Tribute to Who Introduced Grace sponsored by Constance La France
A sudden relief it is to see what you have written in words. Where the prosperity and victory of new mornings awaken with the birds.
The waters either calm or rough yet they work in our favor. You told us about good deeds and the one in control and how He blesses our neighbors.
You explained that we could be rescued and favored by what’s best. You talked about being fearsome as a lion or magnified as the wings on an eagles stretch.
How much honor and dignity still remain in your poems. Now that you are not here your words still guide the Throne auditorium.
One of the greatest poets I have known has helped me for what lies ahead and more. A shepherd boy that became king in the Lion of Judah’s roar.
Twilight in the cathedral,
Silence fills its auditorium.
I linger in this atmosphere,
Seeking answers to my many questions.
Twilight in the cathedral,
A moment for reflection,
Discovering a path through the night,
Understanding the one who dwells within.
Silence in its auditorium,
Those seeking solitude gather in the cathedral,
Responding to the depths of existence,
Exploring the mysteries that shape the daylight.
I sit in reverential silence,
I bow my head,
Troubled and burdened,
I unwind.
I emerge from my darkness,
Journeying into perpetual light.
July 5, 2026.
The auditorium was filled
With every class in school.
On stage, a small TV set sat –
For sure, too miniscule.
The year was ’61 or 2,
A spaceship set to go,
With either Alan Shepard
Or John Glenn; I do not know.
But we’d been prepped and we were psyched;
We watched in silent awe,
Though only those in front were sure
Of what they really saw.
I though of that last night as I
Was fixed on my TV
To watch the capsule slowly drift
And plop into the sea.
To many younger folk, this wasn’t
Much of a big deal.
They couldn’t quite experience
What those my age did feel
Remembering so long ago
When space was the frontier
We thought we’d conquer, but that was
A different atmosphere.
Depression is one of those empty chairs.
Sit on a chair, empty except for my body.
I’m here!
In an auditorium.
Suddenly, there’s other people clapping all around.
Depression is one of those people.
Maybe me.
Clapping slowly, hoping no one notices.
Sit in a chair.
Everyone is clapping for me.
As I walk toward the bathroom.
Everyone is clapping for hours.
When I come back, they are still clapping in unison.
I have to go home.
Walk away, but I circle back.
Depression is one of those empty chairs.
With a spotlight on it.
I always crawl back.
Clapping more and more slowly.
As the energy rises.
Depression can only be one of us.
Sit in a chair, silently.
Although I want to shout, “That’s enough!”
While there’s a standing ovation.
Depression can only be,
A person who is slouching like me.
I hear violins playing
Oscillating in the auditorium
As the orchestra resounds
Behind the chambers of my heart
Bittersweet melodies plays aloud
I cannot escape -
That sweet summer rain
Which fills my heart
With such melodies of ballads
Shedding tears that reflects
I cannot escape.
Within the amphitheatre of the city,
I sang aloud lyrics of gloom and mourn
Behind the cages of my bleeding heart
I found the rain to be my shedding tears
As notes and sheets of music play
Violins and orchestra play in unison
Along with my brokenness I sang
I am with three old friends,
we are at the Royal Albert Hall,
a place we have been to once or twice.
The venue is exotic and plush
the way all dreams should be.
All of us are grey beards,
we are wearing tuxedoes,
our white dress shirts tailored
to conceal comfortable bellies.
I know these guys,
one has led a dangerous life, one a sad life,
one trod a footloose way.
There are no others in this vast auditorium.
An elderly Brahms and full orchestra
are busting through his monumental
second piano concerto.
Occasionally my friends look at me,
smile and shrug, It's a recognition
that we have been through all this music before,
played every note in fact.
When the music ends
the stocky, cigar-stained hand of Brahms
gestures us to join him.
We stand and bow respectfully,
but decline.
Outside this great hall
we agree
that just one of us would be quite enough,
two then fold inwards
vowing to never be parted,
and certainly, we have no wish
to outlive each other.
The bees have begun tuning their violins,
raking their wings along the sleep-filled strings
as I sit in the parking lot peeling stickers off of half-priced
books.
The roses are unfurling their red carpets,
the ants are single-filing their way across the dirt—
as if millenia of evolution has instilled in them a sense of
propriety.
Soon the bees will find their starting notes,
soon the birds will lift their voices, soon the ants
will fill the soil like an auditorium, and I will lift my head from my
book
Just in time to see the sun framing your body,
a pre-bloom dandelion perfecting its pirouette between
your thumb and second finger, a smile lifting your face like a
curtain.
Sweat drips backstage, mouth parched, heart beating at a sprinter's pace.
All eyes on me, as lights dim with spotlight honing on mic and lips.
Words flow to a standing ovation - I soak it all in.
One of the highlights for me in 2023 was performing spoken word for the first time on stage in front of a packed auditorium. It was a memorable experience and probably the greatest in my creative pursuits.
A different song
enters the symphony hall,
It's not an aria or a choral work,
it's much bigger,
it fills the auditorium.
Outside, on the street,
a busker plays his pennywhistle.
The orchestra and its singers
cease to study scores and song sheets...
pause to listen,
Entranced,
they let the music play on,
through the one throat
of the All.
Friends fidget, as do fellow musicians
throughout the auditorium anticipating
their moment in the sun.
To be truthful, they all wish it were done.
Notably nervous, nauseous,
She approaches the bench.
Notes are committed to memory, but...
just in case, she places a copy
on the piano.
Mom's seated down front
with grandma both beaming with delight.
One wipes her forehead;
one makes the sign of the cross.
Dad's in the balcony front row
with her wiggly brother and giggly step-sister.
Smiling, grinning, they want to wave;
Dad's look lets them know better.
Focused now, she begins her
original composition - Sonlight Sonata.
For five minutes of sheer delight,
she leaves anxiety with the audience.
Disrupted rough sea ripples shuffle
audience anticipation
Shift in seats, hammered hearts
Pummel, fluffy microphone muffle
confines communication
To thespian garish starring parts
Leading lady stands on X central
scintillating stiff corset
Holds ocean of faces transfixed
Hushed haze of amazed attention
long leg stride endorses
Cancan colourful ruffled kicks
Glitter adds amps to eyes squinted
focus on filmed direction
Glow in spotlight, skin peach orange
Sets character afloat, limelight lifted
dusk dim purple perfection
Transmits her story beyond onstage
Pivot pelvis razzle reactive samba
fast feet choreograph flawless
Flashy features outshine backdrops
For her love, Leading man clamours
resounding auditorium applause
Ensures her ego never lacks props
13th June
Theatrical Resume
I heard you clearly, for you struck my soul chords with truth
It is my truth also, and I recognized it as such, and it was great.
I have seldom found a person who understands things like I do.
Had given up on finding you, so of course, here you are.
God led you through the crowded auditorium to this seat.
Next to me, and I felt my heart jump a tiny bit. I felt your energy.
I knew we were going to be forever friends. This will never change.
We have known each other throughout many lifetimes, my friend.
Each day I stand within
this hollow auditorium filled
with skeletons of regret.
Each door opened reveals the
nightmares that lay hidden
behind pretty smiles
I travel on rocky pathways in a
search to find...ME
My Heart is a huanted house
forever filled with regrets of
my haunted memories
Anti-Poem— “Going To See Honey Sanchez”
gloria and me we take a yellow taxi from canoga park
we go to see honey sanchez at the olympic on grand
she be the dragon lady on skates she and terri lynch
both of them girls be tough as nails in their ripe beauty
both wearing thunderbird white riding fire and blood
lighting up the banked track against the texas outlaws
gloria keep telling shirley hardman she be dead wrong
stop your mean ways shirley girl stop beating on honey
baby she say to me could I get her a soda and peanuts
the crowd be all noisy tonight and I can smell hot dogs
the people here they be rowdy and angry they scream
cuss words eating greasy onion rings and drinking beer
my gloria she be saying only one skater be her top hero
I says who and she smiles and say it be honey sanchez—
skater dragon lady at 18th and grand in her ripe beauty
Leander, my teen-friend in Kalentong
So handsome and so white.
One time, we crossed the bridge of neverlong
Far away from Planetarium with kite.
We saw a painting on a high concrete wall...
He said, "Spoliarium, too big and too tall!"
I said, "No. It looks like one in our school auditorium."
When we turned around, we are already in a polyandrium.
Then we ran.
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