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.

Leaves are falling

 ‘Leaves are falling’ Trgates,9/22/2025

leaves, some are falling early,
auburn shades will be missed,
the others will follow in due course 
hues covering the earth’s bier 
in time will give life to a dormant ground. 
a few shriveled leaves will remain,
reclining upon coming sprouts 
in the spring’s birth 
awaiting burial,
side by side shaded,
morning light drying those on their bier
readied red dirt’s repose,
and first blossoms peak out,
both in due time. 
always glad for new shoots,
only Jesus knows when 
I’ll appreciate the evening’s close.

Still amazed

 ‘still amazed’ Trgates,9/1/2025

Our white picket fence,
had to trim under the slats
every time we mowed.
funny, one afternoon it rained
like icicles straight down.
Sun was blinding,
one side it poured
other side it shined,
a young lad so amazed,
sat in the middle of a
fifteen minute eclipse.
heart contains the uncontainable
Cherubim and Seraphim amazed,
watching little children
red and yellow, black and white, more,
loved by one the hosts are amazed.
picket fences still need repainted
awaiting sun and rain
on either side,
and, yes,
I’m still amazed.

My grandpa and being grandpa; we ones teach us to sing

 ‘my grandpa and being papa’Trgates,8/31/25

seeing what’s timeless 
blue and brown eyes transcend mine,
then and now’s soaring.

‘wee ones teach us to sing’
’love’s tunes’ Trgates,4/24/2023;8/31/2025
Cardinals and Bluebirds
sing their songs,
those in Blessed Repose,
those still here
hear what few choose.
some join their psalms,
some close their ears,
while Cardinals and Bluebirds
know love isn’t separated by
here or there.
pausing between breaths,
Angels listen
in awe of the melodies
from Bluebirds and Cardinals
smiling with those
here and there,
with both we’re here,
only thing that causes
these singers to stop and listen —
children,
loud, rarely quiet,
tender hearts and souls
making harmony smile.

Morning will rise

 ‘morning will rise’ Trgates,8/29/2025

lightning scares a child 
a soft rain’s sound dries their tears 
Finches play again.

History?

     “What will history say? History, Sir, will tell lies as usual.” — from movie, ‘the devil’s disciple,’ with Burt Lancaster, Kirk Douglas, Laurence Olivier, Janette Scott, Eva Le Gallienne, Harry Andrews, directed by Guy Hamilton, 1959.

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