Poetry

For the Alcoholic, the Addict and their Families

This is a poem written by Richard who is in prison:

Can I have a moment of silence for the addict that will die tonight
for the alcoholic who day after day is losing the fight
for babies born to our disease that will fight all of their life
not knowing recovery’s possible and that they have the right
to belong with us in our fellowship yes part of our alliance
where we come to seek comfort happiness not to mention guidance
from one another here everyone is living in reliance
in our community we have a voice where others demand silence

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Gift of Existence

Fearfully, wonderfully, birthed from a void,
Given sweet gift of existence, of breath,
We bask in miraculous sentience employed
In business of plumbing our mystery’s depth.

Carried by hands that encourage, that tote
Our penchant for darting down perilous trails,
Plucked once again from recesses remote,
Beneficent breeze filling prodigal sails,

We channel, in time, a vision proclaimed
While all was potential, nothing was set,
And ride vibrant wave of awareness unchained
Since mystified Mary held Child to her breast.

Merry Christmas!

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When Death Pries

What lives when love dies?
What gives when Death pries
Unbidden
Swinging a searing scythe
Cauterizing hearts
Halting stampeding feelings – mid-stride?

The energy released is explosive
A nova-like display, untamed,
A date is recorded
Eventually…cold remnants remain.

And yet the sky contains beautiful clouds
Ionized vapors
Testimonials, subtle, serene,
Rarefied trails of Refiner’s labor
Indirect shining reflecting beams.

Those bereft
Who miss the heat
May find consolation in beauty shown
The burned out, used up, exhausted star
Shimmers, a jewel in a heavenly home.

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Thanksgiving: Tryptophanic Delight

Gravy will spatter, babies will blubber,
Toddlers will plaster their hair with the butter,
Turkeys so tender, fit to be carved
And tossed to the masses assembled, starved,
Grandpa will nod by the end of the meal
Then jump when the elbow from Grandma wheels,
Mountains of taters and stuffing will flow,
Bellies all ’round will grow, grow, grow.

Pastries and pies will add to the craze,
Burping and slurping continue unfazed,
Unfettered gobbling will finally peak,
A sudden a sleepiness fall on the feast,
Tables abandoned, couches claimed,
Children and elders alike feeling chains,
Tethers that tryptophan wields on the peeps,
Hypnotic aminos, now sleep, sleep, sleep.

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Won’t You Listen?

Won’t you listen my friend to the words that we share.
Won’t you open your heart to a power that cares.

For within each of our souls is the spirit of living,
Within each of our hearts is a gift of giving.

Won’t you be free my friend to open your mind,
to know God is with us One day at a time.

Copyright 1997, by Neil Wright San Francisco, CA.
All rights reserved. Used by permission.

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Death of an Innocent

I went to a party, Mom. I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink, Mom, so I drank soda instead.
I really felt proud inside, Mom, the way you said I would.
I didn’t drink and drive, Mom, even though the others said I should.
I know I did the right thing, Mom, I know you are always right.

Now the party is finally ending, Mom, as everyone is driving out of sight.
As I got into my car, Mom, I knew I’d get home in one piece.
Because of the way you raised me, so responsible and sweet.
I started to drive away, Mom, but as I pulled out into the road,
The other car didn’t see me, Mom, and hit me like a load.

As I lay there on the pavement, Mom, I hear the policeman say,
The other guy is drunk, Mom, and now I’m the one who will pay.
I’m lying here dying, Mom. I wish you’d get here soon.
How could this happen to me, Mom? My life just burst like a balloon.

There is blood all around me, Mom, and most of it is mine.
I hear the medic say, Mom, I’ll die in a short time.
I just wanted to tell you, Mom, I swear I didn’t drink.
It was the others, Mom. The others didn’t think.
He was probably at the same party as I.
The only difference is, he drank and I will die…

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Tinselled Times

These tinselled times, wrapped in laughter,
Tidied up with pretty bows,
Sealed with singing raising rafters,
Set beside a hearth aglow,

Speak with heartfelt feelings harbored,
Hidden, cyclic, cold released,
Hardened earth becomes an arbor
Bursting out in sentience sweet.

Romances stalled, enchantments stale,
Cold statistics tied to toil
Find the spark they’ve sought unveiled
In winter’s solstice-sodden soil.

Voices raised and hearts renewed,
Children romping round our feet,
Cheery chirpers chasing blues,
Recalling hues of Joy replete.

Some in midst feel manger drawn,
Mixing mirth and mystic path,
Hearing cries from distant Dawn
Bringing Day bereft of wrath.

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Plant me by a river, Lord

Plant me by a river, Lord,
Pull me down, by the roots
To Truth,
Draw me up to the heavens, Lord,
Lift my arms, in Your Son
Suffuse.

Grant me gift of bark, Lord,
When rain, and wind
Beat strong,
As well as tender leaf, Lord,
Where wind, and bird
Play song.

Wash me in the spring, Lord,
Laughter, joy,
Renew,
When limbs grow heavy in fall, Lord,
I pray, may it be
With fruit.

In winter be my strength, Lord,
In trials, my Hope,
My shield,
And gather over time, Lord,
By Grace of Your gifts,
Thy yield.

He shall be like a tree
Planted by the rivers of water,
That brings forth its fruit in its season…
Psalm 1:3

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I ne’er could plumb the depths of Love

I ne’er could plumb the depths of Love
Though oft engaged in cloistered prayer
It seemed some nether-fisted glove
Would quash all missives offered there.

Books aligned every wall
Pen and inkstand newly filled
Parchment waiting, pristine, called
But nought invigored sluggard quill.

Casement oped to garden path
Fragrance pouring sweet surround
Merging steamy sassafras
Senses piqued, muse stayed bound.

Mantras from a host of saints
Tiptoed through my idylled mind
Casting seeds like golden grain
Fertile fields, nought a vine.

‘Til one day a child at play
Laughed at flitting butterfly
I let my world of letters lay
Breathed in the air, imbibed the sky.

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Is God Dispassionate? An Indifferent deity?

Is God dispassionate
An indifferent deity
Coldly designing, dispatching, aloof?
Island of iron
Impassible mountain
Sovereign, majestic, timeless, removed?

Are we set adrift
Existentially axed
Rudderless, anchorless, charterless waifs?
Could Maker of minds
Molder of dreams
Abandon enfleshed to entropic fates?

Joy in the morning would say otherwise,
Dew freshly falls though desiccants rule,
Seasons and cycles remove world disguise
Revealing a plan to “make everything new.”

Gentle the hands that pull us to Him,
Soft is the Word that falls from His lips,
Patient, compassionate, sovereign, our sin
He takes to His Heart and lets His Life slip.

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