Don't Prey On Me
That's the testament has carved
Out of Survivial.
The gospel one wrote in the margins
When the official one didn't protect one.
Because some connections don't come
With claws showing-
They come with candles illuminated, voices
Soft. Hands folded like innocence, But their
Shade tell the truth.
They crowd you in the name of concern,
Move gently in the name of sainthood, watch
In the name of discernment.
But every routine has a hunger in it.
Every blessing has a take a chunk of and I've
Learned to listen not to the interchange but
To the breathing behind them-
I rise without Witnesses
I heal without Consultants
I don't walk with Fear
Don't Prey on me-
Because One has finally learned that survival
Is a scripture also.
USPS 2010 : Mother Teresa 100 Anniversary
Overcoming many ups and downs,
pacing the pious path God paved for her,
Mary Teresa born in Albania
became Mother Teresa in Calcutta.
Tormented by the agony of the destitute
she brought them to her home,
to where she felt they should be,
for everybody in her eyes is born equal.
She heard dedicated the divine call
of compassion resonate within,
reverberating as the voice of the Lord
in the dark nights of the sick.
The benevolent soul got beatified
and she was canonized in due time.
The ever caring mother entered
the holy sanctum of sainthood.
Raising her passion for the human service
to the ethereal heights of fortitude,
she emerged in the Missionaries of Charity
as the fountain of joy for the needy.
The citadel of empathy she created
decades ago with the bits of her heart,
abandons even now the tears of the indigent,
although she has gone to her heavenly abode.
I met a retired Soldier,
I met a retired Doctor,
I met a retired Teacher—
But I’ve never met a retired Preacher.
I learnt what respect truly means,
The weight of pain and quiet devotion,
The love behind being a soldier—
Dying for a nation that might forget you.
Even retiring feels like a battle won.
The Doctor too saves lives,
Sweating with a racing heart,
Carrying the hopes of a whole family,
Knowing they believe: “He will save them.”
And bearing the pain of saying,
“I’m sorry… we lost him.”
The Teacher was only loved
By the students inside the classroom.
Underrated by both government and community—
Yet holds the power to change them both.
Still, he shapes tomorrow with a parent's care.
The Preacher is like a debt collector.
His sainthood makes him almost divine.
He leads with calm and faithful words—
Gaining little bits here and there,
While the believer holds onto every promise.
So, I chose to learn.
To grow into a Teacher,
To be loved by my students,
To shape a world we all dream of.
And through the Preacher—
To learn how to give hope.
Insatiable shadows
senselessly seeking
spiritual sainthood.
Stealing……….
shiny symbols
staged senses
swaggering sanities.
Insurmountable sorrow.
15 guns,
And what do you get?
Not much older,
And always in debt.
No sainthood with Peter,
That won't do!
And I forgot to tie,
My other shoe!
I woke up one morning,
A bout half past nine.
No change for coffee,
Didn't have a dime!
Peter if you're a saint,
Why don't you know?
Those 15 guns,
Can't put on a show!
15 guns,
And what do you get?
I owe my soul,
To the gun owners show!
I don't need the pity
Or a misery driven sainthood
I am not a champion of pain
Regretful princess
My kingdom is a dumpster fire
But sometimes I can't help loving the parts of me I find laughing in the corner, holding the matches
One does not earn
sainthood. Often
the most unlikely
of men considered --
as with St. Paul, an
early persecutor,
murderer of Christians
on the road to Damascus
struck blind --
when it
is time, God's time,
He chooses~ smacks
oblivious soul upside
the head...his first conscious reaction
is that of awesome dread~ startling revelation
one really not having liberty to debate
nor decline
Like water into wine
as hands-on
carpenter, son transformed
to Blessed Soul Cleansing
Sacrificial Son Divine.
“Be not simply good - be good for something.”
—Henry David Thoreau
He put in his thumb,
And pulled out a plum,
And said ‘What a good boy am I.
—Little Jack Horner (partial nursery rhyme)
Pulling Out Plumbs
The yellow sun is not a stain.
It warms with rays that reach the earth.
Does the moon merely wax and wane?
The day and night, each light has worth.
A stalwart tree that faithfully
a-shadows ‘round, under its leaves;
gives temp’ral rest to birds; nutty
food to squirrels; fruit, man receives.
Are you just waxing and waning,
pulling out plums, saying, “I’m good;”
sitting still, simply maintaining,
even nailing worldly sainthood.
What is your path? How ‘bout the good
that is your bent, your rays of light?
Do not be found in good’s falsehood.
Some former blind - God gave them sight.
The poor, as though dogs abandoned by masters, suffered pain.
Hungry, thirsty, and sickly, they existed like rats in drought
The cognitive compass gone, they felt a drain on their brain.
You're blessed, Jesus said. With life-bread, he fed them throughout.
Like brim-filled vessels overflowing with sorrow and stress
Sadness and agony caused by the death of a dear one
Nostalgia of the past; worries of the future mess
Made many cry. He consoled them and said, God's will be done.
Cowards walk through the beaten paths. The courageous pave theirs.
Who does not face threats in their venture towards doing good?
You are a prophet. You cross all caste-color-creed frontiers.
Blessed are you amidst insults. You will attain sainthood.
In a world torn with confusion, Jesus sowed compassion.
For the sake of these blessed ones, he faced cross and passion.
I make my case for sainthood knowing all that I've done is no good.
My mortal coil feels it needs
spoiled can we perceive
I believe that it would.
I walked in the Valley of the dying while trying to watch those that fly high and deny that they're buying time
in their life that they deserved all strife
and sell themselves a bunch of discharge truth vile and rotting.
You think the all knowing always knowing always going the extra mile with all styles.
they pile up the acts of deficiency
how vile all the while you comprise the sins of the wise and utilize your human ties
to what truth?
They leave you and perceive you to be that which can never convince through Devine style.
She came from remote Albania to Calcutta all the way
as a young Catholic nun to permanently stay.
By chosen profession a passionate teacher unflawed,
destiny drove her to be a benign missionary of God.
Overcame ups and downs in pious path for herself she set,
besieged by the agony of the sick and the destitute she met,
the self-less soul heard the compassionate decree of divinity,
and home she brought them to the Missionaries of Charity.
Decades ago she made alone her singular humane journey,
absorbed in fountain of joy the tears of the indigent and needy.
For human service her kind heart did whatever it could surmise,
she received the Magsaysay and also the Nobel Peace Prize.
The benevolent soul got beatified and she was canonized,
caring universal mother entered the sanctum of sainthood sanctified,
for, to the world of the deprived she belonged divinely enticed,
and found a blessed place in the heart of Jesus Christ.
Come soon, at the end of this year,
the new one will follow- with drear
for promises to
change things I will do;
resolve to step up brings on fear!
It seems this is doomed to work out!
I make my list- then, with no doubt
a month may go by
with changes, comply-
but soon after, know I will pout!
My promises all go astray!
I cling to my old standard way
of living my life
with peace and less strife;
my new resolutions soon fray!
As long as I do what I should
instead of now adding “I could.”
Keep doing my best
to meet my own test
not reach for the prize of sainthood!
Ba humbug to changing my thought
to fill a tradition not sought!
Resolve to stay me
like I'm meant to be
as my eighty-four years have wrought!
Take my advice,
And don't let your spouse,
Think you can replace God in the scheme of things,
As you will have a hard time explaining,
That you have not been given the power,
To change the the way the universe works,
Make new rules that everyone else automatically must follow,
Or to carry messages, that keep changing, between your spouse,
And those who are expected to automatically agree, with all changes,
Because you are standing in for God,
And it does take some convincing for your spouse to accept,
That as you have not done enough to be nominated for sainthood,
You are ineligible for this role.
Most of my flying now
is restricted to planes,
feet less able to
“trip the life fantastic” --
age having slowed fast living
to delayed starts and early
finishes –
joining the genuflecting
lines, many of us
striving for sainthood
in latter years, fingering
rosaries – chanting on knees
converts
at Altar of years….
What Music Is That Which Soothes Eager Soul
What music is that cheers the eager heart
Whereas I can find none on any star chart
Nor shadow of which behind resting sun
Waits night and its roaring of battle guns
And prayers uttered by dying men
Pales chasm between sainthood and ones sin
Hold the thought, that human life is much more
Than wasting years and a beggar's last score.
What music is that which soothes eager soul
Where sinners in hellish fires must pay toll
Whilst in anguish they beg for treasures lost
Thereby forgetting sinners greatest costs.
What music can a sainthood ever bring.
Or wife be without lover's wedding ring.
Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet
March 24th 1978
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