Rainbow’s chorus

 ‘Rainbow’s chorus’ Trgates,7/17/2026

Blue Jays may demand attention,

loud and territorial,

yet their beauty may be arresting,

over the rainbow

they’ll not call for us to join their melody.

Bluebirds steal nothing

only to find a nestling home,

quiet in their beauty

if we listen closely

we’ll find ourselves humming with them,

only to find ourselves

over the rainbow

singing too.

Cardinals bouncing from

branch to branch,

Redbirds they welcome our gaze,

saying hello from a beloved,

their moment’s greeting

gone as quick as it came.

nodding off

after reflection

our family of feathered souls gather

in our midnight sleep

the Sun, the Moon, and Stars

the Blue Jay, Cardinal and Bluebirds

welcome our rainbow’s visiting chorus.

‘some days, every scar’Trgates,5/20-22/2023(9 years)

some days

clouds paint too many scenes,

then it rains

while the sun is trying to peek in.

it’s difficult to see

through these drops,

you’d think your eyes would dry up.

wee ones screech between giggles,

in video memory recall,

skipping decades reinterpreting,

Mother laughed out loud,

proud of every moment,

that delight only knows a Blessed Repose.

happy sadness,

dry sockets find another tear -

some days,

every scar, every grey hair

replacing brown, auburn speckles,

balanced by stealth limps,

hearing those last days here within,

my turn no longer surprises.

some days

theirs and ours,

suns and moons,

dance together.

funny, once they said

Grandpa needed to stop driving at night

(was another twenty years before

he’d said goodbye to Grandma,

“Jesus, I’ll be right there. It’s time to say goodbye. I love you.”).

some days,

that’s what they are,

a broken strand of hair

found between the pages

of a beloved text.

today.

Their eyes

 ‘their eyes’ Trgates,7/23/2026 ‘wee eyes’

yes, “we have no continuing city here,

looking for a new heaven and earth.”

yet every time 

I gaze into the eyes of a new Grandchild,

each one’s brilliantly unique 

I catch a look from my Children’s,

older yet the same eyes 

I pause and hear their heartbeat,

my face is baptized anew —

even this day I have a 

glimpse into eternity’s wink,

and in the moment I smile. 

in other moments by myself,

as such,

I chuckle, weep, laugh,

then listen. 

each day’s indeed this one.

Ha, chuckling

 ‘Ha, chuckling’ Trgates,7/25/2026

Suns rise

even as Moons appear to too. 

Ha, there’s the operative. 

Star gazing

even as Black Holes once did too. 

Funny, wishing upon either’s the same. 

Metaphors laugh

even as Aphorisms prefer euphemisms. 

Chuckle, better that Suns and Moons rise.

Grief

 ’Grief?’ Trgates,7/30/2026

Grief? some’ll tell you to get over it.

sorry you don’t get over such love,

it’s like your whole body’s inflamed

finding a bier in your heart.

it’s not breaking,

yet it feels like it because you’re a whole person.

Love? you first know in your Mother’s womb,

your first laughter, tears of joy and sadness

come from the safety of herself,

perhaps why when you finally say goodbye

it seems like you feel her

laughter and tears again,

now passed on into your arms to hold others.

Irony? a musician, artist, poet, often not known personally, dies, and we weep.

why? their extended empathy

found in ours living each day

is given a moment’s opportunity to

feel again what’s not ever actually gone.

why? because love lived before,

as love lived today isn’t dead,

it’s singing the psalms of eternity

with those here, there, where

grief is an ethereal and temporal hug.

a Mother’s first humming of nursery rhymes

from her womb to her arms

until we might in time return ours for her,

yes why Fathers marvel

and join the vigil we know as life.

Love? Yes.

Pass the bread and wine

 ‘pass the bread and wine’ Trgates,8/3/2026

talking with the dead

no big deal,

every day the living say hello,

not upset by those too good for a visit,

he’d say “let the dead bury the dead.”

those marginalizing

folks not considered worth their time

have plenty of it,

the dead are ahead of their headstones.

talking with the living

that’s another story,

like leprosy “unclean!” souls

if dared to walk in their Golgothas

Emmaus will see their faces,

beholding what was never hidden to one.

Anesti, Axios!

heard and seen

by those with

“eyes and ears,”

Plato’s Logos has no need of

equivocation or a back patting,

or an interpreter.

sitting at each other’s table

we pass the bread and wine,

having no need to be hurried.

Hope’s insight

 ‘Hope’s insight’ Trgates,8/20/2026

wee ones see clearly,
slowly fed pabulum 
making sure they know what’s true, 
they’re taught lockstep thinking
layered visions through cataracts,
slowly like the Blind Man
after healed
without prescience he first thinks 
“I see people like trees walking,”
children given blinders
their adolescent lenses tossed aside. 
wee ones grown
having gone to the pool
to wash away layered encrustations
no longer innocent
yet walking with their ancients,
at least that’s how they’re seen for a day,
“testing everything holding fast to the truth.”
looking into the eyes of little ones,
and ones well aged 
we behold beauty again, seeing.

Grace’s whisper

 grace’s whisper’ Trgates,8/29/2024

a wee one asks Jesus 
for forgiveness,
for what don’t have any idea,
decades later pride sums it up,

virtue it seems

has more to do

with used up vice. 

comparison to another is futile,

to oneself it’s redundant,

to the grace of today 

a wee one baptized 

knows a hoary headed whisper.

A Baby’s gift in a coo

 ‘a Baby’s gift in a coo’ Trgates,8/12/2026

from Arctic glaciers
leaving mountain ranges
and desert sands alongside,
I recall in my youth
the mass of reported hatred,
people with the same heritage —
we do share our genesis
no matter explained by
science formulating or theological pauses —
yet I saw many not succumbed to it,
their children playing side by side,
perhaps true science and faith
wee ones lead our ways
where “red and yellow, black and white”
love like the children’s tune,
a need to be right
never crossing their minds,
yet doing right
having its own humility.
Nature’s story is both
traumatizing and healing,
seeming to leave death in its path
yet revealing ongoing resurrections —
have seen those taught to hate
stand side by side
sharing their questions and joy
at reading an author
who’s rejected by both of their circles,
like tumultuous oceans
also giving us roadways in their waves.
for myself I have come to smile,
and still with tears at times,
yes a deluge too on rarer days,
at what various spheres explain,
perhaps St. Augustine’s
“God is found in humility”
ours following the Divine’s
revealing in what little we know
and our confessions of what we don’t.
from hoary headed returning
to our little ones awe
we behold the beauty of
of a sunset and sunrise
over a Grand Canyon
and in the Northwest
sometimes Northern Lights,
to the heart baptizing
from a baby’s coo.