Not a building,

Or just memories,

It’s not a country,

Or a tribe.

 

It is not prejudice,

With directions included,

Or instructions,

To whom I should marry or not.

 

Home is not one place,

Or an image,

Or smell, or sound,

I once loved,

Or thought I did.

 

Home is not identikit,

But does show where I’ve been,

Or my family has come from,

In the past.

 

If my home burns down tonight,

And I wake with my new toothbrush,

On my friends couch,

Will I still have a home? An identity?

 

Home is my soul,

Both yesterday and today,

Seeking and living out life,

And reaching for and new image of home.

 

I am a stained glass window,

Each piece telling and retelling my story,

In new light,

As the morning breaks.

 

Knowing all may change again.

 

Talking, asking, requesting, desiring,

The requests fly into the ATM,

Sometimes written, other times recited in groups,

The prayers go out,

Each with an RSVP.

 

Who am I cheating at this bank of unlimited grace?

I can’t trick God so what is going on here?

If I ask reward is that really communication?

Is that a prayer?

Or me encircling my ego?

 

The latter methinks.

Real prayer asks for nothing.

 

Lying there, sleeping the sleep of peace,

The work of the day is done,

Written in motionless visual delight,

A new tranquility,

As her body recharges with love.

 

Once awake, the work of love begins once more,

Feeding others nearby, worrying about someone,

Never self,

The guilt of being her lover,

And husband can never be greater.

 

Than my gratitude for the lifelong introduction.

 

So today I can’t remember what I did yesterday,

Just like the day before,

And the one before that.

 

I had a great walk this morning,

My dad and mom are the greatest,

And they fed me the most delicious food,

Plus cool water from the never-ending well in the kitchen.

 

Now I get to lie down till lunchtime,

By my dad’s chair,

Warming his feet,

Feeling sleepy.

 

See you at lunchtime.

Have a wonderful day.
Like every day,

Because there is no tomorrow.

 

Before

Whence forth was once behind me,

Stored in vague memories of things done,

Encounters of note, or not.

Like a long lost photo,

Unremembered till exposed once again.

 

Now there is no before,

No separate time of reflection,

Of those thoughts or actions,

Which may have changed a course,

Littered with consolations or regrets.

 

Today is not alone,

Not even friends with yesterdays,

As they are not past,

But as present as now.

 

The new word is always,

Without tense.

 

Leadership is sacrifice,

Not for glory, on some high ground.

To place a flag pole showing prowess,

Which will be blown down by another,

Or decayed with the disinterest of time.

 

Leadership is wanting to care more for others,

Or their honest rights.

For those who want to harm no one,

Who desire to live in peace,

And harmony with mankind.

 

Leadership places self not even at the end of the line,

But true selflessness at the front,

Where humility is not confused with leading,

But becomes obvious by its motive.

The only motive which counts.

 

Love.