Getting Back On Your Feet

You say you’re going crazy

But you live alone

Sewing the seeds of senility

You say you can’t think straight

But you never finished grieving a loss

Stretching your days of sadness

You say they’re driving you mad

But you don’t leave them alone

Staying within striking distance

You say the days are dragging by

But you’re in a state of transition

Uncertainty can be sinister

You say your dreams haunt you

But that’s just what they do

I’m scared too sometimes

You say you never feel well

But have you stopped to think

You’re as sick as your secrets?

Talk to someone you trust

Listen to the woes of a friend

Others may not genuinely care

For you or even themselves

But don’t make their mistake

Darling, you’re better than that

Someday, and soon I hope

You’ll remember this as the time

You returned to the land of the living

When you got back on your feet

Praying all night in the woods with daddy

Daddy and other preachers decided to pray

All night

In the woods beside Whitehorse Road

Near Tabernacle Baptist

Our Church

In Greenville

I asked if I could go

Of course I could

I was the only boy

Ten years old

We prayed til daybreak

I buried my head in leaves

Threw them in the air

Peeked on occasion

To see what others were doing

Yelled words

Sometimes nonsense phrases

They ran

They wept

Mostly they yelled to the stars

Some climbed up and sat on tree branches

Everyone tried to pray the loudest

The subjects included:

How to deal with uppity black people

The Beatles being bigger than Jesus

Long haired men

Braless women

The devil's weed

Astronauts playing God

America a godless land

When the sun rose and we left

They spoke of how close to God they felt

Dad put his hand on my shoulder

We walked to the car

Divinely-Inspired Baseball

Back in the baseball days

If I was taking the mound

Soul winning had the day off

I had no reverence for hitters

All the sinners

Got the best curve ball

Jesus allowed me to throw

That given at bat

And sometimes

I’d hear laughter

As knees buckled

I’ve even smiled myself

Whispering

Thank you Lord

As I fingered the ball

Behind my back

To get another grip

Sometimes the devil

Got in people

Such as Jonny Long

And he’d foul

Off ten or twelve pitches

Then lace a single

And If I had not been a Christian

The next time he came to the plate

I would have plunked him.

Behind me at short was CB Cornett

Lost soul - reliable arm

Our third sacker was always dirty

Diving for stops

Not worrying for his mama

And her laundry bill

Sure to catch it

If he enters the kingdom

Skeeter held down second

Quiet, sensible

Destined to be a deacon

And over at first

The biggest of us all

You only needed

To throw the ball

In his general direction

He had his heart right

Arms outstretched

Saying come unto me

All ye that labor

In the infield.

Our outfield

Must have made

Old Lucifer mad too

Speed in left

Glove in center

In fact

My little left-handed

Brother

Second only

To me in circling the bases

Graced that kingdom

And in right

I recall nothing

To fret over.

Once Toni

A sweet, heavenly child

Of our age

Mysteriously appeared in the stands

Behind home plate

And it so happened

I was due up first

Our next at bat

I hit the first pitch off the 300 sign

In dead center

Standing up at third

I did not have the nerve

To look

But I heard

“Way to go Mike”

The rapture could have occurred right then

I relaxed a minute

Then sped home on a grounder.

The Lord knows

I loved the baseball days.

In absentia...

If you ask

Where I've been

And I say

In absentia…

You’ll know

I’m in a good mood

And don’t mind

Being bothered

By you

In which case

Say what’s on your mind

And when my eyes don’t focus

It’s not because I don’t care

It may be I’m away

You see,

Unlike here,

I’m a hero

In absentia…

Small Talk

It begins with the weather

Ends in shoe comfort

And covers what's between

Parties are full of it

Especially with strangers

Why mustard not mayonnaise?

The best route between points?

I can hardly wait

For the talk to grow up

Shambhala

They call it Shangri-La
 A modern Shambhala
Where we're one age
And compassion is exhalation
The vista expansive
The perch lofty
My first morning here
After over 20 thousand
In places less idyllic
I can see for miles
As the bear migrates
Less to do with time  
More to do with space
Unformed sense of when
Answering one question mainly
Where am I, right now?

To What End?

All the energy in the world

In a tiny dot

A spec - whatever they call it

That is how it began

This universe of ours

Time started, motion began

They married at an early age

If such a union could be automated

Think of the power

So we rigged thermostats

Opened valves

Fashioned joints

That work

While we sleep or dance

We learned of the great swaps

Between high and low pressure

Darkness and light

Gravity and mass

All in the plan

Now safely back on the shelf

All these eyes - seeking

Finding - finally thinking

What do we say to the animals? 

The same thing we say to one another

When we are most emotional

We join hands

Share bread

And walk across open battlefields

Carrying the same guns

To what end?