punch

January 18, 2012

looking back at tapped-out phrases
electrons fired at white blank pages
swelling rages
it’s hard not to feel a little
ridiculous
overblown
i made so much of so little
and made too little of much more

(and you should see the stuff i didn’t publish
over the years
blistering belligerent stuff
enough to make your tooth enamel stand on-end
if it were directed at you instead of me)

reading back through weeks of words
i feel like a clown
a harlequin in motley suits
a character without character
unmanned and unmanly

if this all were paper i’d shred it
and instantly regret the hotheadedness
of the deed.
i could delete it all
disassemble it, dissemble its photons,
but my wicked pride prevents me from
saving face by erasing graceless rhymes.

so what will I do?
maybe i should go mute
stop penning posts of putrid poesy
let the world forget the clown
and tell the man in the brown hat
that we’re closing up for renovations

but let’s be honest.
as ridiculous as i feel sometimes
reading over reedy groves of thick-grown
metaphor and over-ripened romanticism,
i can’t stop singing soft and
off-key shanties of love and loss and lunacy.

so here i remain
your paunchy punchinello
hoping you’ll find some arte
in my commedia.

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pruning.

January 11, 2012

the Gardener’s hands are warm
he moves through my leaves with
rough but steady fingers
and takes hold of me

i am a branch, and my
Vine-dresser cares for me.
i bask in sunlight
feeling life flow through me
from the Vine

cold
my Gardener holds something
metallic and cold against me
and

CUTS
HE CUTS
HE’S CUTTING ME
DEAR GOD PLEASE STOP
PLEASE STOP
PLEASE
PLEASE


why?
why would You cut me?
why would You wound me?
i trusted You
i grew for You, and produced
my fruit, just like You wanted me to.
how could You take from me,
leave me bleeding out,
hanging low
betrayed by the One who
used to bring life?
i don’t understand You.
i don’t.

and then I hear Your voice
the sound of it vibrating through the
Vine i cling to for life.
i hear You say, “trust.
the branches who bear fruit
must be cut
to bear more
to stay close to the Vine
to keep from growing wild
and falling barren.”

and i begin to understand.
it hurts.
i bleed.
but i understand.

i am a branch
intended to bear much fruit
and my Vine-dresser
who cares for me
must bring the shears
and tear my limbs
as He wills.

shift

January 4, 2012

unsurprised but still left cold
it’s not as if i didn’t see this coming
and no, i’m not angry or bitter,
i just need time to settle into it

i wanted this to be a better year
i wanted to be better within it
and i still can, certainly, for
that is wholly up to me.

but the world has been reordered
slightly, shifting just a few degrees,
and now i must learn to accept my
new allegiances with grace and decorum

i know Who runs this world
and no matter which captains steer
my little bark in the short term
i trust Divine courses, already charted

so i sail on.