The Spirit

The Spirit blows where she wills.
I believe I hear her voice…

I cannot see her.

I turn in circles, round and round,
waiting on whispers in the wind
wisdom seeking, beseeching…

her warm breath.

This is the how it is for us
who wake with wind in our ears –
born of the Spirit.

She called us then.

She will call us again.


Portland, Oregon – Feast of Pentecost, May 31, 2020

The Gospel of John, 3:8, the “original” version: “The Spirit blows where it wills, and you hear the sound of it, and you do not know whence it comes or whither it goes; so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

Black Lives Matter

I watch as the sun sets –
western Oregon in the fulness of spring.
I sit in my back yard
with flowers, fountain, and bees.
I would be a contented man
for, in all the world I,
a white man, with my own worries
have not the worries of men
whose skin is not like mine.

A man in Minnesota is dead
days dead and the face of justice
is hidden there, hiding
for fear – the fear that killed
the man in Minnesota. He
has a name – George Floyd.
I did not know George Floyd but
as another man said so true:
“Any man’s death diminishes me.
Therefore, never send to know
for whom the bell tolls.
It tolls for thee.”


Portland, Oregon – May 28, 2020

Mr. George Floyd was murdered by a Minneapolis Police Officer.  Brothers and sisters in Minneapolis and around the country are righteously protesting/rebelling at this unjust and prejudicial act of racially motivated murder and terrorism.

Of course, the poet and poem referenced above is from the Rev. John Donne in his poem, “For Whom the Bell Tolls.”

Evening

Evening bestows it’s benediction.
The tired land bows to receive.

Under a gray and faltering light
sensations of calm surcease
send serene sensuous waves out
into the deep pools of night.

Segments of deepening shadow form
between woven branch threads –
the entwining interstices reveal
time caught, for a moment,
then released to swim again.


Portland, Oregon – May 18, 2020

Viral Morning

Morning rises in day speckles
multifaceted green hue and blend.
Trees tall of evergreen break
the blue sky into silhouettes –
pointy pine needle etchings
carved into patches of bright sky
still cold from the chill night.

All in a spring morning –
bird call, little girl scream
delighted bike riding fast
leaving parents behind on the road.
Verdant vegetative bursting, virus
spreading, water seeping down
to seas and shadowy depths.

Morning and the green filtered
sky cannot hold the silence –
waiting and fear falling as rain.
I hold these in my own green life
through this lovely and cold
viral spring morning.


Portland, Oregon – May 6, 2020