Monday, July 6, 2020

Beggar

I am a beggar in this world;
everything I have has been given
to me.
          My bowl is always
daily empty:
                    I receive and I can
keep nothing I am given.
I have never lost the bowl
I beg with
                  and know enough
has no limit though too much
is too hard to carry and what one day
offers, the next cannot
provide.
            I, too, give to other
beggars
            as we wander to where
we've heard there's water
turning to wine.

-Byron Hoot

Monday, June 1, 2020

Upon my 68th Birthday


I see pictures of George Floyd 
being killed and know no law can
justify that
              and think, "How much self-
hatred he has to kill another man
hiding behind his uniform, hoping to say,
'I was just doing my job.' " 
                                   Think how we,
as individual citizens, have given
our responsibilities of being human
beings to legislators -- a caricature 
of flesh and blood and a beating heart 
and The Golden Rule tarnished by
so little use.
                   I am 68 today. 
And the fact is I think more,
feel more love and beauty
and that random radical called
grace than I ever have.
I have rarely hated myself 
to the point of denial, projecting 
justification for acts criminal.
I am flesh and blood and know
the urge of Cain; I am flesh 
and blood and know the urge of Jesus
and have chosen one over the other --
self-love is not selfishness but
commonsense.
                       And a democracy built
upon the blood of Native Americans,
the backs and bastards of slaves
has much to repent for 
                                     where the material quality
of life is not a worthy sacrifice
for our humanity.
                         I am 68 today
watching the sun shadow my yard
with the shadows of silver maples
on fresh cut grass.
                          Here "the peace
that passes understanding" is almost
so; here is not everywhere.
If I knew how to pray, I'd 
pray for "peace in our time"
but change the word "time"
to "hearts" -- peace there takes
care of time and circumstance
everywhere.
                    Today, I am 68.

-Byron Hoot

Friday, May 22, 2020

That Order

I have seen deer and bear and turkey,
robins in the yard, barn swallows 
in the air, women I have loved,
words read or heard so order time
and place
                to make me question why
I would ever follow a law again.
And think or feel or understand that 
law is a charlatan of order.
That each of us know the order of things,
of who we are and that to be, thereof,
breaks all law and commandments.
Should and ought,
thou shall, thou shall not
turn into profanity.
                         I am dreaming.
The preference for law over order we call
history.
           I never forget that "dreams are more
real than reality"
and we've all known -- at least once -- that sense
of order where nothing else was needed. 

-Byron Hoot

Tuesday, May 19, 2020

THORNS

Was it some hidden desire, disease or sin? The Bible does not say,
But there was a "thorn in his flesh" that bothered Paul, so he'd pray.
God would not remove this, despite being all powerful and omniscient,
And, knowing a servant's weakness, said only, His grace was sufficient.


No one knows of the thorn in Paul's flesh, only why it was left neglected.
It was to show God's strength, which through a weakness was perfected.
Now, Paul had prayed three times about this thorn, he had dealt with it that long,
Though it was a weakness, he wasn't condemned for it, God's grace being strong,


Knowing God would not let this weakness separate them must've been a relief.
That God doesn't condemn a believer's weaknesses, if in such a grace is belief.
Maybe, just maybe, Christians should think twice before holding other's with scorn.
God's grace might be sufficient for them too, if a weakness to their flesh be a thorn.


So, before frightening another believer with any notions of hell's fires to burn,
Maybe we should remember that the merciful are blessed with mercy in return!

~
An Inspirational Sonnet Form

By PHILIP KENT CHURCH

Friday, April 17, 2020

Winding Down

Winding down,
At the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains,
In the shadow of lavender’s haze,
Wrapped in consolation. . .

We lift our gaze,
To the rivers running down. 
Reflection of strength and of praise
We release another day.


Winding down,
At the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains,
In the shadow of lavender’s haze,
Wrapped in consolation. . .

We lift our gaze,
And we kiss the stars above, 
Reaching for more than we see,
We will reach infinity.
-Janey Pease

One Scene, So Much to See

So curious.
                 I see pretty much the same scene
each morning  nuanced by seasons
that know what they know about being what
they are in their allotted time given.

And yet
            what arrives day after day
from inside me causes me to pause
and feel how contemplation done -- even
half-assed as I do it -- reveals,

enters into
                  "the thing itself"
in ways I can only follow never
lead nor want to replying 
to "Follow me" with "Yes."

Which begs
                   the question, "How long can this last?"
and I hear, "Forever is just a short 
time for now." and think I feel a smile,
see the silhouette of a bow.

-Byron Hoot

Beggar

I am a beggar in this world; everything I have has been given to me.           My bowl is always daily empty:                     I receive ...