top ten

are as follows:

1. January 6th, 1973

2. face value

3. the birthday story

4. on sunday morning

5. and 6. resurrection sunday - revised (both poems)
*I kept the un-revised version of "in transition", but the revised version is the one I'd like to be graded.

7."Will you give me a drink?"- Revised

8. landscape sketches - revised

9. They Couldn't Salvage Anything

10. What makes people tick

Thank you!

January 6th, 1973

the January air creeps
through the cracks
in the house that father built
and mother makes

and their bodies shiver,
stirring from their
separate stations,
as they rise, and gather
close together

forty years ago today,
they became each others.
the bitter wind crawls,
dissipates - two faces smile,
one shared warmth

face value

(after Nicole Mason's Identity art piece)


if truth was a verb
would you let it happen
on your face
staring strong and straight ahead,
eyes aglow like spotlights,
inviting your audience
to watch your Artist's story playing
at face value?

the birthday story

twenty two years ago

daddy told brother that

" 'little sister decided 

to come into the world

13 minutes 

after we got mommy 

to the hospital.'

'were you speeding, dad?'

'no, son, i couldn't make the car

go fast enough.'

'did you run any red lights, dad?'

 'no, son, i didn't see a-one.'
because you were coming fast!"

through the cellphone,

i follow along, predicting

the exclamation in his voice,
the expression in his face,
the certainty of this
birthday tradition
 and smile, as we savor
 our story together.

on sunday morning

warm light reaches
through wide windows,
a gentle yellow glow,
touching our faces
with tender hands,
and we lift our eyes
as we give thanks
for the floor
beneath our feet
the roof over our head
and the many voices
who join in harmony,
in praise, as we gather
here together
on another sunday morning,
this morning that has
never dawned before.

resurrection sunday (revised)

between transitions:

pews fill
pastor prays
bands praise
we slip in
transition


heads bow
us three
mother and me
and you
even nod
nervously,

bitterly,
anxiously,
sleepily,
restlessly

stirred

by this spoken Word


pews part
pastors prays
bands reprise
we slip out
us two. . .three. one
family
in
transition





between transitions - revised:

On those rare Christmas Sundays
when mother drags you to "come
to church with the family" 
it could never be more obvious
that you do not want to be there

in the sanctuary, where the praise band
exchanges stations with the pastor
as he steps to the small stage.
that's when we slip in, mom and i,
and you too, dad, following behind
finding three seats together to
belong to for the morning message.

it's Easter Sunday today. not that
cold Christmas Eve with the evening service
you dread, because you know you can't
tell her no. And dad, you definitely couldn't
tell her no, you wouldn't go now, when
the ring in the night was her doctor's
cell phone bringing, yes, good news, but still news.

yet the strangest thing about this morning
isn't that you're sitting still here with us,
it isn't that you're not acting four, for sixty-four,
when the pastor is speaking and people reading,
the strangest thing about this morning is that
she didn't ask you to come with us at all.
and here you are with us, on Sunday morning,
on Easter Sunday morning, your one heart
and our one family, in transition.

Walking To Emmaus:

we count the days

again

again

but not again.

out the open door

we walk

and walk 

and farther walk.

and pass

people

places

plans

by

bye, Jerusalem.

who we miss

have missed

must have missed something.

"Were not our hearts

burning

within us as we walked?"

"Will you give me a drink" Revised

Where the sun melts the sky above Sychar
an old, deep well plunges into the earth
a women bends down, burned back to the sun
drawing water, for herself, by herself.
hot, red hands cup cool clear water, she brings
her blistered palms to her pink face, washing
yellow dust from dried lips, eyelids, temples
she sighs, standing over the well, tired.

A man approaches, drenched in sweat and sun
near the well’s gaping mouth, he stops and sits
She signs again, relieved, returning hands
to the deep, ancient well, hiding water


when suddenly, a man’s voice breaks the haze
“Will you give me a drink?”. The woman stops
She turns to face him, her melting eyes gaze.