Poems by JHester

Birds That Fly in the Fall

Amazingly I watch….
Birds that fly in the fall.

Pulled by the inner music of ceaseless succession,
Purpose and meaning, the rhythm of the ages,
Transforming and following, their life to spend.

The autumn rose rises above the land;
With appendages waving . . . listen to its call . . .
It warns their movement is about to begin.

Bustling chaotically in the dropping leaves,
Breeding and feeding are not their game.
Instilled with purpose their activity deceives.

Decided for them in primordial time,
Their prewritten script is an augmented rhyme.

They cannot refuse, their lot is cast.

In groups they gather and off they go . . .
Don’t be sad for they will return in the spring.

Life goes on.

Their calling is ours; wisely listen to the lessons that they bring..


Age Has Its Priorities

Growing older is relative, as we all know.
I’m older than my children and they, older than
theirs.
Adinfinitum, albeit so slow.

But there are some privileges that come with
age . . .

Forgetting,
Walking slower, and
Eating desert before the main meal is served.

Age has its priorities this we all will agree,

But life continues to ask, “Is wisdom one of
these?”


Making Friends

Speak with a smile
Adjust your attitude for those who need more space.

Use humor rather then sarcasm and
Don’t play tricks or others debase.

Be honest and sincere no reciprocity is required;
Giving birth to life in the making,
Heartfelt kindness is our guide.

Remove self from center’s gate.
Replace with respect and unrequited care.

Disquieted by apprehension,
The thoughts and feelings of others,
friendship begs us to validate.


Adding Value

A precious baby, unequalled and pure
A parent’s love preconditioned to confirm;
Alive and well, a life to inherit, adding value a gift
that we affirm.

Yet, in time, before we’re ready “being” quickly
begs the question of merit.

Life’s middle years anticipation penetrates.
The future beckons; the strategy we procure.
Echoing from above, purpose, vision, and perfection,
If given a chance, self-centered voices will obscure

Yahweh said, “I am that I am.”
Jesus added, “I am the way, truth, and life.”
Awkwardly we struggle, achievement in our grasp
Heavenly energy summons from our unremitting
strife.

Beyond oneself is generosity extended.
To be is to do cultivating one’s worth;
Agapeic energy, integrity of being
Otherness is oneness our wholistic vision.

Opportunity, possibility, touchstones of living,
A benevolent life, anticipated measure;
A heart of service achieving one’s purpose;
Earthly model, eternal treasure.


The Precarious Vision

I’ve searched for answers that support, reasons that
explain the unrelenting mysteries of life;
The struggles to live and pressures to conform,
The good times, the bad, times of darkness and times
of light.

To my children I claimed to know, but pretence has
marked my direction.
Life’s road is traveled with doubts and fear;
I ask, “Is there any hope for human perfection?”

Purpose unfinished, life incomplete
Rethinking and commitment seem worthy goals.
Rediscovering what once was hidden,
An ardent obsession marking the vanities of
my unpredictable soul.

Assumptions gathered like a blanket they cover
A mind that queries, a voice that speaks.
Courage mustered, troops ready for battle,
Self-affirmation perhaps the goal that I seek.

Inside these boundaries I struggle to find
A self authentic, a life of giving;
Possibility sustained through resolution and love,
And there negate my precarious vision.


Mind and Spirit

A thing that thinks, a ghost within
“Humanity,” Descartes defined. . .
Unevenly joined without value or direction,
Anthropocentrically constricted by nature’s
canopy of time.

Unstable values post-modern propensity;
Exemption sought from Descartes’ desolate
captivity.
To be born again with soul and spirit. . .
A product of nature’s phylogenetic proclivity.

Separated at last from the dictums of Kant.
Denying without exception Boolian quantifiable
expression.
Freedom without purpose, value unrestricted;
Will nature allow this intimate obsession?

Feeling and emotion tangled and twisted.
Captured and encapsulated by logic past.
Knowledge and wisdom by Bell Curve shaped.
A rock in the stream of uncertainty is cast.

Self-designed rhythm a new direction chosen,
pathways cleared and courage released.
Intention kindled by possibility’s promise;
Reason diminished and kindness increased.

Spiritual understanding protected, encouraged.
Positive emotion amended through caring.
Transcendent power, a self turned
toward others;
Compassion enriched by unselfish sharing.


Transformation

Listen to the song tickling the air, its message of hope
beckoning all to listen…

“A new dawn,” it signals.
“A new day,” it claims.
“A new life,” it promises for all to share.

Extraordinary events with historical dimension,
Ancient voices still vocal, basic values
compounded;
Perspective shortened and skills magnified,
Rules lay down to keep us grounded.

The Paideia quest in an age of uncertainty
dissent, compromise, and defeat.
Adversarial dialogue lifting humanity
Spiritual diversity, transformation complete.

Plato’s cave, safe and secure; spiritual release
is freedom’s treasure.
Once gnarled in dogmatic mental seclusion,
faith, hope, and charity are now the measure,
Completing ourselves with incarnational infusion.

Sharing with others, a gift inspiring,
Added beneficence, the moral surplus of living,
Limits overcome, horizons lifted,
Connecting and supporting a life of giving.

Prediction is difficult, the future uncertain;
Prepackaged values echo society’s demands.
New life with others, rebirth through living,
The path to moral knowledge now in our hands.


Cultural Excretion

The shadows of history, legacies of worlds long-past
Supporting vision and bias through which our future is cast.
Within this labyrinth of mores and norms,
Past habits are given to which we conform.

Diogenes’ dogs and Aristotelian civility,
Nicaea’s confusion; and Babylonia’s servility;
The proofs of Aquinas; Galileo’s eye;
The Upanishads’ hymns, Newton’s world implied.
Heidegger’s “We” and The Destiny of Man,
Extraordinary progress all in God’s plan?

The history of culture layered with confusion. . .
Just how did Wittgenstein reach his conclusions?
Prodigious events human history defined;
Civilizations compounded and civility refined.

Values in stone set by generations past;
Ageless wisdom betrayed by post-modern angst;
The bile of time through which culture is strained;
Religion or science, are the illusions the same?

New facts even doubts the empiricists rejected,
Coherency’s assumptions, signification tested.
The walled daydreams of primitive man,
Metaphysicians probe but don’t understand.

Zen meditation, the Enlightenment’s vision;
Religion adorned with philosophical cohesion.
Knowledge and understanding compiled and compressed.
Wisdom released in Trinitarian excess.

“I am that I am,” what a suggestion.
Important to some, but what was the question?
Logos, Sophia and all the rest, a theologian’s dream,
Baptized, sanctioned and put to the test.

Alone I stand with insinuation and metaphor
I am one with nature and mindful at last that
conceived or created, by accident or purpose,
I am a this-worldly relative molecular conjecture.


A Narcisstic Dream

O surface life how pleasant you are, I embrace your
every waking hour,
Threatened not by voodoo’s curse or oracle’s power
to deceive,
Non-thinking and day dreaming are the modest
fabrics from which an ordinary life I weave.

I give no thought to Israel’s boast or wisdom words
from Mohammad.
Because religions betray their purpose and goals
by their continual quest for earthly mammon.
Jesus too and his eternal conception was perhaps a
desert-born excogitation.

I reject purpose and meaning as well and all that so-
called important stuff.
Their requirements too deep and messy for me,
Ignoring complexity in my hammock swinging
My life of simplicity has inconsequential meaning.

Don’t ask too much from me or mine.
My days are marked by self-indulgence and
pleasure.
Thoughtlessness daily I covet as an unconcealed
and blatant treasure.

Purposeless purposes have been put away.
Long-term goals, commitments too, and obligations
no longer I ponder.
Instant gratification; foreshortened attitude of
time,
Happiness in the present will ever be mine.

When my life is done divide up my stuff and please
write on my stone, “He lived a long and self-
serving life; he cared for himself, himself
alone.”


Winter’s Rhythms I Attend

Outside my window winter’s subtle rhythms speak with darkened sky and winds severe, prospect that frigid weather is about to appear.

Yet, the Lenten rose from my garden spreads as it echoes the promise of brighter days ahead.

Shedding its brittle umbrella of green, it reveals its hidden beauty a winter’s most delightful cuisine.

Junco and chickadee in their hurried discourse, along with a painted finch and a cardinal or two, flitter about with excited movements, their utility lying in their winter’s achievement.

Our lives too have their winter winds. They come unexpectedly with harshness and pain.

Old age, rusty plumbing and failed memory, I think, are just enough to drive us insane. But on we move with our wrinkles and afflictions, fragile egos and untamed emotion, as we try to counter this incessant commotion.

Staying busy with meaningless activities, silence and stillness we avoid. Plugged in, hooked up, and heads in a spin, in vain we neglect what lies within.

A settled soul and a life of symmetry, the eternal goals we seek; yet the search for solutions is exceptionally displeasing, plaguing the privacy of mind and spirit, they seem to remain both tentative and weak.

Buber said, between man and man is where God stands, the enriching leaven of our moral growth. Through Logos and Sophia strength is provided, the Trinitarian persona through which we are guided.


The Gift

Baffled and irritated I try to understand the life which I was given,
The organic amalgamation of spittle and clay,
The spiritual tapestry that was sewn in heaven.

From the spoken word and a clog of dirt,
Nitrogenous organic compounds within;
A puzzle unsolved to earth was given that no one fully comprehends.

Hypothetical, primitive earth and CH4, electrical sparks and much, much more;
Gases and energy biochemically significant, but where’s the vitality in this combustible accelerant?

The living nectar of soul and spirit, nature’s building blocks we explore. In science and religion’s pronouncements we seek,
But much is confused in this galactic lore.

Mind and Spirit, a ghost within, heaven sent and inexplicable;
Just maybe they’re one, not two,
God’s slight of hand rendering all life beneath our shell fundamentally and harmoniously metaphysically agreeable..

Science and logic bound by tradition;
Even primitive beliefs define the boundaries of my limited understanding.
So I accept this miraculous gift breathed within that is both intellectually and spiritually demanding.


It’s Spring Time Again

It’s spring time again and the earth is giving birth.
The daffodils were first to appear and then, as if by magic, the tulips and lilies stood up for a look around.

“Is it spring?” they asked. The cool winds from the north said, “Not yet,” and they hunkered down for another week or two. But today its spring and they’re back!

The yellow ones bloomed first; the reds are soon to appear. I saw old Solomon Seal peak his head above the leaves. I believe he’s ready to strut his stuff as well.

From their winter’s sleep the hostas and lilies of the valley have now emerged. The bold and mighty sage now stands above the leaves. I saw some peony shoots the other day and the azaleas are beginning to blossom. The butterflies are sure to come.

Spring is a wonderful time. It gives me energy to watch as my backyard stretch its arms and yawn. Another day; another year—I grow older but nature’s mysteries and inviting spirituality is a glimpse of eternity that we all can share.

The summer birds have arrived: cardinal and woodpecker, wood thrush and blue jay. They’re in a hurry now. It’s time to build their nest s and hatch their young. Around my feeders the arguments continue.

Its spring time again, God’s gift, ever with us; a touch of eternity that is yet to come.


Prisoners

I can go anywhere, my dreams take me there
I’ve been to the moon you see; once I was a millionaire
Making love is easy when in your dreams you’re all she wants
Of course, impaired by age I wonder if I’m not an outrageous flaunt

Dreams help me work through controversies, problems and such
Other times they fool me into believing that I am, when I ain’t that much
We’re prisoners of our dreams you see, feudal relationships unfolding
Tarnished visions of greatness lying outside our personal molding

Dangling in fear, defects covered and hidden
Cups half empty, shadows where light, even truth, are forbidden
I’m not the star, just a product of social engineering
I live in appearances, for me its “real”–
Indirect, pretentious, close-minded, domineering

Walking in the shadows truth and reality no effort to reach
Charades daily fare, inconsistent and contradictory;
Substantial fear tugging at my feet. . .
Snuggling close to power without shame or constraint
No risk or remorse; it feels good to dream about what I ain’t

Power by league, legion, and lodge,
Worshipped by others deceptive and derivative afraid of my druthers
Hidden in my dreams out of touch with reality
I wonder, is this all there is to my own totality?

Convince of my importance, ascendance close at hand
Power by association is where I’ll make my stand
Perched on the edge unengaged and secure
I still wonder if life is to be lived or just endured


Time {searching for purpose}

When I was young time was a barrier to a life of distinction
I was invincible I thought and time was forever
I wanted to be older, experienced, and well-known
Yet, eventually, time would lead me down the road to extinction

Is there a forever? I wonder but don’t know
Chasing time as if it were something we can capture
Seems a wasted effort on our part
For time doesn’t provide a quid pro quo

Some say, “There is no such thing as time, only now.”
Past and future in our dreams and memories wither
Twisting, turning, overlapping, confusing—
I know ’tis time that I disavow

Maybe the future is a projection, imagination chasing its tail
Today was yesterday’s future and tomorrow’s past
Past, present, and future all the same
So where is time? I look all around me to no avail

The clock ticks; the earth moves;
The sun rises and daylight fades into night.
Birds fly north and south, their movement seems proof enough!
The seasons change and argue in their fleeting assemblage
The reality of time in their daily flight

I’m not sure!
Is this time or nature’s agitated pull?
A metaphysical image imprinted on us like the skin that we wear
Heaven’s promise or the hell we bear?

I don’t know for age has a way of bracketing our lives
Memories disappear; living each day seems purpose enough
Life moves, maybe forward or backward—I can’t really tell
The present is all I have until my end arrives.


Where’s The Fire?

The fire has gone out
My life in meaningless ashes left
How do I retrieve that which is lost?
How to I get it back?
The loneliness sinks in day-by-day
My soul in turmoil churns,
No where to turn
I try to no avail
I wait but no voices are heard
I search my heart, fill up my days,
Yet, emptiness is my constant companion
My loss is great and the question is what is left
Can I continue my earthly life as it is?
Am I fooling myself into believing that meaning can be found?
The days are long
The nights are torture
I ask but no answers are given
Is there a higher purpose for me now?
How do I find it in the dark?
Questions come and go,
But answers seem lost in eternity.