Chain of Years

VINCULUM ANNORUM

CHAIN OF YEARS

REUNION

MAY 2014

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                                DEDICATED

                                  TO

                               THE CLASSES OF 1961 AND 1965

                                       AND

                               MY HEROES, MY MOTHER & FATHER

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FORWARD

These pieces are the result of a series of recent communications with a group of people representing the school experiences of my youth.

The sentiments and the topics all seemed to flow from that encounter, as well as, the fact that it was Easter and Spring, and new life was finally taking hold.

Life! Life that is nothing more than who I am in the silence; moments that are the result of the paring of everything that I have acquired; the laying bare of who I was before the patina prospered.

Our early years represent that silence, that paring, that naked self.

We will never be anyone, unless we return there in heart and spirit, if not in the body. However, the attempt to return to the innocence of that period could inspire the flesh to find a wholesomeness it has forgotten and one which it needs to prepare itself for its own final journey.

One of the poems alludes to this fact; ‘Last Chance’ talks of the dream that will not die. When we see and experience so much dying within ourselves and those around us, it is easy to lose our vision, perspective, orientation and innocence.

Here is to the hope that we all find a dream that does not diminish or die, but lives on eternally.

                                                                   FONDLY,

                                                                   Your classmate

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CONTENTS

  • ONLY NOTHING
  • GOD IS NOW
  • QUIET ACCOUNTING
  • ETERNAL MOVEMENT
  • PERSONAL TRUTH
  • CHURCH
  • MESSY WISDOM
  • RAW SPIRIT
  • FONDNESS
  • COUNTING INDIANS
  • MY CHRIST
  • LAST CHANCE
  • PRAY WITH ME
  • NAG, WAG, RAG
  • REUNION WITHIN
  • HOME AGAIN

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ONLY NOTHING

Nothing can keep me focused

On this moment,

Except the solitary experience

Of a God

That is eternally Alone,

Holy and One;

A community of

Spirit, Father and Son;

A life given, lost

Sacrificed and won again;

Done for many

Who find the same journey;

Alive together

Only in truth.

2014.04.27.0000

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GOD IS NOW

Everything is essentially a memory;

This moment,

Today,

Now

Is already gone,

In an heart beat;

The blink of an eye

Finds another picture framed

As yesterday;

A way I may stay

The play that does not stop

Except, I remember

Where I may be tomorrow and

Who I am is now.

2014.05.01.0600

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QUIET ACCOUNTING

Losing it or lost it,

The difference is becoming

Moot;

To today I am becoming

Less enamored, while

To yesterday I am attuned

And more astute;

My gains are counted obtuse

Experiences, my losses

Strikingly acute;

The columns are colored

In shades of red;

The bottom line

Does not compute.

So I keep the books closed now,

As well as my eyes

And keep my tongue tied and mute.

2014.05.01.0800

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ETERNAL MOVEMENT

One day

The ties to yesterday

Must be cut,

So the current

To tomorrow

Can flow;

The soil of an earthly garden

Embraced,

So the flower of eternity

Might grow;

A light drawing me closer

To the source of all wisdom

And away from

The good I would know;

Until then,

I must be satisfied

Being too human in time

And moving

Around and around

And to and fro.

2014.05.02.1100

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PERSONAL TRUTH

The spark and the sparkle

Of living or

The flame of the Spirit

And Truth;

The comfort

Of finding life relative or

The glory of the Absolute;

We all make these choices

Every moment each day and

The one or the other refute;

But, in the end

The will of the Father will be

And our passing moments

Shall be personal

Yet moot.

2014.05.03.1600

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CHURCH

No directions!

No solutions!

Only convolutions

Around the mess;

Thank God,

There are disciples

To give absolution,

When we confess

To how we failed and

To when we were tempted

To put our constitution

To the test.

2014.05.04.0700

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MESSY WISDOM

Some days

I like the confines

Of my body

And the senses;

Some days,

I want to fly

To angels’ rests;

I pray,

It is the Spirit of God

That leads me,

Giving me wisdom

To know the truth and

What is best.

Temptation

Is the calling card

Of error,

The game we play,

The fool’s recurrent test;

It keeps us

In a constant state

Of make-believe

That this life is something more

Than just a mess.

2014.05.04.0700

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RAW SPIRIT

It is the mess

Which is the test

To the creative Spirit;

Working

With the unrefined and

Raw and rough;

Using art

And science,

Wisdom

And gentle persuasion;

Turning what would seem

As hopeless

Into love.

2014.05.04.0800

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FONDNESS

I really do not want to be bothered;

But I play the game of love

And then beyond

I turn to greed and need

And expectation

To want to tie some knot

Or fuse a bond; so rather than

Some artificial sentiment

That must in the end

Eventually be gone,

Let’s just be friends and

Say we like each other and

Appreciate that the feeling

Is just fond.

2014.05.04.0800

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COUNTING INDIANS

I am sure that our years

Are counted by spring times;

The music and the song

After periods of silence;

The crescendo of the symphony

Of the senses;

The climax of the drama

Of the cycle of life.

The other seasons are

Folly, denouement and death.

That spring climax

Requires a rejoicing

In the glory of resurrection;

While the summer needs

A sober retreat

From our headlong

And headstrong immersion

In the senses;

The fall is a wake-up call

To sobriety

Regarding the impermanence

Of the exuberant life;

Winter?

Winter is the capitulation

To that evanescence.

2014.05.04.1900

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MY CHRIST

Sometimes my solitude knows

That there is a God

And can rejoice

In the solace and

In the celebration of

My participation

In His life;

That is my resurrection!

Sometimes my solitude cannot

Stand alone

In the dread

Of the knowledge of

The pain and the suffering

Of the impermanence

Of everything

And wants to assuage my fear

With personal pleasure or

Communal commiserations

That do no good

For the other, me or God.

That is my temptation!

Sometimes my solitude is blind

To the wonder of God

Or numb

To the implications of

My mortality;

Neither angel or saint,

Human or community;

It longs

To be free.

That is my cross!

2014.05.04.2000

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LAST CHANCE

Someone early tried

To awaken me to sin;

And another made sin seem

Child play and fun;

But I resisted the temptations

And became serious,

Until success seemed to say

The world had won;

But dreams are only meant for

Children, saints and poets; so

My childhood awakened,

My sanctity denied,

The poet would need surface

Because the dream

Had never died.

2014.05.04.2000

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PRAY WITH ME

Everyone is playing with me.

But I understand.

They cannot help it.

They do not know who they are

Any more than I do

On my best days.

So I do not have to be gay.

All that playing together

Is just foolish nonsense;

Inanity! Insanity! Profanity!

I must only find the Sacred

To give me courage

In the face of all the playing;

So I can run there,

Stay there and

Pray there.

2014.05.05.1800

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NAG, WAG, RAG

The persistent, nagging question

Is how can I celebrate

The wonder of the Father’s creation

And the love of the Redeeming Son

In the Spirit

When my spirit is beset by

The weakness of the flesh and

Sinful desires and inclinations

And is crushed by

My experience in the world

To which I repeatedly, but mistakenly,

Turn for love?

Even my attempts to rise above

My baser inclinations and to hold

Myself and others to a higher standard

Are met with rejection.

2014.05.06.1200

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REUNION WITHIN

Solitude always yields!

It runs from itself or from its fear

Or it runs to its earliest or latest

Memory of love.

This year is all wrapped up

In an experience I find as mine

This moment in time;

Alone or shared, it is no match

For the community that always

Resides within;

The reunion of who I have been.

2014.05.06.0300

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HOME AGAIN

My heroes have finally come home.

It took a lifetime of searching the unknown

But my heroes have finally come home.

They worked and they gave me the best that they had;

They taught me their understanding of the good and the bad;

My heroes turned out to be mother and dad;

My heroes have finally come home.

But why did it take me so long

To find out I had it all wrong?

There is no place I’d rather belong

Than with my heroes when I finally come home.

2014.05.09.0600

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                                                  CODA

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