Weekly Poems: A Labor Day Poem and More
LABOR IS A BLESSING AND A CURSE
Labor is a blessing and a curse,
As one must work to live and live to work.
Better jobs to get up for or worse,
On the whole, with none you’d go berserk.
Remember, then, that dignity requires
Doing, working, laboring – a role
As giver, as attendant to desires
You recognize within some common soul.
HOLINESS AND FAITH ARE THE REWARDS
Holiness and faith are the rewards:
In doing lies the seed of one’s becoming.
Given what the faithless life affords,
How could one not revel in the running?
Holy days are opportunities,
Open doors to being who one would.
Longing to be touched by grace, one sees
Yet one more chance to choose the unchanged good.
Do not think that faith is ever certain:
All one’s life, like love, it comes and goes.
Yet one can always stand before the curtain,
Singing for one’s soul the prayers one knows.
I HAVE A MONSTER CRUSH ON YOU
I have a monster crush on you,
It sits upon my chest and throat
And yet I beg for more.
When you’re away I miss you so
My heart is full of sand.
Yet when you’re here my stupid fear
Won’t let me touch your hand.
I cannot sleep, I cannot eat,
I’m so wrapped up in you.
My thoughts drift up, away from words,
And fade into the blue.
I know this crush is not your fault;
The dinosaur is mine.
Yet if you could, please rescue me,
And put your arms around me, and hold me, and say you love me, and Oh! God! Would that be good!
HOW CAN NORMAL, RATIONAL PEOPLE
How can normal, rational people
All lust after ghosts one night,
Like the moon on some church steeple,
Luring demons to its light?
Old fears lie buried in our pleasure,
Words within a midnight grave,
Each a truth that we must treasure,
Eerie horrors our hearts crave.
Nor should we all our passions pave.
SORROW MAY THE HEART SOMETIMES DEFACE
Sorrow may the heart sometimes deface
In ways that will in time its seal emboss.
Do remember, then, love’s gentle grace
So that the gift be ransom for the loss.
LOVE UNDOES ITS HERITAGE QUITE SLOWLY
Love undoes its heritage quite slowly,
Spinning like a planet through its dust.
Sometimes it feels like hatred, sometimes mourning,
Sometimes pain long paralyzed by rust.
Sometimes shame of past humiliation
Wrings the heart with hands inured to toil,
And once again some drops of unspent fury
Spill upon the dry and barren soil.
Ay, me! When will it end? The seasoned sorrow
Of unforgiven trespasses of old?
No matter new love blossoming! There’s somewhere
A place within untenanted and cold.
RAPTURE COMES MOST EASILY WITHIN
Rapture comes most easily within
A discipline that divvies up the day,
Making time for timelessness, and space,
A rolled-up rectangle holy anyplace,
Dear temple of delight where one might pray,
Assigned some sweet-tongued verses to begin
Now hallowing this hollow cask of clay.
I am a poet and webmaster of the popular poetry site, Poems for Free, at http://www.poemsforfree.com .