Christopher Yokel's Blog, page 3

Poem: Pearlescent

Late the other night
standing outside
while my dog took a pee,
I stared up
at the bare maple,
branches dark against the pale,
moving clouds,
and,
far beyond them,
the luminous, waxing moon,
pearlescent in her splendor,
commanding my awe,
small as I am
in this great wheeling dark. 

Poem: Downy Wings

Peace
this November afternoon
is watching the ducks float
on the pond
freshly filled
with last night’s torrential rain,
their heads tucked
‘neath their downy wings. 

Poem: Leaves, Flying Westward

Clouds, flying westward at evening
chasing the dark curve of the earth into starlight
backs burning red
with the setting sun.

Leaves, flying westward at evening
shed from trees limbs 
flung out in supplication,
bodies burning red 
with the last fires of life,
following the wind into darkness. 

Poem: Like The Grass

I want to be like the grass, 
stubbornly clinging to the rocks
above this coastline,
hardy, tested, unadorned
yet beautiful in its own simple way.

I am learning to live with the blessed constants
of rain and sun,
and let the rest be what it may. 

Poem: After the Storm

I took my dog
for a walk tonight
after the thunderstorm
had scoured the streets clean.
The pavement was damp,
the air still heavy with moisture
and the scent of pine,
and over the neighborhood,
the clouds were edged 
with the gold of the setting sun.

It was a quiet scene
that almost made me forget
how we’re still trying to scour the earth
of our stubborn sins,
it almost made me forget
that death and hate walk alongside me
as silent companions.

One day, perhaps they’ll be washed away
and our sins swept with them
down the storm drains
and we’ll stand together
staring at the clouds
edged with gold. 

Poem: Vast

Some say
You don’t speak to us
anymore,
no more showing up
in bushes
or donkey’s mouths,
but I hear you
vast,
unfathomable One,
in the ocean waves
that swirl and shatter
on the shoreline. 

Poem: Hearts and Lungs

There are no white hearts
or black hearts,
just the same red,
throbbing mass of muscle
that goes a hundred beats per minute
when you’re jogging in Brunswick, Georgia.

The same hot blood that helplessly runs out
of punctured flesh
when you get shot in the streets of Ferguson, Missouri
or in the safety of your own home in Louisville, Kentucky
or Forth Worth, Texas.

Do your lungs really care if they’re black or white,
when they’re gasping for air with a knee crushing your trachea
when you’re lying face to the pavement,
screaming “I can’t breath”
in New York City,
or Minneapolis? 

Poem: A New World

A month ago
the neighbor’s maple tree
was bare
and we were only just beginning to understand
what had come upon the world.

Now the buds
are breaking into new leaves
and into a new
and unforeseen world. 

Poem: The Host

Sitting at home alone
this Sunday morning,
I remember the sanctuary filled with light as,
body to body,
we flooded down the aisle
to receive the bread and wine.

We were already carriers of death
seeking the only
true cure
the power of a broken open life
poured out in love. 

Poem: Love in Hard Times

I decided to try my hand at a sonnet. Sonnets traditionally are love poems, but have been adapted to many subjects. I decided to try and write about what love looks like in a time like this:

How does one go about loving in these hard times
when all about us is in disarray?
Anxiety and grief are enough to grind
us down into despair and cause dismay.
The selfish grasp and hoard what they can get,
and think about their freedom above all.
They care not if another must be let
to suffer so long as they do not fall.
The selfless can be found seeking to help.
They tend the ill, they sit beside the dying.
They look out for their neighbor as themselves,
and comfort those who cannot stop their crying.
These hard times put love’s bold claims to the fire,
and test both our intention and desire.