Coffee house Jesus. A poem.

you’d think the sky was falling the way

folks talk 

that Nietzsche’s right 

and god is dead

but i tell you the truth

He is alive

Alive!

In the coffee shop where I wrote all day and all around me for hours people met and sipped

soy lattes and I heard them

i HEARD 

they were talking about Jesus 

and He was there 

in the friends who embraced and 

the pastor who encouraged the sad man

and the smile of the hostess fresh back from a mission trip to Nicaragua with the nose ring like mine who served me my egg and Siracha sandwich

alive

Alive!

I SAW

Him 

there, downtown

and even the plumes of the Japanese lilacs lining the streets in front of falling down houses stretched toward Heaven 

alive

Alive!

just like the little patch of daisies outside 

my front door. 

  

“Again I resume the long
lesson: how small a thing
can be pleasing, how little
in this hard world it takes
to satisfy the mind 
and bring it to its rest.”
~Wendell Berry 

and you bloom. a poem for artists.

i am not unlike you, little

dandelion, your honest glow 

a weed, a nuisance 

to be rid of. and so, I get why

the sunshine of your tender face 

turns 

pale and the whole of your being

transforms

into fragile white, pieces falling, 

hoping to be caught

by the wind, an invisible 

river rolling pain away to 

somewhere

a place far away where the soil understands 

you 

better than the place where you first took root 

and there, you blossom.  

the field, wild, 

with flowers once weeds like you, bending,  

grateful 

to the wind for carrying them 

to a place where at last they rest, 

their roots pushing in deep, understanding.

and you bloom.

   
   

again. a poem.

it’s too much sometimes, isn’t it?

the six beat song of the cardinal

the green reach of the wintered plant

perennial as promised

emerging new once

again

 

“Therefore we do not lose heart…”
Corinthians 4:16