As They Grow Old, Men Are Not so Bold

I watch these men as they grow old;
Their expectations don't now seem so bold.
They ask for things with a touch of gratitude;
This is an newly expressed attitude.

Traditional men have been beknighted,
And their women were to be slighted.
This seems the interpretation of many scriptures,
Which, on women's teaching, put strictures.

Women are deficient; men are the chosen ones;
This seems the message since western history was begun.
Why do some think it's better to limit eternity
To only those that look like you and me?

I love to see rainbows in the sky;
I love more to see them in others' eyes
It seems to me the acceptance of sacred in all life
Would lead to eternity with less earthly strife.

I wonder if these men have apologized
For all of their anger and all of their lies,
So that their children and wives can be at peace
When their earthly breath does cease.

Or will their families continue to pretend,
Once they die, that they never sinned?
And will the harm inflicted in this life,
To another generation, bring strife?

They have balanced the scales of life, I pray,
So whatever their sins, in their generation, stay.
And their families will spread the good,
As only a family built on honesty could.

History and Holiness

We all face feeling like useless accessories;
Our culture has no use for their ancestories.
There is so much wisdom that is being buried
Because our children are so harried.

That was then and this is now;
They don't want to be shown how
To avoid the mistakes of our pasts,
But this is what makes the Bible last.

Stories of the path to Holiness and then
The next generation starts over again.
We should pay attention and decide
To honor the failures of what has been tried.

We should honor the successes too,
And from these lessons, choose what to do.
But where are the scribes writing this down
Are there no more sacred scriptures to be found?

One generation to another
Says that they don't want to bother
With the lessons learned by others
Especially their fathers and their mothers.

And so we continue to make the same mistakes
That each generation before us makes.
It's not a god thing, it's humanity
That wishes, from our history, to break free.

Until we are willing to slow down,
The Spirit of generations won't make a sound.
From the mistakes of our past, we can only break free
When we are willing to, The Spirit, hear and see.

A Man Who Needs a Mom

I ran into our neighbor yesterday;
He's never before had much to say.
But this day, he wanted to talk
As he returned from his daily walk.

He lives alone with his dog;
I see them often as they jog.
I have wondered how he felt
I feared that asking, our boundaries would melt.

Today he told me he's moving away,
And that he's glad that he can't stay.
He says that he couldn't make friends;
He's leaving as his employment here ends.

The reasons he stated for being glad to go
Are things that I already came to know.
When you're an insider you have to agree
To reject everybody who isn't "we."

It can be very difficult for many of those
With open minds, who bigotry oppose.
People expect New Orleans to be
A much more cosmopolitan city.

I guess small towns are much the same;
It does matter what's your last name.
People divide themselves into clans
Based on beliefs on which everyone stands.

I am always glad to come home
Where we mostly spend time alone
But I don't know how he lives without
A soul mate that he doesn't doubt.

This is a man who could use a mother
A aunt, a sister, or a brother.
I left some cookies at his door,
Sorry that I couldn't do more.

I hope he finds someone to care,
Who may even want, his dog, to share
This is man who said to me
That he won't go to heaven, if it's dog-free.

Motherhood, Men, and Ministry

What of Jesus' mother allowing her beautiful baby boy to continue on his per-ordained path instead of his marrying and giving her grandchildren to ease her old-age? And what of the commitment of James, his brother, and Mary Magdalen , his sister/friend, who not only were with him in his walk through his joy and challenge-filled life, but also held his mother's hand in her suffering?

How heavy were their hearts and souls after Jesus' death? How grateful were they to have each other with whom to share The Holiness left behind? How awful is it that we have put a wedge between the males' and the females' ministries?

Priests may be the pastors,
But women are the ministry.
Women look into other's eyes
And into souls can see.

This is a gift of the sacred
When we reach womanhood,
That can be used for evil,
Or used for good.

This same gift may be given
To many of our men,
But they often aren't taught
How, their souls, to defend.

And because these men are
Programmed not to cry,
Their souls become overwhelmed
And they begin to die.

They reach out to innocence
To revive their dying souls;
At this time the giver and
The taker switch roles.

Because we want to believe
That leaders are more than mere men,
We deny that they have the need,
For their souls to be filled again.

Priests, Rabbis, Preachers
Are not prophets or gods
They minister with rituals
Of paths that have been trod.

Women have shown
The greatest bravery in life;
Standing strong with and for others
Through their strife.

It is long past time
That we stop the pretense
That men don't have feelings
And women don't have eloquence.

Let the keepers of ritual
Stop pretending to also be
The loving arms needed in
Soul-searching ministry.

My Beautiful Bird

Your way of living is frightening to me
Because, as family, we share responsibility.
If you stumble and fall, who will pick you up;
When you are thirsty, who will fill your cup?

I have held you and stood between you and harm.
I have worked hard to keep you safe and warm.
Don't you see that when you have a need
That I can't help fill, my soul does bleed?

It's time, my child, for me to rest;
I know my teachings, you will test.
I pray that those that you call friends
Will be there to, your wounds, mend.

I must allow you to bend, and even break;
This is for both of our souls' sakes.
I guess it's good that I can't see;
All your fight was crushing me.

I know my feelings are hard on you,
In facing the things that you must do.
From my fears, you've turned away;
I hope this is not where we'll stay.

My Beautiful Bird, as you fly away,
I will often wonder as I pray,
Will you ever come back to me,
And share the person you've come to be?

Faith-Filled Moments with the Maintenance Man

The maintenance man came over to fix a few things;
His faith simply shines in every message he brings.
Here is a black man raised in New Orleans
Who is comfortable being of modest means.

He and I spoke of his four children
And his concerns about his young adult son.
He knows the fateful fatality statistics
But his mind is still, on optimism, fixed.

He and his wife married twenty years ago;
They were only themselves twenty, and so...
The odds were against them, but they persevere
He speaks to me of praying for what they hold dear.

I pray that, one day, the odds will be equal for his kids.
Will he continue to pay the price for what our ancestors did?
Someone sold his ancestors to slavery, and he has risen above;
Will those whose ancestors bought his, surround him with their love?

Menus, Marriage, and Meaning

Standing in the condo kitchen
That looks out over the sea,
We were cooking for friends,
As we used to, my man and me.
He prepared steak Diane;
I prepped devilish shrimp.
Then I moved on to salad
Until he needed ingredients.

As I was his sous chef,
Because this was his menu,
I waited until he gave me
Something I could do.
When I choose the menu,
He does the same for me.
This is my idea of marriage
In all it's shining glory.

We schlepped the food to town
Where the husband set a fine table.
He felt such a special meal
Deserved to seem regal.
There were tapered candles,
And the good china plates,
A blessing said in Hebrew,
As we bowed our heads and ate.

Is this less sacred than church?
I think it is surely not.
Each part of our eating together
Was with love begot.
My husband had earned the money
That bought our daily bread
And each participant served a role
To which we had felt led.

We broke bread with good friends,
And a struggling nursing student,
Sheltered by this father and mother.
Is this what, "Feed my sheep," meant?
There was a simple blessing and thanks
There were no fancy robes or rituals,
But when we departed their home,
My body, heart and soul all felt full.