Poem: The Roar of the Greasepaint

The Roar of the Greasepaint

I love seeing people missing a true actor,

Not these Broadway Hollywood phonies

In fancy dress

And spatula makeup.

No, the true actor dances in small town streets

Along crowded boulevards,

In our own family rooms

Looking back at us from the mirror.

Take a bow, friends,

The one who wins the Tony

Is the saddest-

A round of applause!

Take a bow,

The curtain closes

And no one ever saw our face.

Poem: Church

</Church>

Long blog posts will be prayer in school,

And Facebook posts our holy communion;

Come worship at the altar of the screen

And you will receive bandwidth

And eternal battery life.

Amen.

Poem: The Tourist

The Tourist

I saw her sitting in the Empire Square,

Head down, legs crossed,

My book in her manicured hand.

She seems infinitely mysterious

And infinitely there,

A Vermeer smile crossing her lips.

Do I approach her?

Do I say-

I am the creator of the world you are in right now

I am its God

I control the seasons, the rise and fall,

The intricate necessities of life.

Do I say-

And what are you?

Who are you these children I’ve born

To these cities I’ve built,

Are you a tourist?

A resident?

Do you love them as I love them,

Do you know what they mean,

Do you expect more from me?

I say none of these things

And watch her until she gets up and walks away,

Still smiling.

So now I just know that she’s a world

And endlessly fascinated by my work.