traces are removed—

Loved even by you, oh Reuben,

When will you release your jealous

Lusts for what your father has and

Mend the truth within your heart?

Start by admitting you love them.

Same as you’ve always loved within,

Thinly disguised from yourself, your

Poor mourning father and his

Listless loves and all that he has,

Sad that you lost Joseph.

 

December 2021

About This Poem

This is another reckoning with a biblical character in the bible. Reuben, son of Jacob, was the brother who saved Joseph from death and allowing Joseph to save Israel by being taken to Egypt. Reuben was complicated because he slept with one of his father's concubines. Not good. But he also seemed to love his father and that's why he couldn't kill Joseph. At least that's how I read him. This is a poem exploring that.