Jesus rode a donkey to India,
to burn incense by Buddha’s grave.
while Magdalene wept,
in her childbearing bed,
for the sound of small feet unheard…
so then must love betray,
the bed defiled by neglect?
as the tears of hunger fall
on pillows creased by ghosts!
the throb no more,
than the heart inside walls,
of the room you dare not enter!
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i studied revolution in jail cells,
sold my soul to the devil,more than once…prayed for rain with the best of them!met god down on the corner,gave him a cup of coffee and a light.spent all night in lonesome graveyards,listening to the voices of the dead.worked your assembly lines,did your farm work.hauled trash and emptied bedpans.crawled in and out of the window…
the black man’s hand,
the Muslim hand, the Jewish hand…the gay man’s hand,the working man’s hand,the ex-convict’s hand,the farmer’s hand, the garbage man’s hand…the Christian’s hand, the atheist’s hand,the father’s hand, the soldier’s hand,the peacemaker’s hand,the healer’s hand, the teacher’s hand,the prodigal’s hand, even the murderer’s hand…the victim’s hand, the broken hand,the praying hand, the touching hand…all, when extended,feel…
following ther footprints
i found the cross of Jesus,the uncarved block of Tao.heard the dedicated prayersfrom the mosques,and the temples alike.and felt the Great Spirit,coming and going…and i knew it all to be but this…that every step be to relievethe suffering of the many,that every hand to share the cup,that ears given to listen,and hearts to understand,become the…
you say the moral implications
it’s all about the money,it’s ‘just business’…blood for oil, andit doenst matter whose blood– as long as it’s not your own!what happened to the sanctityof human life…if the skin color is different,the language different,the religion different…do you sleep better at night?‘they’re poor, they have nothingto live for anyway…’‘just business’…well, what goes aroundeventually comes around…what happens…
the body hanging on the cross,
ears alive, eyes seeing, heart beating,till the end.hands open, feet walking,till driven by nails…of such is true religion!are we then any of these things?
black coffee and sweet silence,
walking, air sharp and cutting,kicking piles of leaves.what we’ve forgotten is the moment,the tiny flame that flickers just once.the taste of a kiss without thinking,stopping to tie a child’s shoelaces.the old dog on the porch knows….the wind knows, the trees confirm!nothing need be said or spoken,just breathe deeply, and be aware!