Poem for 2 voices

Believer
I know His truth, not easily abided,
But certain is His path.
Still, questions assail me.
I am yet imperfect.

Doubter
So much uncertainty, too many choices,
As voices rise clarity evaporates
Options multiply, answers lie within.
Others find the answer without.

Both
Can I show my neighbor the beauty of the way?
He sees me as a monolith, inert, unmoving,
Unable to change, unwilling to see,
Confirming the rightness of his position.

Believer
My house of worship revels in His radiance
We sing of His glory,
Rejoice in His goodness
March forward in His name.

Doubter
My morality is not a group decision,
Our majesty and frailty is not decided elsewhere,
By ancient books and modern interpretations.
There may be no glory, but beauty remains.

Company store

Welcome to the home of your dreams!
Do not concern yourself with financing,
Values can only rise”, the man says
(Newton has been stood on his head.)

“Prices are ascending, do not be left out”
Cries the barker showing you a fabulous landscape rendering.
Little or no money down.
Such an irresistible offer, Hurry!

Small shacks are all that remain today.
Bulldozers measure in hours
The last remnants of the company homes
That once teemed with sandaled feet.

Built to house and cage workers for life,
Enlightened growers understood the rules
But not the workers,
Whose hands destroyed by sugar cane blade edges,
Cut the cane, drank and suffocated.

The company store was their savior,
Offering food, clothing and credit,
Creating debt far beyond wages.

A tale, that repeats itself in each generation,
Barkers change, the stores are different,
But the result, the result echo’s today.
Welcome to the company store.

Unconditional Love

Warming my body and spirit
I lay reclined, smiling at my godless indulgence.
Had I done this properly
I’d have chocolates beside the lounge.

Homer, having swallowed his dog treat,
Ambled his 80 pounds over and proceeded to climb my body.
Finding a comfortable fit,
He settled and fell asleep.

I lay there filled with the most intense pleasure.
My dog thought it entirely natural
To look for safety and peace
On the stomach of his Alpha.

Trust and love had joined him to me,
He reduced what I would find
An impassable array of social beliefs
To reach the place where love simply “is”.

Chance

It’s a casual game, among friends,
All of who hope to be the big winner.
We will confront small risks
Often folding when the odds say “stay”.

Chance is our host,
Moving around the table, kissing some, crushing others.
Chauvinistically we see “chance “ as a female,
Well dressed, diamond sharp cool.

We all play this game, daily,
Not always by choice.
Indeed, the choice is never ours.
We breath we play.

The game begins with an error,
Having decided the process is “fair”
And disruptions of the cosmos
Will not affect the outcome.

Consider, the ground firm until the earth moves,
That odds will not be impacted by the unforeseeable.
Truth: when you get it right
It’s a result of unseen compensating wrongs.

Deal your opening hand, check the cards!
Ready for the game?
Is your day planned
And chance smiling?.

In search of a greater god

Such delicious sentiments,
Hell’s fire, harps, purity,
Can’t surmount their local requirements.
Inside our walls are the temples we build.

He is, who is!
Encounters Zeus’s throne, a local rock.
We know of death,
We do not know death.

Graveyards offer the quintessential poster
Here belief relieves anxiety
And god is a burning bush
Making the earthly separateness endurable.

Fashioned of such material
We need not wonder why
The unknowable is.
We cannot enter and require lesser gods.

Fear

Half way there the plane dips,
Nose turning down, engines screaming.
A different dream,
Filled with anxieties, fear.

Can you take issue with your mind?
Promise no further adventures
Into dark corners and threatening creatures
Portending madness and death?

Before there was man, there was fear.
For a second generation to exist
The first needs overcome threats,
Real or imagined, or are they the same?

Emergence requires great good luck,
And belief that we are favored
By a force that brings sun and wind,
Knowing it may bring trial and devastation.

Fighting for an advantage,
We must gain the high ground
To secure our needs
And deal with our fears, and our gods.

Accepting our subordinate role,
Needing the gods favor,
We must strengthen our borders
Taking from others (who are evil).

Alas, survival depends on fear.
Nothing much has changed
On this playing field called Earth,
Except the size of the rock we throw.

I can do this, I can't do that.

I push away from my desk.
I can do this, I can spend time.
Playing poker with Annie, puzzling with Russ.
The President of the United States can wait.

I’ve a very poor reader of priorities,
But these guests matter to me.
Their physical comfort alone cannot
Be the sum total of my involvement.

True, there may be joy in art, in effort.
Does not each day’s beginning offer
A staggering array of possibilities,
Created for our consideration?

Most certainly, children and grandchildren
Do not exhaust the options for pleasure,
They offer the chance for sublime interaction,
A journey into past and future.

Whether a young girl or a grown man,
They welcome me into their world,
To see their dreams and hear different sounds,
With no need to defend my turf.

To battle with the meanings of Poker, Sudoku
And baseball, in a common effort.
I can do this.
Mothers and grandmothers reach deeper. I can’t do that.

Fly in the water

Landing there without my assistance or encouragement,
It moves its legs but the wet wings won’t lift him.

I am inclined to attempt a rescue.
Minutes before, I had attempted to murder the creature.
What had changed?
Was any of it rational?

Surely the fly had changed,
Now an object of sympathy.
Was I dealing with the hope
My “good deed” would take “wing”,
Grant me a membership in the “everlasting club”?
Perhaps the fly might join me?

Is it possible I’m having an attack of compassion?
Was this about the limits of objectivity?
By removing him from the water
I would be helping an enemy.

Not a terrorist, merely an annoyance.
If I, a very poor swimmer,
Found myself struggling in a tide
You’d bet I’d want help.

What abstraction serves
To suggest the coming of assistance?
God, Wagnerian horns, super-thing?
Probably not.

I did rescue the fly.
When its wings had dried it took flight.
Was it going to share
The good news with the congregation?

Or look to renew the insidious attack?
Should he again take the offensive
I would be in the same dilemma
But, I might decide it was time for a small silent service.