On my way to Thanksgiving://11/25/2025
In Dallas’ airport,
feeling the vibe,
a pleasant, almost naivete, lightens my spirit,
as though unaware of evil.
Something heartless, I have felt living within the dominant tone
of Austin, TX 3 hours South of me, now.
Entitled and resentful, something overcloaking us, there
interrelating to whom relates unconciously
A heartlessness, a cheerful, calm heartlessness,
a rejection of faithfulness, an emptiness, a vacancy,
almost void.
“I would NEVER do wrong,” it says, “like THAT ONE!”
(a tense finger aimed at unspecified others)
The land in Texas is flat,
and that with the thin layer of top soil beneath which is clay
explains some of that tone.
My heart has been reaching into an empty pail for love,
and drawing from the pail of faith in my heart pouring it into empty pails in other’s.
It feels as though something akin to Satan rules there, a shaft of darkness connecting where I receive other human’s in my heart- what is it I have been resisting?
In Dallas, the infrastructure
leads me to think of the infrastructure of life,
spirited, energetic infrastructure through which spiritual existence moves-
the infrastructure shaped by the laws effecting our spiritual being.
The world man made is generally, dumbly,
at odds with, butting heads with, God’s World,
the world of spirit which adheres less ignorantly to the laws God created.
“Don’t go there,” this man-made world seems to suggest about God’s World,
as if we are not already bound to it as much as we are bound by the fibers of our own skin
Here it is, a little choir in my heart,
singing from Earth for Harmony with the Laws of God,
even as my mouth misshapes my prayer: may God have mercy,
even as I soon will return to the city who’s dark vapidity I cannot explain,
and will either leave it, or lift it, or lift it before I leave.
Turn your complaints into prayers to God://04/07/2025
With no sane guidance upon my tender form,
I had only my own feeling to listen to,
and when it came upon me
to chose a path toward adulthood,
I chose
a path of suffering
and of beauty
of poetry and healing
of loneliness, sorrow,
and a determined call to receive the influence of the divine above me.
Now, I am 52 years old
and until now had barely one coin of silver to my name
and as the years went by, womanly love
drew away from me further, the more I stayed the same.
This year, I, with and by grace, have something built,
a small foundation upon which money could flow.
My inner voice (of poetry, of despair, of desires unrequited
while my feet sank in mud, and dangled ignorantly off slippery cliffs in my heart)
I hear it less, but pray to hear it better, again- I pray God to clear the dysfunction of addicted thought, the webbed fibers of craving seeking tinsel and sugar-
to hear
hear, again… in the still pool of being resting inside my body and head.
That world, the world of poetry, and suffering, and longing for beauty and God, is a world I had to be consumed by in order to sing from it
as though the atmosphere of that world, once stepped into,
fed its particles to my poetry, to the air my voice sang with
I hear it less, but pray to hear it better, again-
I have become heart-firm, rude,
unmoved by the cries and complaints of women-
There is a wounding sword impaled through the shield of my heart,
and froze there when my heart contracted from pain, holding it in my heart-flesh.
I pray for new poetry, increasing song,
I pray, God, I pray- Jesus, hear my prayer, now and amplify it to God-
I pray my heart bares naked to the sky once more,
like Rilke’s flower that opens and cannot close no matter the rain or heat or snow.
But, this time, let me stand on my firm foundation as I open my mouth to sing-
wise, now, unmoved by the spiteful dark if it juts its tongue at my face, demanding fear or obedience, or shame,
but moved, openly now, outwardly,
overflowing water, outflowing God as from an awakening seed,
from the portal, from the unsuppressed fountain
that lives in the deep of my heart’s center
connecting sky and earth with my voice,
words born of the marriage of God and me,
the songs I hear from love in distant cosmos,
hearts wandering afraid in distant worlds,
I bring home to Earth,
to be given to and held in
the sensitive, hearing hearts of Earth.
Amen.
Beauty Everywhere://January 12, 2025
Spiritual scientists
long ago discovered that there was
something profoundly loving
in the essence of trees.
Therefor, they began to study their spiritual nature
even such as to attempt discernation
of the spiritual anatomy of trees.
There have long been hypotheses
in regard the location
of the ‘heart’ of the tree.
And it has been offered, in our acknowledged ignorance,
that the heart would reside
where the tree and earth meet.
It is a valid guess, but experimental research continues.
I know, if anyone has placed the palm of their left hand to a tree at ones own heart level,
one recognizes a force of generosity and love
such that every member person of the human race should aspire to embody it,
on our knees, humbled in the soft rays of such grace God gave to the world,
a love greater than I currently possess, but, yet, potentially, could surpass all trees-
and it breaks you,
cognizance of where you could be, and where you are on that journey,
and this tree-being reveals to you, in its isness,
the way beyond it
to what created it
and humbly bends its leafy crown to God.
It shows you the way. Without teaching, it draws you to God-
a woody river of aspiration to the love that brings harmony and life to All.
If anyone has ever gazed into the branches of trees
on a bright day, or surrounded by the awed vigil of a forest, soundless in moonlight
or, whenever,
the low, windy voice of the sky
articulating its electric thoughts through its high branches
one can discern a beauty and wisdom such that
one has never witnessed in and of oneself alone-
that the mind of the tree
is so profound in its beauty and action,
so cognizant, so loving, its very existence an aspiration to bring all harmony to life,
and one might assess, one’s mind widened in awe
that an angel lives there.
Stutz's Fairy Tales and Poems 