A Different Kind Of Speaking

Known
To unknown.

Laying the pieces
Again.

Walking the bridge
Of faith.

Furnishing another
Empty
Place.

This modern age
Is folly
Falling down
And loud
Torn open
By the ground
Genetically engineered
and manufactured.

These are the side effects:
The sophisticated jeers,
The synthetics
All this seductive talk,
A mere anesthetic.

And softwares
Wear everything
But softly,
Knowing all
Yet no one cares-
We know nothing.

This modern age
Is all pride
And folly.

He did it all
With only twelve.

Four eggs,
Yolks of
Sunrise orange
Dancing on
Cast iron.

One sourdough
Scarcely sliced
And toasted,
Then broken.

A prayer
On the plate.

Switchfoot
At the county fair
Del Mar
El Cajon
And Taylor Guitars
The cover of clouds
The damp, salty air
And a burrito
From almost
Anywhere.
Ford Areostar van
Windows down
A/C broken
Church clown
Board shorts
Wrapped in a towel
Still wet
These are the summers
He’ll never forget.

Up early—yes
And at my best
Clean as the water’s rain
Dancing swiftly
Cool air lifting
Time and again.

It lingers
On quiet fingers
And finches out to play
Head start to holy
Maybe I, and I solely
Am given this day.

The old snow falls anew
And purer than before
It falls much like people do
To grace the earthen floor.
It melts and then flattens there
And as the sunshine cuts the air
It lays its weary head to bear
And weep the morning dew.

But lifting up its eyes from earth
To heaven, comes its springtime hope
Barren, browned, the ground gives birth
What once was a cold and frozen slope.
That snow which months held firm and rife
Now cradles everlasting life—
Dissolving death, supplanting strife
And proving winter’s worth.

All I want to hear
At the end of each day
This is all I want:
My wife to say
With truth and meaning
With gravitas land:

“My husband…
…is a great man.”

When I come home
From working hard
My kids see me walking in
From the yard
And mom bends down
Points as I stand:

“Your dad…
…is a great man.”

Just like that
With that pause and inflection
Those words heal me
And give me direction
I want to be honored
By those who love me
Deep
I want to matter
When I lay down and sleep.

Oh, how I want my grandkids to hear—
On my bed,
Eyes closed
And resting,
Close to eternal blessing
—from their folks
Holding theirs
And my hand:

“Your grandad…
…was a great man.”

Take off your outer self
And sit in the sun
In the sight
Of absolutely no one.
Feel the rays
Touch your skin
It is life
It is no sin
To work and rest
Under this beautiful ball
His grace for you
His grace for all.

Daily winter takes it’s toll
But there’s a summer in my soul—
Energizèd by its rays
Bursting forth for many days
Cold, it cannot break my trust
For it has tried and failed, and must
Give way to warmer weather when
The sun wakes up and shines again.