Sorry, Word Dude

According to my man
Webster,
Guardian of Words,
(see what happens
if you break one of his
artitrary and capricious
rules),

according to him
The Supreme Being
alone
owns the word
Divine.

Sorry, Word Dude,
but when it comes to
Divine,
I am herewith
drawing a line.

Now watch me
step over it.

You belong
over here
too.

 

It’s Not Too Late

I sat with my Self
this morning,
sharing a cup of
strong coffee.

We had a little talk,
actually
it was big:

I confessed my sins.

All the times I
turned my back
on him and
trusted another to
tell me who he is
and how he should be,
when he was
right there in front of me
the whole time.

He embraced me
and we
had a good laugh.
Then he reassured me
it’s not too late.

I think I could learn
to love that guy.

Photo by Sue Christenson Gillard

 

Rise Up!

I’ve been but once,
but once is enough
to know that for the next
Year of our Lord
I want to rise up
and celebrate
all the Sacraments of Easter
in New Orleans,
where Churches bust out
into Royal Street parades,
with white linen dresses
and seersucker suits,
ancient convertibles
and carriages drawn
by mules kin to the donkey
Jesus rode into Jerusalem
to get the dancing started.

 

Papal Bull

In the year 1582,
by way of papal
bull(sh-nicker),
New Year’s Day
was moved to
the Dead of Winter,
after being celebrated
on April 1
for practically ever;
on or about the
Springtime Equinox.
Makes perfect sense:
new beginnings and
all that.

One rumor has it
that those who
played the rebel
and flew the vernal bird
under the Pope’s
should-have-minded-
his-own-damn-business
needlenose
were called
April Fools.

Clowning and trickery
ensued, to rattle
the righteous order.
Which is why I declare that
clowns and tricksters
everywhere
should seize the day
from the Popery
and start our year,
um,
yesterday.