Wordtreasure

Bus Poem: My Iranian Gentleman

In his soft-spoken, conspiratorial voice
he told me his name,
but it flew in one ear
and out the other
and I failed to ask again.
To this day he is: my Iranian gentleman.

His jackets were a blend of wool
and cigarette smoke.
Occasionally, he gave me a hint
of yesterday’s cocktail.
He was a determined reader of books
in English and Farsi—
books about Kissinger, the Shah,
Mohammed Mosaddeq, Iraq,
and, of course, Iran,
the headwaters of every sadness.

Saucer eyes flickered
behind tortoise-shell glasses.
Whip-thin, he looked taller than he was.
With a full head of hair
not yet entirely gray,
he was once a handsome man.
Once he was a man of importance,
a corporate lawyer in Tehran
until the students drove him out.
Now he works at the EPA.
I could not get him started
on the law or the environment.
His only public passion: Iran
and what America should do about Iran.

Three daughters in Qom,
an ex-wife somewhere,
a lost career—
the man was lonely
and wanted to go home.

I ride a different bus now.
I did not expect to miss him,
but I do.
 
So much fruit beneath the husk
of political grievances
was never shared—
his daughters,
his youth at university,
Persian history and culture,
adjusting to American life.

Strangers on the bus
are best kept that way.
I do not like to show my cards.
But this option for a healing friendship
slipped away to my regret.

NOTE: I wrote this in 2004 when I was working in Bethesda, MD.

[tanka]

deep grasses choke
the broad path
we used to walk
our past is lost
in a seamless field of green

Just Asking Questions

Change, development, and growth
is everywhere we look
in academics, the business world,
science and technology,
in music, the arts, in history,
and in our own evolution from youth to old age.

We think nothing of it!

And yet, persistently, we are asked to believe
humankind is created in the image of God
of which the image of God
is an Aristotelian unmoved mover
eternally unchanging, remote, and judgmental.

Does that make sense?
If we are created in the likeness of God
and we swim in a stew of change
where nothing is static,
why are we likened to an unmoved mover
and not to a dynamic wellspring of spirit?

NOTE: “Circle of Love” is one of my poems for choir. The words are set to Handel’s “See, The Conquering Hero Comes!” Play this music and sing along: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8p1BedwyFKY.

Circle of Love

We offer communion to a weary world in pain.
We share our bread and wine with the troubled world again.
Welcome to the stranger who seeks to be our guest.
All God’s children are sacred; every child is blessed.
Communion offers hope when the future is dark with doubt
when women and men believe there is no way out.
Come share with us the healing power of love
where the blessed spirit is descending like a dove.

We offer communion to a weary world in pain.
We share our bread and wine with the troubled world again.
Come, neighbor, come and join our circle of love
where the love of neighbor mimics heaven above.
Love of God and neighbor is all you need to know.
Our circle of love remains wherever you may go.
We offer communion to a weary world in pain.
We share our bread and wine with the troubled world again.

Melody: Handel: Judas Maccabaeus HWV 63 / Part 3 – 58. “See, The Conquering Hero Comes!”
• Main melody lines 1-2, 3-4, and 7-8 both stanzas
• Secondary melody lines 5-6 both stanzas
• Key: G major

Cadence: stately (not fast)

The Way

The way eludes the snare
of language. It is hard to catch the wheeling birds
scurrying up helixing stairs,

but harder still to catch the way with words.
The heart that hangs stretched and framed
is not the heart of hearts;

the way that can be named
and then defined is not the way.
The way conceals itself by being nameless.

Abundantly clear from far away,
the mountain up close fades to shades of white;
such vastness mirrors the way.

The patient, widening eye controls the night.
Eventually, patterns emerge,
defining themselves with immanent light,

suggesting a subtle demiurge
behind a shadowy veil
behind another veil on heaven’s edge

behind the tangible veil
of earth; for earth is the pattern for humanity,
then heaven for earth; and through the farthest veil,
the way spins out our destiny.

Micah

Micah 5:2-5

The prophet Micah foretells the fall
of the corrupt and faithless elite of Jerusalem;
the fall and revival of the Kingdom of Judah;
the Messiah’s birth in the town of Bethlehem.

Because of Bethlehem, we honor Micah.
We are mindful that the great and good
often come from out of nowhere
and not from the gilded houses of the world.

Born in Bethlehem, raised in Nazareth
by ordinary folk Mary and Joseph,
Jesus came from out of nowhere
to shock the world into the Common Era.

[tanka]

brainstorming
in the corner office
on the fifth floor…
the high seriousness
of fall colors

The White Christ

Red-bearded, blood-soaked Thor faced off
against the white Christ
at the end of the first millennium.

Icelanders had to choose.
For the pagans, white stood for cowardice,
but the heavy hand of King Olaf

forced a deal the pagan holdouts
could not refuse.
The second millennium is in the past already.

The state supports the old white Christ,
but attendance is low in the state church.
Icelanders go through the cafeteria line

and select their religion.
Bureaucrats record their preferences.
It’s all very low energy.

There won’t be a saga-worthy single combat
between the white Christ
and some adversary in the future.

Love is a Twofer

Love is a twofer.
When you say you are in love
or you assert the aphorism, God is love,
you infer duality.

God is the subject
and [something] is the object.
The something is the world
and all its inhabitants.

There is no love without the lover and the loved,
without the me and the you,
without one or the other.

Have you ever experienced love?
You will then understand the Sufi maxim,
You are the mirror in which
God sees himself.

I have been writing new music for our St. John’s choir.

The Yoke

Matthew 11:28-30

The yoke you wear is the load you bear.
Who will make the yoke you wear?
The yoke you wear is yours alone.
Will you build a yoke on your own?
Will fear become your lasting load
to burden you on the darkened road?
Will you be angry on the morrow
or shoulder some remembered sorrow?

A worker in wood has a better way
to lighten your load in every way.
You can trust the carpenter’s son.
He knows why and how it’s done.
Jesus knows the grain of oak.
He will make a gentle yoke.
His heart is humble—learn from him.
Take his yoke and walk with him.

Repeat the piano for the first four lines of the second stanza and then have the choir sing the final four lines one more time.

Tune: Sweet Hour of Prayer

∞

Agency

What does it mean to be the salt of the earth?
Salt is a preservative.
It is used for seasoning and with healing.
Salt is a helping agent.

What does it mean to be the leaven?
Leaven makes the bread rise.
It softens the bread and makes it more digestible.
Leaven is a helping agent.

What does it mean to be the light for the world?
Without the light,
we stumble around in the dark.
Light is a helping agent.

If you are the salt of the earth,
the light for the world, and the leaven,
you are a gift to the earth.
It has nothing to do with heaven.
You are a helping agent
by making the world—this world—a better place.

Holy Communion

The dove spreads wings of the present and past.
Warm thermals lift these wings of time.
One wing is us in this sacred place.
The other bears souls of every age.

Our world was once a lightless void.
From that the Lord created the world.
From things not seen, he made the earth.
From a spark, the Lord gives us birth.

On edge from dust to dust again,
by our faith we know there is a plan.
We look ahead with absolute trust.
By faith we sing the Great Amen.

We fold eternity into a day.
Time slows to a stop with body and blood.
We eat this bread and drink this wine.
Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.

NOTE: The St. John’s choir sang this poem in early October 2023.

Original tune: “Bunessan” (Scottish Gaelic: Bun Easain)
Musical score: See anthem #8 of the hymnal

Link: Cat Stevens, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Rifby1tVE8

Blessings

Blessed are those who hunger for justice.
Blessings to the powerless
and their allies driven to cure injustice.

Blessings also to those who refuse
to hate their abusers.
This is the hardest task of all.

Never forget—each person’s face,
even that of your adversary,
bears the imprint of the Lord.

Resist injustice with every bone in your body,
with all your might,
with your every breath,

with your very soul,
as if it was a matter of life and death,
which it is.