Thursday, January 24, 2013

The Thaw

Between the rain this morning and the temple, my stale winter mind caught a whiff of the slow, distant advent of spring. The brief thaw brought forth these brief thoughts:

God’s shoes
were long ago flung
so far into the dark recesses
of the multiverse
that it will likely take
twelve legions of angels
their whole seraphic lifetimes
to locate them.

Not that the winged ones
mind much.
For they have each other,
and the boy angels are thinking
about the eyes and smiles of all those
girl angels who will be joining them,
the ones who packed a picnic
of sandwiches—eternal light spread heavy
between thick slices of
the bread of praise.
And the prospect of adventuring
into the bright, mysterious heart of nowhere—
lifting rocks and uncovering things the eternal mind
may have long forgotten—
seems just the thing to prove
their undying love.

Meanwhile God
stands barefoot and laughing,
fully cognizant that the ground
on which He stands is holy
precisely because of His transfiguring presence.
But He can’t help wriggling
His toes deep into the earth—
a sigh on His lips and a
song in His eyes—
because this particular patch of grass,
halfway between the mailbox
and the front door,
seems especially full of glory this morning.

“This fine”

I can’t help thinking this fine Thursday
that the God of Rilke has come to me—
this infant in my arms
with her laughing mouth open
to eat my nose.

Again God in the least of these
has done it unto me.



  1. What a perfect way to start my Friday, Robbie. Thank you. So, when are you going to gather all of these gems and send them to a publisher? Then I can keep a copy of the award-winning volume on my nightstand to sip from when my soul needs bracing. Hasten the day.

    1. Thanks for your always-encouraging words. You are my most loyal reader. I wouldn't know which publisher might be interested in scattershot thoughts celebrating random holiness. And the only award these musings might earn is the most-doted-on-son-in-law award. Love you, mom.

    2. Robbie, I just saw your reply and will shoot you an email with some ideas of presses and contests that take poetry. You should put together a little chapbook or two and float them around. Seriously. We'll talk about this more--your poetry stands up. (And your "doted-on-son-in-law" status is absolutely unassailable.) Hugs,

      Mom J

  2. Delicious words! I too exulted in that first glimmer of still-far-off Spring. Thanks!