Straight as an Arrow

God's grace holds us up
Good
I feel I will dissolve
When I see your face
Ice becoming water
My own knees fail
But in the same moment
Everything's frozen.
Everything in the greeting cards
Is true:
I can't speak
I can't breathe, and I can't
Look at you

Corny as it is, there ya go!
What must he think of me??
I feel I will dissolve
My knees fail
Your grace holds me up
Good
Your face shoots through
Me like an arrow!
There's nothing I can do
But look away..l

Eyes of clear blue
Like the ocean
To think of them calms my soul
To quote Lizzie:
* "I can't bear to think that
(you) are alive in the world
And thinking ill of me"

I know not why certain ones become
The apple of our eye
When our cup runneth over as it is
But there you are
Never far from the clustered
Honeycomb of my mind
I could never muster the
Courage to tell you
You're straight as an arrow
Upright in heart and mind
I don't believe in fate
There's a plan
I'm looking behind every door
To find you

Eyes of clear blue Like the ocean

In moments of chaos
When things come unraveled
The thought of you
Is welcoming... Wonderful
Even when I think nothing could help
Wow! I'll use the cliche of a jewel
The stars are there under the smog
Shining for you, as well as me
If only we could see them
They ARE there
Somewhere
Just like the thought of you

Eyes of clear blue like the ocean

I wish you would wrap me in a hug
That would never end
Would you walk a mile in my shoes?
Suspended in mid air is the space between
And there I am
Don't lock up who you are because of me
The rays of sun inside can't go out

Eyes of clear blue like the ocean
The thought of them calms my soul.
To quote Lizzie:
* "I can't bear to think that (you)
Are alive in the world
And thinking ill of me"

*Elizabeth Bennet, Jane Austen's "Pride & Prejudice.

CES (C) 2013.

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

"Yeah, the commercials have been advertising for weeks:
'The most wonderful time of the year is here.'
Sure... Okay...
My feet are killing me...arms are tired.

It's freezing outside...although, I'm sweating.
I'd take off my coat...and my hat...
But it'd just be one more thing to carry!
This line shows no signs of moving soon.

Great, a headache's coming on.
Haven't had a thing to eat all day...
Have I been here that long??
I hope mom likes her gift.
What the heck do you get for someone
who has everything?
She'll probably just exchange it.
Oh... what is taking so long??

Man, thank God I'm not claustrophobic!
Definitely think this woman behind me should've
gotten a babysitter, though.
I know the traffic's murder out there--
It was when I left!
When I get home, I still gotta wrap!

I know I'll feel better though.
I can take off these boots, put on my sweats.
After I've kicked up my feet, the fun can begin:
I'll pet the cat in my lap
While Clarence says "No man is a failure who has friends."
I just love that movie!
Poor uncle Billy has strings around every finger,
but never knows what they're there for!...

Scissors snip and scrape
Scotch tape snaps piece by piece.
Dark green glowing fir stands proudly in the window.
Paper mâché reindeer sit on my kitchen table,
Ready to be covered in glue...red, gold and green
sequins too.
They're my Christmas craft this year!
Shiny garland entwined with lights adorns our
bookshelf, and beady eyes of Teddy bears in Christmas
scarves and sweaters stare intently at me.
They see each present put under the tree, one by one.

Mugs of mint tea sit next to my stack of sealed
Christmas greetings.
Apple cinnamon potpourri? What a great idea!
I forgot the candy canes for the tea!
(You can never have enough peppermint, I say!)

All these warm comforts have made me aware
of the chill outdoors
What becomes of those who have only the cold
to keep them company at what's supposed to be
the most wonderful time of the year?
I usually don't give a second thought to
the fact that I'm not alone
My mother, brothers and sister are here
My grandmother too...and too many friend's to count.
I take great pride in signing Christmas cards...
Look at the people I know!
And most of them have not heard from me
since this time last year!

But thinking of the chill again, I can't begin
To describe what it would be like out there.
I've not had that experience.
Yet it's tempting to say: "I understand."
What do I know?
I have turkey, dressing, bottles of apple cider
Flannel sheets, a robe and slippers.
What does one say to someone... when a bus stop
bench is their bed?
After all...they say it's the most wonderful time of the year.

My problems for the moment are sore feet and
the screaming kid behind me.
Poor kid. That poor mother! What can she do?
Gee, would it help if I paid for her stuff too?
After all, it IS the most wonderful time of the year!

CES (C) 1996.

Agape'

Our God has loved us oh so so much

He sent his son to die.

His children live eternally...

I need to ask him why.


How I have claimed:

"This life is unfair!"

The ugliest part was his to bear, not mine!

My life he gave freely to me.

He'd done nothing wrong, but died for me

Anyway.

His calling, I could not ignore.

Salvation's not a game

A rotten core, did that fruit contain

(The one from which they ate)?

No, not so.

But oh what a price to be paid!

How could they know?

How God must have wept then!

(Knowing we'd be apart).

A perfect creation falls victim to sin??

But how?

There was one way out...

And easy, it was not.

It is written: "Many are called, but

Few will listen".

Or, few find the road.

The Lord waits...

Wanting so much to Christen all

Of us

With his love

All must grab the reins on their

Journey of chance...

But our lives are not merely circumstance!

Never.


We are not just amoebas, who suddenly were souls.

Perhaps some won't admit it...but all surely know.

Your IQ? College degree? Does it matter?

Head knowledge abounds, but do you believe?


You can't pull him down from the sky.

Nice try, but no cigar!

Will you let him meet you where you are?



CES (C) 1997.

The Protector

Today you're tossed in the corner;
Thrown in the closet under jackets and sweaters.
Sometimes, I'll pick you up, and try to straighten out
Your crooked shape
But then, back in the corner you go, to get lost
In the inertia of a child, all grown up...

Your place
Was always at the foot of my bed
Two feet of reddish brown shag
Black, felt eyes pressed stiff with dried glue
But what did that matter?

As long as I could hug your neck
When the lights were off
You were perfect...
No matter how much you were re-stuffed
Or sewn up.
Sometimes, I'll pick you up and try to
straighten out your crooked shape.

But then, back in the corner you go!
Look at you...
A piece of my history
In the form of a lopsided bear
Full of foam, with dingy, yellow ears.
They used to be white, you know?
The years have eaten away some of your
Red coat, allowing cris-cross patterns of thread
To emerge.

Remember when my teacher let you sit
Next to me in class?
I was the envy of everyone that show and tell day!

My Nana had bought you for me...
Brand new from the store.
She said I kept looking at you
So what could she do but bring you home?
A great-grandmother's wisdom should be listened to
Yes? Of course!
Course, back then, I fit on YOUR lap: my little
Balled head against your chest.

Look at you:
You lopsided form of a bear, with
Dingy, yellow ears.
Two feet of reddish-brown shag
Black, felt eyes, pressed stiff with dried glue.

You've known more about me than anyone:

If I didn't like the way mom combed my hair,
You knew.
When I was punished for coloring my walls,
You knew.
When I had a cast put on, or scraped my knee,
You got hugs and kisses and tears.
When I had my first broken heart and each
One after that... You heard all about it.

You're perfect, no matter how much you're
Re-stuffed, or sewn up.
How many times have you seen me sitting
At my desk?
Writing, editing...reading
about another historical figure?
Making appointments and talking with friends--
And lost in the inertia of a child all grown up.

A lopsided form of a bear, with dingy, yellow ears--
Foam filling spilling through holes in your neck.
Poor thing!
I cried the day your black nose was eaten by
A curious puppy.
It exists now only in pictures.

But what does that matter?
As long as I can hug you still, who cares?
You're perfect...no matter how much you're re-stuffed
Or sewn up

CES (C) 1997.

Longing to Meet Daddy

What can one expect
When the Beekeeper seemed cut out of her life
Like a paper doll?

She had no memories of him beyond the age of eight.
No hugs or kisses. No hello's or goodbyes.
Just the cold stone of his grave
No pats on the back for a job well done.

What can one expect when her mother had done
The best she could?
Did she reason that to see such grief
Would've made things worse?
She hid it, I believe; expecting the same
Of her children.

What can one expect when such a young child
Was denied the opportunity to say goodbye?
So, what is a funeral?
How could she have understood?
All she had was the stone, where he lay;
Kissed by her tears on a rainy day.

There were no memories of him beyond
The age of eight, so she excelled in
Academic achievement; wining every honor
She could...
Writing and writing one gorgeous poem
After the other might have helped her
Bereavement... I don't know.

Exhausting every ounce of creativity
From each word?
Sure! Haven't you read them?
Doctors told her everything would be alright.
Electricity shot through to that brilliant
Intellect, and she just kept writing and writing.

One elaborate poem after the other.
What can one expect, when she'd been intrigued
By the man who tried to jump off his balcony?
She admitted she must find a less painful way
To succeed; but secretly, she cheered him on...

Ted came along and took her to Spain.
"You hated Spain,' he would later write.
She taught school after that...always writing
And writing...
Exhausting every ounce of creativity from each word!
One gut-wrenching poem after another...
Haven't you read them?
Did these help in her process of bereavement?
I don't know...

Freda soon arrived, and also Nick, steering attention
Elsewhere.
Did her carefully nourished craft suffer neglect?
I would say no.
She still kept writing and writing...
One thought provoking poem after the other...
Every ounce of creativity exhausted from each word!
You bet! Haven't you read them??

So what can one expect once Ted had left her,
Leaving an infant, a toddler, and a struggle to
Make it alone in his place?
Still, she kept writing and writing...
One flamboyant poem after the other; all creativity
Exhausted from each word.
Absolutely! Haven't you read them??

Did this help in her bereavement?
I would say no.
Was her desire to stand at Heaven's gate?
I don't know, but her works couldn't compensate, it seems.

The Beekeeper was waiting; and her hope was dried up,
I think.
What can one expect?
Her memories of him only went
To age eight.
What was conjured up that night, Lord only knows!
But as night became day, it was clear:

What fear gripped her mind as the gas stole her conscience
Away?! We don't know!
I wonder, now does she have him pieced, glued and properly jointed?
We will never know.
We just keep reading and reading;
Finding out one curious detail after another--
Exhausting every ounce of explanation from each word.
What can one expect with such evidence of longing woven
Into page after page?
All she had was that salmon colored stone on Azalea Path.
Is her longing now fulfilled?
How can we know, with her voice forever stilled?

--CES. (C) 1998.

A Collage of a Creature

Hello Mr. Duck Billed Platypus.
Excuse me... but, may we discuss how strange you are?

A creature from another land; your features so odd,
I can't understand where to classify

A beak, like a duck
A coat like a beaver, and a venomous spur on
your heel.

"Beware male suitors, she's mine!"
Would you believe that?


Webbed feet to wade water.
So, is there blubber under your beaver's coat
to keep you through the winter?
Your babies hatch from eggs...I should note!

Is there a noise you make?
I don't know.
The riverbanks are where you reside.
After dark is when you wake, catching water
Mollusks and frogs

I used to want to have you as a pet.
You could swim with me in my pool; but what to do
about your venom?
That spur on your heel..how would that feel to a human?

Ouch! I don't wanna know...never mind.
I don't know where to classify the beak of a duck, but
soft, and leathery.
That AND the beaver's coat!
Hello!
How odd! But, so you are.
All different things, like a patchwork quilt
sewn together.
One collage of a creature, with features quite odd.

I don't know where to classify how strange you are!
Ahhhh, now THAT I DO understand!
Perhaps that is my connection with this creature from another land.


CES (C). 2013