Poem: Preparation

Preparation

The plaster buckles, separated

from the lathe underneath, anything

but perfect. Holes pock the wall

like acne scars.

It is time to paint, but

the real work is not the painting,

but the tearing out,

the filling in, building

a foundation strong

and smooth, more work

than mere brushing, but

without it the paint

is worthless. 

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The picture looks like a piece of modern art, but it is of a basement wall, damaged by water. 

Tom 

Poem: Matthew 12:20

Matthew 12:20

You dig in the garden.
The earth, wet from the night's rain,
falls apart in your hand,
dark and rich, full or promise.

You plant the small sprig
you have nursed for a season,
patiently waiting, waiting
for the first roots to reach out,
unreasonably

in water, waiting for life to spring
from this broken limb
of a flower once loved
until storms ripped it from it's source,
and left it broken on the grass,
debris,
waiting to die.

But it did not die. Not quite.
And you are here, returning it to the earth,
it's water fed roots hungry
for earth,
for nourishment,
for deeper life

as you set it gently down,
to begin
again.

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Matthew 12:20 begins: "A bruised reed he will not break,  and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out....."

The photograph was taken in my back yard a couple of years ago. You can click on it for a larger version.


Tom