The Blessed Place

They walked into

The church of stone

In hats and gloves

And heels.

Not far into

The holy place

They crossed themselves

And kneeled.

An organ pled

In solemn tone

To quiet themselves

In prayer.

A hush suspended

Above the crowd

Holiness filled

The air.

I’ve sat with those

In that quiet
Breathless place

I’ve felt that silent presence.

I’ve tasted to see

The Lord was good

I’ve known His mysterious

Essence.

But we have lost

Ourselves somewhere

Along the way.

His touch has left the people.

It was never about

The gold and gilt

It was never about

The steeple.

Our music is blaring

While we sit laughing

Sipping our Starbucks  

And clapping our hands.

We demand the dazzle

Of the ‘Worship Show’

As we move in the rhythm

Of our bands.

There is a throne somewhere

Beyond what we

Can guess

Further than we see.

In majesty the Lord God

Rules

In silence He awaits

Our bended a knee.

Music fills

The blessed Place

And joy surrounds

His throne.

And nothing matters

But true worship there

When we make the Lord

Our own.

Requiem for a Summer Afternoon

Requiem for a Summer Afternoon

I see you...

Early afternoon sun

Spins your hair

Brilliant gold.

Your eyes glint

With the diamond light

Flashing off the lake.

My hand reaches

The shoreline

Along your forehead.

The pads of my fingers play
Through your waves of
Auburn hair

Downward

Across your eyelids

Bridge of your nose

Your sweet lips

I have known so well

The swell of your chin

Down your smooth neck

And off your open collar

My touch swirling

Like tidal pools.

I see you

With more than eyes.

You stand before me

Offering this moment

As searing memory.

I take you in my arms

Press you into

My body

And

I see you.

Kiss

When she kissed me

I took it as a joke.

She backed away

Eyes wide

Hands rising to her mouth

As though she was afraid

Of what I might do.

My mind raced

To determine her intention.

She had been a friend

For years

But I perceived her

As always unobtainable

So when she kissed me

I thought it was a tease

Like a bone tossed to a dog.

My heart leapt

But my brain was on fire

Feeling diminished

At the hands

(or lips)

Of a woman I’d always

Admired.

She fled the room.

The moment was gone

And never returned.

But her kiss somehow

Aged me

And I never again

Misread the intention
Behind the sweetness
Of a simple 
Kiss. 

I Have Learned

Learned Lessons 

I have learned

Love is starlight

Flared upon clay skin.

Passion is fuel

From one’s white hot

Core.

I have learned

Kings stand

In darkness

And paupers

Flaunt themselves

In light.

I have learned

Hate presents itself

As love

And coils within

Covers

Of safety.

I have learned

Wounds make room

For a man.

Scars are

Lessons written

Across flesh.

I have learned

To protect

Truth

And never forsake

What is valued

Beyond breath and blood.

Body Count

Blood smeared the walls

Splashed the tile

And saturated the clothes

Of the dead man

With his throat slit

Like a gleaming second mouth.

The sharp coppery smell

Of his blood

Filled my head

And I tried to breathe

Through my hanky.

Last week a dead man

Slumped over the wheel of his Buick

Parked in his garage.

A small crimson hole

Appeared in his right temple

But the exit wound on his left

Was the size of a plum.

Death is a rude visitor

Appearing at his pleasure.

There is no preparation possible

When his shadow darkens

A door sill.

I remember teenagers

Suspended from garage rafters

Bodies burst along railroad tracks

Each piece no larger than a basketball.

I was the first there

To comfort a screaming woman

Whose husband sat

Impaled on the shaft of an old Chevy’s

Steering column.

I tried fruitlessly to comfort

A father

Whose wife poisoned

Their four children

When a man in a Hawaiian shirt

Screamed in the parlor’s large room

That he wanted to see the children’s bodies.

My hand was on the father’s shoulder

As he melted into the carpet.

I’ve knocked on doors at midnight

To tell families

A husband, a wife

A child

Mother or father

Was never coming home.

Then, I awoke one morning

Knowing

It was over.

I could do no more.

I dry cleaned my uniform

And hung it in my closet

Still in its plastic shroud.

But I close my eyes to sleep

And count bodies

The way others count sheep.

Squint Just Right

I stood gazing into what starlight

Chicago night-glare permitted.

Only the most hardy of stars penetrated

The milky smear of urban cover.

A particular stab of light

Caught my attention.

It was directly overhead

And seemed to slowly move.

I watched it until

My neck ached.

Whether or not

It truly moved

Was uncertain.

Finally, I surrendered my curiosity

And returned to

The more stable universe

Of my kitchen.

Later, when sleep should have

Overtaken me

I lay awake

Thinking of you...

Imagining your orbit

The way you move through a life

That no longer includes me.

You and that mysterious star

Merge within my thoughts.

I imagine your movement

But can not discern

Your orbit.

But I am not a space man.

I am a mud hound

And being such

Must train myself

To avoid looking up.

It leads to frustration

And despair.

Besides

Mud is interesting, too

If you squint just right.

The Loss of a Good Man...

I just learned of the passing of a good man, former Naperville, IL, mayor, George Pradel. I served along with him when I was with the police force. Not only was George a good man, he was bright, bold, and colorful. A former Marine, his pride in the Corps, and love for his country was very real and obvious. Cancer took him from us today, and we are the less for it. I'll have to sit with this loss a bit and take some time to grieve. It's hard to say farewell to such a man. But I know where he went, and he knew he was going home. With that in view, I have not lost George. I know where he is.