Love’s repose

 ‘Love’s Repose’ Trgates,8/14/2025

today’s past dirges,
the potter’s clay now glistens,
Mothers and Sons stroll.

Prayed way too often

 ‘Prayed way too often’Trgates,5/21/2025

prayed way too often,
sometimes cursed the same,
so tired of living through another collapse. 
at four asked for heaven,
maybe after talking with Dad’s Dad,
Grandpa died that morning,
dream or not matters not. 
Talked with Jesus,
addictions, too many,
one he took away,
the others by the help of empathy 
gifted horizontal vertical hand holding. 
prayed way too often,
tried to not believe 
but haven’t been able to 
stop praying. 
every guitar picking,
rock, folk, plus my Dad’s Hank’s tunes. 
every line from
phrase to phrase,
rhythm, even some rhyme,
the gift pauses 
for a moment I hear the silence. 
prayed way too often,
no doubt needing to 
get used to the not knowing. 
Wiping my eyes into my cheeks,
I hear, “Daddy,” then
“Papa, I love you all the way
to Heaven and back, and then some.”
now this I know. 

We nod

 ‘we nod’          Trgates,5/27/2025

have prayed into no words 
past dry socket tears,
silence’s gift near redundant,
hearing in not knowing 
I find a recline,
pause,
lost a need to say thank you. 
here we nod.

You’re walking together

 

’you’re walking together’ Trgates,5/30/2025

wee laddies and lasses 
grow into adolescence,
know everything yet pretend courage,
sometimes before a hoary convalescence 
perhaps before an unaware acquiescence 
you realize you’re not alone,
the four year old hasn’t let go
looking down, looking across 
you’re walking together —
a Zen inhale exhale 
moving along a Chotki-Komboski *

beads or knots become incidental,

within the silence of “be still and…”

your ancient heart knows 

it’s genesis’ transcendence. 

smiling, your wee lad, lass 

whispers, “glad you caught up.” 

‘Chotki’s* daylight’ Trgates, 5/15/2022

pacing, rocking, nights. 

chotki, worn knots, heart’s sun rises. 

good morning daystar. 

* A prayer rope (Greek: κομποσκοίνι – komboskini; Russian: чётки – chotki (most common term) or вервица – vervitsa (literal translation); Arabic: مسبحة, romanized: misbaḥa……. part of the practice of eastern Orthodox monastics (and sometimes by others) to count the number of times one has prayed the Jesus Prayer or, occasionally, other prayers. 

Metanoia not about others

 ‘metanoia not about others’Trgates,6/4/2025

Able murdered Cain,
their children have never ceased. 
Last day’s indifference.

Brilliance adjusts

 ‘brilliance adjusts’ Trgates,6/9/2025

Leonardo di Vinci
tossed undesired canvases, 
painted more than once over masterpieces.
Michelangelo did the same,
who knows the pieces of marble that pressed the earth from dissatisfaction.
Rodin, the same.
Rublev’s iconographic colours may have began like they looked after hundreds of years of soot settling.
O’Keeffe could’ve stayed in step with her early stylistic teachers,
we’d not see her botany, spacial views.
yes, Poets and Writers rise, fall, rise too.
Brokenness in dry socketed tears
seems to find solace
to hold a hand of another knowing the same, without a word a word is heard together
in a balm of healing allowing us to see a shooting star come from
behind the moon, again.
one thing you’ll not behold from forgers,
their mistakes in copying another’s brilliance.

Prayers and preyers

 

‘prayers and preyers’ Trgates,6/19/2025

large nations love peace
ignoring ones without wealth
genocide’s their choice?

waiting for heaven?
okay with disparity?
too bad, their children.

speaking from one’s heart
do some people deserve love?
what of our children?

“Offend one of these little one, better a milestone be tied around your neck.” Jesus 
“Do not put your trust in princes, in human beings, who cannot save. When their spirit departs, they return to the ground; on that very day their plans come to nothing.” Psalm 146

Three Haikus

‘they weep not for little ones’Trgates,6/4/2022
children used for wars,
guns, health, national actors
weep more for themselves.

‘river’s end doesn’t’ Trgates,5/22/2022
streams and rivers flow,
pebbles skip across the pond,
rings come together. 

‘a Mother’s arms’ Trgates,5/8/2022
Angel’s wings give flight,
like a hen gathers her chicks,
Feathers from mothers.

Κύριε ἐλέησον (Kyrie eleison), known in our doing the same. Gratefully lived.

nations that love their children do not kill another’s children, knowing they’ll do the same.there is not a lesser evil, or righteous war justifying “collateral damage” of innocents. tears are war’s applause.

‘Mothers know better’ Trgates,10/15/2023
tears fill coffers crowns
furrowed cheeks leave dry sockets
rulers, “thoughts and prayers.”

crescent moon see suns
siblings confuse tears with nods
Mothers tire of shrouds.

Mothers know better
no excuse for limp children
pray, prey, the real choice.

Once a small boy

 ‘once a small boy’ Trgates,6/21/2025. 

as a small boy I remember that 
unique old person’s smell. 
at four my father’s dad died,
thought he was asleep in his chair 
walking in with Mother,
she did his laundry. 
he wasn’t sleeping, 
in my dreams that night 
we talked in heaven. 
then the others died over the years 
at 91, 98, 101 —
understood they were ready
“to go home,” each would say,
thought they already were,
certainly have come to understand. 
their stories remain alive within,
part of my search library 
accessible in my brain’s scrolling,
funny it’s getting crowded with mine
funny old people don’t seem as old
funny when you realize 
you’re the age of those once really old —
starts earlier than you might think.
not so funny, yet it is,
old people’s smells are circumvented 
by not being here long enough. 
once a small boy belly-laughed
with people seeming to be old,
they passed on this gift 
to when I’m laughing with 
ones seeing me like those beloved. 
Ha, smiling. 

Note: “When an old person dies it’s like a library burns.”  - Riverbank Frank

Blessed Repose Many Years

 ‘Blessed Repose,Many Years’ Trgates, 6/17/2025

heaven’s grace,
hades prays the same
ashes in an urn,
corpses cuddled in a casket,
unlike well intentioned 
“that’s not really them,”
sorry, this is certainly part of them. 
far from our eyes
never from our sinew’s grasping 
the Milky Way knows well,
as the Son’s Emmaus stroll reminds 
in time, or with another’s lenses 
seeing usually takes 
a walk together until we’re 
hand in hand. 
wiping stardust from our eyes,
poetry and psalms 
open windows beyond the firmaments,
“they may not come to me,
yet I shall go to to them.”
once we said hello. 
to many we’ve said goodbye. 
in due time
both will nod to us.

Angels rarely have wings

 ‘Angels rarely have wings’ Trgates, 7/3/2025

Angels rarely have wings,
most like St. John the Baptizer
point away from themselves
giving flight where
enigmatic shadows
cut away myths and legends,
where words and silence recline.
love the pen
hope the papyrus’s velum
faith the anticipated sight,
Angels walk near
you may be unaware of your wings,
temporary or permanent,
or of the wee ones
baptizing you with brief innocence.
a tear is felt on the cheek,
it’s apparent you’re not smiling alone,
here you might hear Jesus say,
whispering between willows,
“I told you so. it’s okay to fly.”

My neighbor sits

 ‘my neighbor sits’ Trgates,7/12/2025

my neighbor sits across from me. 
acts of nature,
insurance companies say acts of God,
awaken our temporary humanity,
while millions are murdered daily
war’s excuse for overcrowding indifference. 
yet my neighbor sits across from me. 
Jesus says “ how you treat them you treat me.”
Buddha reminds “our self-indulgence neglects our image shared.”
Physics and metaphysics dance,
arm in arm, both attempting to
explain what we know with what we don’t. 
my neighbor sits across from me. 
quiet. listen. 
we might hear each other. 

Laughter

 ‘laughter’ Trgates,7/17/2025

laughing often is just that. 
sometimes it’s an allowance for tears. 
one Ancient mystic offered, “it’s demonic.”
St. Benedict whispered (yes, a Monk),
“a sad monk is just a sad monk.”
it’s happened with such force
water flowed from my eyes —
well where else would you want this?
driving home after a plug pulling
a storm of mixed bawling and laughter erupted coming from nowhere —
well perhaps like fault lines awaiting, “hello.”
Mother liked to say,
“never laugh at people, only laugh with them.”
problem, could be a long wait,
why not laugh at them and they’ll catch up. 
or don’t. 
my grandchildren look into my eyes and see. 
“Papa I don’t like it when you cry,”
there were no tears. 
“Papa you’re silly,”
there was nothing unique happening. 
seeing has no need for closure,
perception only walks by itself. 
laughing often is just that. 
sometimes it’s anticipation for “next.”

John Michael Osbourne — Ozzy

 

’John Michael Osbourne’ Trgates,7/2/2025

WWOD? 

people would ask regarding my t-shirt,

“well everything?” Duh. 

those who have fallen 

often 

understand, not with approval 

but in empathy, “indeed.”

for some of us,

the difference is

we’re still alive. 

virtue, often by way of 

used up vice. 

jokes about Thorazine shuffle days,

finding Parkinson’s II 

makes quite a difference 

for the ad hominem presumptions. 

nine lives, I know,

glad for reconciliations. 

“Dreamer, Momma I’m coming home,

Paranoid, Children of the grave,

Goodbye to Romance”

to “see you on the other side” -

pray his face to face finds rest. 

Kyrie Eleison, Καλό παράδεισο-Rest in peace

People are people

 ‘people are people’ Trgates,7/24,27/2025

when “stars” or “heroes” die,
those we’ve loved from afar,
often their gift to us,
an ocean coming over us
bringing to mind
those we do know,
we’ve said goodbye to,
knowing somehow we’ll
sit together again
face to face.
our everyday personal heroes 
we’ve shared similar space,
joys and sorrows,
not unlike those
who’ve shared the same
as preeminent stars,
also once sitting together face to face. 
“everyone wants to go to heaven,
no one wants to die,”
another thing we share.

Innocence inviolability

 ‘innocence inviolability?” Trgates,7/28/2025

parents or family members,
strangers and some closer than thought,
as in businesses,
violate a child and you’re a criminal
(convenient euphemism).
there may be Divine forgiveness,
this assumes the need for it,
sorry, those who hide these sins
covered by legal gymnastics
or pretensions of inviolability,
“we feel your pain” b.s.
makes complicity redundant.
“Love covers
a multitude of sins-ills.”
now to cease
throwing stones at the children.

Learn another language

 ‘learn Another Language’ Trgates,8/1/2025

another language,
silence is normal,
where others see chatter
as communication.
sometimes the rudimentary
“more, milk, thank you, love”
becomes a lifetime
of signing.
over the years
a good many staffers quipped
“that customer’s so rude!”
gently redirected them
“excuse me they’re only deaf,
did you see they had a pen and notepad?”
another language,
the difference often not heard,
just not listened to —
one friend was violated,
he simply didn’t hear their manipulation,
his partner of forty years
suffering from dementia,
his family stole power of attorney
this friend only found out
while working by TTY calls.  
another language
can be learned,
only if communication is desired.
many only deaf people
learn hearing people’s wording —
another language.
“do you hear what I hear?”

Children ducking

 ‘children ducking’ Trgates,8/2/2025

children in the way of wars
hatred’s justification cries out
“you don’t understand,
they fired the first shot!”
only thing better,
the Just War theory,
good for collateral damage 
euphemism for murder,
guess Jesus didn’t mean
“children, for of such belongs 
the kingdom of heaven.” —
guess their wars 
gift a sooner than later. 
there are many good reasons 
for retaliation of wars, 
only problem 
it’s self perpetuating. 
it will stop one day, 
irony is it’s also by war —
lion and lamb cuddling 
worn out by enemies applauding themselves,
perhaps the finger pointing 
will cease,
and prayers for the enemy isn’t needed. 
children won’t need to duck.

Hello again

 ’hello again’ Trgates,7/21/2025

Every morning’s
another gift of hello,
as last evening’s eyelids found repose
reminders of the many goodbyes,
faith lives within each inhale
not necessarily surprised by an exhale,
the next breath’s not a given
only the brush strokes see,
our faith may become sight.
at any point Lazarus was done —
lived, died, lived again, died,
the friends who knew
love’s sorrow and joy,
tears baptizing another day
need not recline in the earth again.
they said goodbye
as we do,
and in the morning we say hello.
again.

Dreams awake

 ‘dreams awake’ Trgates,8/10/2025

sometimes I awake 
out of a dream,
having visited
famous and not so famous people. 
funny, they’re the same 
in the dream,
just people 
seeing each other as the same,
and our children 
aren’t being sacrificed 
to each of our being right. 
then I awake,
understanding why I pray
even though I have no idea how such works. 
closing my eyes,
somehow perhaps they’ll open
to these dreams 
awakened.

Love’s repose

 ‘Love’s Repose’ Trgates,8/14/2025

today’s past dirges,
the potter’s clay now glistens,
Mothers and Sons stroll. 

…….Some reflections over the years…….
‘Behold, your Mother.’ Trgates, 8/14/2018
“Behold, your Son, Daughter, Behold your Mother.”
You get it when your Grandchild is quick to declare, insistently, 
“Fr. J, this is my Papa!” 
of course it’s repeated a few more times,
just in case it wasn’t heard. 
She inclines her ear,
noting every word,
not just nodding in order to get you on your way, 
whispering sparingly,
“Let it be.”
Her Son leans forward,
listening closely,
hitting spot on the harmony line. 
In Blessed Repose, or many years, she’s never jealous, 
save for beholding love’s dance,
bringing forward to memory’s screen 
when she let you think you were marvelous, while the whole time your feet moved on top of hers. 
She inclines her ear,
in turn whispering, 
“Now it’s your turn”
______
For me, this is a celebration of beauty everywhere .......
    “Mother Mary comes to me —- Let it be...” — in the middle of the night she reminds me of what is easily forgotten. Then we, again, walk in the cool of the morning, gentle breeze caressing our foreheads, dew between our toes, grass crunches under our feet, grateful for what is.  Yes, grateful, intoning, “Let it be.” 8/14/2018

'One who ponders, listens' timothyrgates,8/15/2017
babies and mothers,
marginalized by 
rulers, civil and religious,
Joseph's the Inn 
not given by 
kings or priests
(they would've gladly
stoned her to death) -
she was the 
wrong religion 
wrong pigmentation 
wrong gender
wrong age
wrong marriage status. 
"no crying he made,"
silly as if you'd claim,
no diapers he'd need changed. 
today, 
respected by
many traditions,
yet she'd still be barred,
the place she slept,
pre-teen mercy seat,
iconic royal doors closed to her as well. 
a baby's tears,
wed to a mother's,
baptizing time's lament,
she dies as well. 
unwedded bride,
joy of all sorrow,
Sophia's Logos,
"Listen to her,
who held me near,"
she, 
"Inclines her ear,"
and hears. 
one who ponders,
listens. 

'Mother's, "my Son" timothyrgates,08-12-2017
millennium  of 
attractors and detractors,
"You saved others,
save yourself,"
institutional vocations,
paid to teach what
those two did,
hanging on either side -
and their support 
comes from the rest of us,
still needing bolstering. 
between her tear stained cheeks,
eyes left with dry tears,
she has nothing to prove,
looking up she has one word,
"My Son."
in blessed repose,
he beholds her well worn beauty,
unable to leave her again,
"Mother, let us now 
stroll together,
this garden has no need of
flaming swords."
Attractors and detractors,
still hanging on their own words,
miss this portrait,
unable to hear 
Mother and Son
in their love. 
she, "inclines her ear,"
as, he leans forward, listening,
barely a whisper,
"My Son,"
he smiles,
"Mother, I always hear you."

"Mother, come home"                      timothy r gates, 8/15/2013

ruddy hued teen
grinned at her baby boy,
Yes, crying he made,
wiping away his tears
tasting the saltiness,
"My lord,"
in time we'd hear,
"My mother."
Bigots,
religious and political,
murdered her boy,
forgetting the little girl
playing where only men,
certain high priests,
once prayed -
they killed her only son.
a few other women,
a young John,
a couple other Mary's,
Joseph and Nicodemus -
the rest of their friends,
save for one remorseful suicide,
ran and hid.
Friends and family came to her side
blessed repose
laid out for a full Kaddish.
Her only son does what she couldn't,
in her typical minimalism,
we hear a whisper
a tear's baptism -
"Mother, come home."

writing in the sand.                                timothy r gates, 8/14/2013
silence speaks.
she knew her own loathing.
stone-throwers, like addicts,
blame diseases
had a support group
diverting attention from their noise
praying to their lawgiver,
ready to do god's judgment.
"you without sin throw the first stone,"
saved the accused.
stone-throwers didn't kill her,
not living up to their prowess claims -
walked away.
in their silence,
walking away
their robes brushed away
his note in the sand.

Love breaks.             timothy r gates, 5/18/2013
tumbles in flight,
appears nearing a crash,
then nose up
soaring in flight.
Like whispers
in Latin and Greek,
"i'm love in kindness."
Heaven intrudes
horizon knows
vertical transformation,
looking up
grace smiles at mercy.
Namaste.

" Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace; where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; and where there is sadness, joy.

O, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood, as to understand; to be loved, as to love; for it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life."

Amen.

st. francis of assisi - 13th century
(Commonly attributed to St Francis)