Teaching my harmonies

 ‘teaching my harmonies’ Trgates,5/22/2026

every note, every chord
I play, yet my picking
has come by way of others
sharing, breathing
some here, some there
teaching harmony,
learning the value of
sequences, progressions,
learning dissonance
swinging doors for
open tunings,
fifths, augmented sevenths.
listening closely
there’s the voices not near,
yet never gone,
somehow blend with those here,
polyphony, homophonic, monophonic
choices sung from compositions
through precise music theory,
and choices of improvisation.
pause, sometimes I hear
in this silence
otherwise unread, unheard,
my presumed interpretation in the way,
then a gifted overtone
opens a beginning psalmodic chant.
those there, those here
join the choral symphony
variations with backdrops of
open tunings, fifths, augmented sevenths.
in the pause’s silence
I hear earth’s heaven.
sometimes.

Mirrors

 ‘mirrors’ Trgates,5/30/2026

warnings against devils,
prophets and politicians join hands 
with apocalyptic end of the world 
clarion calls,
like profiteers in hypocrisy,
now these He did warn. 
Fairies with Gnomes chuckle,
they’ve noticed folks not looking 
in their own mirrors.

Leaves

 ‘Leaves’ Trgates,6/7/2026

summer and fall leaves,
in a kaleidoscope vision’s hues 
resting upon ruddy dust
cries not for another day,
their day has come
giving a blanket to this bier 
until they’re reclining together,
heaven’s glad for their repose 
physics giving into metaphysics,
pushing up through 
where we too awoke 
a sprout peeks out
rising from sleep, 
“Hello,” first words bring a smile.

Awakened by grace

 ‘awakened by grace’ Trgates,5/22,6/21/2026

awakened by grace,
first cries, first tantrums, first scraped knees
“Daddy when do I get to date?”
(some culminate in due course with a ring)
not always easy on a heart
in due time would have a pacemaker assist.
another grace,
“grandpa I don’t think it’s fair, grandma died.”
Amen, I agree.
soccer, baseball, softball, basketball, dance,
24/7 gifts with smiles, tears, loud laughter,
birthday shopping, of course
some moments of chosen silence.
again awakened by grace,
(miss those before adoring these lights)
I remember the firsts,
todays transcend those in shadows,
and we are given another grace
with each next, and.
on another day’s setting a whisper’s heard,
as I’m walking out of the room,
just had our hugs and kisses goodnight,
“Papa I don’t want you to let go of the grass.”
awakened by grace,
I see all those before me,
more coming too,
and I stop.
in this breath shared,
if given another
are our nexts, ands, and firsts.

What matters

 ‘what matters’ Trgates,6/22/2026

Commiserating 
may fluff one’s ego dance card,
one and two sidestep.

Child discipline

 ‘child discipline’ Trgates,6/24/2026

one last time,
leather belt swung
the metal buckle connecting,
yet not one neighbor raising their voice,
“none of our business”
bs indifference.
how could someone who loved deeply
think a beating fixes a child’s less than?
no doubt they were fixed the same way,
obviously no one begged theirs to stop
either.
worse, the Proverb’s quote
“if thou beatest him with a rod
he shall not die,”
only bettered by twenty-first century 
desire to instruct children,
this laziness of an adult’s memory.
sorry, the sloppy excuse of
“well you do have free will,”
a young one at the receiving end
is never informed of this,
only “this will hurt me more than you,”
another bs aphorism.
nursing bruises, alone,
an unintended innocuous
“I’ll never do this to anyone!”
yet it’s all you know
until you know something else.
people doing the best they can,
pray they learn not to prey,
maybe learn like those Blessed Children
“Love covers a multitude of ills.”
looking into yesterday’s mirror
you’re glad for the grace of today.

Quiet still hears

 ‘quiet still hears’ Trgates,6/30/2026

sometimes I ramble
from years of speech therapy 
hearing’s gift came first. 

‘Willow branches‘ Trgates,7/14/2022;9/6/23
Willow branches lean down,
their leaves covering our friends,
some who barely breathed,
others whose breath stopped.

Jesus wrote in the sand,
preferring to not throw rocks,
like Daniel’s Angels rescuing Suzanna,
these rarely have wings,
leading past accusers.

Willow trees swaying,
their leaves bedding our friends,
some who warred for nations,
others who could no longer fight their notes.

One came to Buddha, asking
“what is my calling?”
He whispered, “move aside,
it’s not past seeing.”

Willows reach across each other,
their leaves resting upon genesis’ clay,
some who seem forlorn,
others who’ll ready forthwith.

The Sun hymns evening’s twilight,
while the Moon sees ancient footprints,
paths collide to meddlers,
same give a road’s door to strollers.

Willow branches lean down,
their leaves covering our friends,
our friends thank Willow,
Willow thanks them for laying so still.

Shenanigans

 ‘shenanigans, and’ Trgates,7/2/2026

wee lad and grandpa talked that night,
a stroll in a heaven’s dream,
others asleep, we visited.
“see you later.”
years later in a day’s fall
after my firstborn arrived,
at twenty-two my translucent blue eyed
best friend said goodbye too,
still feel his gleam daily.
“it’s only in your head,” some dismissed.
and?
grandpas and grandmas get it,
days for arguments
claims of being right
justifications of nations warring
lockstep to another’s creeds —
gone.
sitting with friends until you look forward
to that day you’ll chat again,
when the ancients are face to face too
when war stories are gone
when perhaps frisbees and baseballs
return like boomerangs
when fantasies of 24/7 worship
or 24/7 freedom to indulge
when golden streets and pearly gates
find their goal in just being with each other.
Pooh’s friends,
with all of their shenanigans,
sometimes attentive to each other
sometimes not so much,
always Christopher Robbin’s A.A. Milne’s
storytelling
somewhere between
Pooh and Eeyore
we find what
grandpas and grandmas,
and children get.
A Hundred Acre Wood’s quite cool

Freedom’s never free

 ‘Freedom’s never free’ Trgates,7/3/2026

Our stories bring rain
tears from grief’s pain and laughter 
Flags waved and Flags draped. 

Freedom’s never free
roads paved with other’s headstones 
storms remove some names. 

Willows see Dogwoods 
suns recline upon their beds 
Redbirds visiting. 

Our stories make paths
like between cobblestone roads
graves mark this freedom. 

Flags are flown and draped
first they’re baptized in Jordan 
so we see their stars. 

Freedom’s never free
Red and Yellow, Black and White
bowed and raised our heads. 

Our stories write yours
praying our freedom you’ll share
free both here and there.

Child still leads us

 

‘a child still leads us’ Trgates,7/5/2026

bow to rulers,

religious leaders, in vogue science,

supposed brute facts,

kissing hands, rings, and 

posteriors so anteriors are ignored,

calling this commitment. 

allegiances requires blindfolds

thinking is placed on the shelf, 

Logos is replaced with theologoumenon

where convenient prelest accusations 

replace other’s blessed inquisitions. 

my Dad’s generation simply said,

“BS walks as it talks.”

more than one thing may be true 

isn’t allowed by cult leaders —

funny, freewill is free to genuflect. 

yet young children have no need,

they don’t ask “who is my neighbor?”

or “am I my brother’s-sister’s keeper?”

play and pray, work is play

may be romantic sentimentality,

so be it. 

a wordless Word,

like wingless angels 

often just sit and listen. 

perhaps I’ll learn this before exhaling. 

next, and. 

Mnesia

 “You have collected all my tears in Your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.“ Psalm 56:8

“To love another person is to see the face of God.” ― Victor Hugo

Mnesia’
timothyrgates,10/06/2014**;5/28/2018;2026

Mnesia,
people die,
i know.
such things happen.
"Death, where is thy sting?"
harps, some people's
ethereal euphemisms
for laicised angels. 
Funny, some nights,
dreaming
i remember those gone,
in their blessed repose.
Singing "Memory Eternal"
in Russian and English.
in Greek, i see them all,
chanting "μνμη..." 
Funny, a bit of Hebrew,
used to know it better,
still dreaming,
chanting
a "Kaddsh,"
in step with
a chant from "The Book of the dead."
Funny, at times,
"sitting,"
these gone,
they seem to call,
and i find myself beholding
their faces.
Funny, fact and fiction
are eclipsed,
bottled tears flow,
i awake with wet cheeks,
happy and glad
that they are still alive
in my dreams.

**first written five months after my Mother’s Blessed Repose 

I want to be a heretic

 'I want to be a heretic'                          timothy r gates, 2/01/2012

 
I want to be a heretic!
like
Mother Teresa
Martin Luther King
Mahatma Gandhi
Dorothy Day
Gurdjieff or Ouspensky
Rumi.
Problem?
i can be full of shit
i can choose to not hear those begging
i can be short-sighted, ha! at best
i can, not give a damn.
I want to be a heretic!
like
those whose actions dwarf their words.