Poems and Dialectics

Dear Readers,

Odd week this week. Odd week every week. Here are three poems to consider. The first by Shel Silverstein. The second and third by me, struggling to respond to such an awful, open invitation.

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Invitation

If you are a dreamer, come in
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer...
If you're a pretender, come sit by the fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!

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                                                              No Words

We have no words but carrots and beets. The corn is tasseling. There’s nothing else to report. An outbreak of peace would be nice. But outbreaks of endless revenge threaten to end it all in a flash.

We have no words of our own. Every thought is on loan, and our hands are tied. Our feet take us places we don’t want to go. All of this is prophetic. Pathetic. We don’t know where to turn. 

We have no words but longings and love. Perhaps we could bake some bread and tenderly explore where it hurts. The diagnosis will be indeterminate, so we’ll remain afraid. The little we possess never includes the right words.

We have no words. Only weeds and misconceptions. Obsidian-tipped news that once flew fearless now lies twisted and broken. Redacted. Redundant. The few remaining meanings have hidden themselves.

We cling to words as if we own them and they will save us. But Words are guests. Real Words ring free and true like bells. Rods and staffs may bring comfort, but the Truth speaks softly and carries no stick. No salvation and no stick.

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What We Serve On Platters

Come in, you old-skinned bastions of wrinkles and droopy eyes.
Come in, youngsters drifting in the increasingly salty sea.
Come in, bruised souls walking littered paths to nowhere.

Come in. Come in.

Here is a place at the table. Here you can relax and break bread.
Here you can dream. Here you can practice forgiveness.
Here your shame turns to dust. Your sharp fears grow dull.

Here.

Come in, you resistant bastards of the cruel ways, you of the emptiness.
Come in, you liars who torture and violate. Who consume and destroy.
Come in, monsters, devils, seekers of vengeance. You’re already burning in hell.

Come in. Come in.

Here you will be taken apart. Served in pieces at the feast.
Here you will be the sacrifice you always wanted to be.
Here your story will be rewritten, and you’ll return as a bird.

Here.

What is it you’re looking for?
Why are you skimming? It’s all here.
Stop. Breathe. Stop. Sit.

Come in.