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Thanksgiving 2018

For the shape that things have taken
For the bending of our days
From the place we were forsaken
To the place our heads are laid

For what all the ravens brought
For the bread that wouldn’t last
For the water from the rock
For the wandering that’s passed

For the scroll that tasted sweet
Then turned to sour halfway down
For how we are made complete
By being buried, burnt, or drowned

For a tale we couldn’t write
The verse we can’t compose
For a love we couldn’t fight
For however this thing goes,

We give you thanks, oh Lord.


Residents

I awaken in the night

Fifteen years and far away

With your face before me

And that song playing in my ears.

 

I see your face but I know that

You don’t look like that anymore

Or listen to that music

And I guess neither do I.

 

But I awaken in the night

And for just a few moments

All the distance goes away

And all that came between us.

 

The years of madness come and gone

The years of marriage and divorce

The years of confidence unshared

Ellipsed, eclipsed and gone away.

 

And for a moment you are

As close to me tonight

As when we lived all of our lives

In those same shared stories.

 

When we wandered the same halls

And found each other in the night

To share the possibilities

Of our brand new lives.

 

I awaken in the night

And think that I am there.

But they tore down the old residence

Two years ago.

 

But if the Finder of Lost Things

And if the Mender of the Torn

Is what we knew Him to be

In those lost days, than

 

I will awaken in the night

To make my way to a

Bright and common room

And find you gathered there again.


Maranatha In November

There is a gun in every hand

And a knife to every throat

And murder sleeps in every heart

From Adam to my infant son.

 

Come, Lord, quickly to your children

You, the bearer of all grief

Who has breathed and borne and buried

Every daughter, every son.

 

Call us by our secret names

In the dark behind ourselves

Kill us lest we kill each other

And raise us from our death.


Casa Padre

I hear the children of the earth
Call out for their Father
For the fathers of the earth
Are not what they should be.

Come back to your Father
Oh you fathers of the earth
Let Him teach you once again
What it means to be a child.


April-Anne

Mother without children

Friend without a friend

Lover without object

Giver without gifts.

 

On the day the Lord returns

I will not know His face

Til his sword of His mouth

Tears my cold heart through

 

But you will be taken

Completely unsurprised.


Advent 2018

Sing a song of solstice

Sing a song of SAD

Sing a song of darkness

And the night we’ve had.

 

Sing a song of empire

Sing the poor man’s song

Sing a song with those who’ve

Sung it all along.

 

Sing a song of hunger

Sing a song of want

Sing a song of wandering

Sing, and let it haunt.

 

Sing of a song of dissonance

Of what is and what should be.

Sing a song of longing

For the end of entropy.

 

Sing a song of Advent,

Of waiting in the dark,

Sing a song of Eschaton

For those with ears to hark.


Advent 2017

Every year it is the same

In November I begin

To stumble out in search of

A feeling I once had.

 

I search the mud and dead leaves

For something colourful and

Warm and bright and sweet enough

To get me through the dark days.

 

For a message in the lights

For the song behind the song

give until I feel good

But it every year eludes.

 

So it is one mad, cold day

That I search, frantic, through the trash

Of Decembers I have known

For a Christmas I can feel

 

And feel, instead, a hand placed

On the shoulder of my heart

And it breaks, and is remade

By the person Christmas is.