Listening to the voices of my family trgates, 12/26/2012
hearing their love is a lovely hymn
a day will come when they'll hear this too,
how each part is necessary for symphony
a little one shrills
young one whispers to me
a new wife and her husband
one home from college
one on break from high school
a child, missing her mother, being a mother
... another, a father, husband, with
his wife and their children
I hear their harmonics,
including blending dissonance in resonance...
Grandpa didn't turn off his hearing aids at this
Grandma couldn't erase her smiles
Now I get what they loved about holidays:
each note and the silent pause between.
Turn the other cheek. t g gates, 12/17/2012
till bending over
reveals the remaining ones.
bullets and bombs
even Drones
only kill,
leaving room for tears
till moisture dries.
Laugh or cry,
it's all another's bs -
today I chooses not to dance
their waltz or dirge.
sooner than later
no cheeks remain.
Smiling,
we know it's end
in the morning's sun.
and both may be burnt.
'Blaming the devil and everyone else' timothy r gates, 12/17/2012
good things happen
to bad people
bad things happen
to good people
bs talks and walks
people do stuff,
most times sleepwalking
not remembering.
on at ramp 102
off at exit 162 -
not able to recall any in between.
we like to blame,
god forbid that we admit
we're asleep at the wheel
thanking Jesus for driving
when we arrive safely,
blaming the devil
and everyone else
when it doesn't work out,
adding lines about
"freewill" -
what's free about being unaware?
Next,
this is an opportunity
beyond bs walking and talking.
Or, blame
God, the devil
and everyone else.
'Impermanence' timothy r gates, 12/19/2012
Heaven desired
Hell feared
permanence is code here,
calling it eternal life
laughter is known
... tears aren't always seen
Lazarus died,
Jesus wept -
without the narrative
weeping would've been
quiet sobs
scientists claim a universe size
others speak of ethereal bliss beyond
and how do they know?
Who in the hell
wants streets of gold?
one gift seems present:
Impermanence.
'Icons speak of mysteries' timothy r gates, 12/24/2012
Icons speak of
sublime mysteries
a young Jewish girl
nursing her baby boy,
... cloistered away
protecting her,
stone throwers
ready around every corner.
one day he'd remember,
protecting one accused
"You without sin
throw the first stone."
Myths and legends
having their gods and goddesses,
allowing many people's stories
telling of yesterday
Today
a Mother, a Father
look into their child's eyes,
this baby gazes into theirs -
without a word,
without definition,
without equivocation
they're awestruck,
as the young girl was.
Icons, still,
write of beauty beheld.
It was said in ancient days,
"a child shall lead them,"
everyday i behold this child,
their eyes looking into mine,
and i am grateful
for who they behold.
"Babies" timothy r gates, 12/09/2012
i held him today
my heart jumped.
I cradled her today,
three years after.
three more times,
three more, "oh shit"
then, "thank you."
Eeyore, I knew
had no idea I could dance with Pooh
knew bottles for tears
had no idea I'd learn happy tears.
infinite isn't abstract,
in creeds or self-perptuating rules -
incarnation story is yesterday
my finite heart, infinite's song
only gets sung today.
then one of their hearts
break,
finding myself hurting like hell
not able to fix theirs -
then they allow me to cradle theirs.
you may not believe in Jesus,
but how couldn't you love his Mother,
inclining her ear---.
babies know.
'why we pray...' timothy r gates, 12/3/2012
"Chocolate Jesus"
Waits offers
"wrap up" in plastic wrap,
ready when needed,
wouldn't want to eat everything at
the table.
"Just a closer walk with thee"
taught this early,
preparation to run
sliding into the altar rail,
sawdust flying up
into the eyes of those
praying for my conversion.
not all learn to pray,
not all want to pray,
some would never pray -
maybe we pray
when we feel like we're alone
when we pray there's more than celestial breath
when we affirm no perception as fact
when bullshit walks as it talks.
have tried to stop,
finding myself to be
prey for bats from the belfry
i continue,
sometimes, "Lord have mercy"
sometimes, in silence, whispering nothing
or when i'm honest,
left at the end of all these things
i pray
what an infinite would understand:
"F' it"
'i have met angels' timothy r gates, 12/2/2012
walking
i do not always see
or stop to perceive.
I have met angels,
at least I think so,
while asleep - while awake.
children are easy,
only seeing what they see
no need to know,
damn, I love their perceptions
when they go on in storytelling I hear myself,
with my illiterations and thoughtful exceptions.
i have met angels:
wee ones who shouldn't have hope, love
hoary haired ones not hearing clearly, listening
a friend crying at my hospital bedside, praying
worn out searchers, knowing
unknown soup kitchen servers, loved
candle trimmers and incense lighters, ready
alone mums nursing in public because there's no house, at home
children playing with strangers - children too, hoping.
Angel feathers fall to the ground,
unnoticed save for these dancing with them
Angel wings often melt and fall to the ground,
but they're still Angels
Angels soar,
except when they tumble downward
Angels fly, again,
when another one below joins their flight.
i have met angels.
at times i've beheld them and said,
"Thank you,"
they nod, knowing i'm not too good at flying.
'streets of gold' or 'this is not as sad as you might think'
timothy r gates, 11/26/2012
streets of gold
pearly gates
singing with angels forever?
lotus position
perpetual silence,
this is better?
skeptics' dirges
"happiness is a warm gun"
offering nothing but things,
good?
Silly -
saviors lusted after
living in
yesterday and tomorrow,
write another check
run more plastic
burn another offering -
a god asking for these
joins the avarice chants,
rejecting faith, hope and love.
redundancy,
here's eternity's fun.
Dance.
'Thank you' or 'a friend died this week' timothy r gates.11/22/2012
a friend died this week
friends of friends die every week
yet children
of friends having friends
die every day,
necessary fallout
allowing hero salutes
awards for valor -
mothers, fathers
sisters, brothers
friends
they do not clap
holding their heads,
words buried in
divine plans -
the stained earth
cries,
"Thank you
for laughter, dance,
Art and Poetry.
and for a hell of a
heavenly ride."
Thank you.
'I just call them friends' timothy r gates, 11/12./2012
i've been called a
queer lover
even a queer,
when my beloved Uncle died
i cried till my eyes were dry -
maybe today he'd live.
was called a
'N' lover
when i was a teen.
today we're allowed
to pray together -
today Tina and I could
date
in full view.
christians say i'm
too liberal,
others - too conservative.
when I pray
I don't envision a
male or female (sic)
any colour or hue
anyone or thing -
I pray, "Lord have mercy,"
and i hope i don't prey.
don't have many answers
questions have long found a home,
neither collect the tears
of those standing
over a goodbye coffin.
one thing seems sure:
when someone i love dies
I care not for other descriptives -
I just call them Friends.
'War, still our business' timothy r gates, 11/5/2012
Vietnam championed
by Daddy - then
my #71 came up.
Behind tears of patriotism,
everything he'd been taught,
"Son, whatever you choose,
I'll support you."
Courage indeed - my Dad.
One President since Nam
didn't promote The
Bomb.
We wept at the sight of
Jews murdered
a generation before.
The Greatest Generation
learned there was a time
to do war no more.
Then we watched
Smart Bombs kill
in real time.
Learned the euphemism
"Collateral Damage,"
bombing innocents in Kosovo.
WMD's we hate,
but love The President's
Drones,
the newest version of
The Bomb.
No matter the side,
one thing is certain
in America:
War is still our business.
