David Michael Lippman

Wandering Home i have found a home in love’s low hills you’d never notice me, as you traced over the golden backs. the waves of reeds sing quietly muttering “today” and “now” and i do not worry about it, you know, all those dirty things our minds play games with while we’re gone. no, i am no harlot, my home is here under the sun, in the dirt, away from all and you are invited to our home of listening and waiting, to meet in the Great Silent heart and rest. do I sing here? yes.

Wating i saw a business man on the beach settle down to his desk shined shoes reflect the sun and made sand impressions he lifted his briefcase—a computer, and the waves licked his soles. he typed, sipped his coffee the waters lapped at his upper ankle. he wrote and took a breath coughed, and spilled his coffee onto the water. the sun lowered, the cold wind picked up and the waters gathered at his waist. i watched him type and sit until the ocean waves crashed in and he was lost from sight i watched until the waters’ sun recede he was gone

Wordless Place wordless place--again-- ancient agony's quiet rule. sea waves roll still chanting rhythm and song. chanting, "Lord, take the bitter cup, still." again I question, "Is this Thy will?" "are not all things possible fore Thee?" "Then why this way Lord?" "And why me ?" Many times before the throne I passed untouched, unscathed, undone--yet here-- at the little cut, the small blade it was not the wound's size that ached, but the place: soft and tender. well, bleed then, but bleed out me all my self made dissonance, un-crying, un-aching well, take then, but take out pride and be patient, while I wail and moan inside. --it's only my heart. my love. my time.-- oh, your sure voice recommends me still --It's only My Heart, My Love, My Time --

Waking Up He woke up shaking-thinking of things He couldn’t concentrate, even his dreams rashed And pulled with adrenaline madness. It seemed as if he’d made working his mistress, As she slept with him. She ate at his digestive system And listened while his complaints Drove him insane, with her In the driver seat— He told himself to relax, as they tore around the cliff’s back… And she tenderly told him, in the end, “You never loved me; you kept me at a distance.” And he responded, “I only hoped for progress…” “Well, the worse is now,” She said, “You’ve got me alone.” And he thought he recognized, in their sleepless-wake, her voice as his own.

Weakness like a wounded animal my tranquil weakness my lacking attracts your great love my wounds make you hungry and my small cries and whimpers move your great love i am a small prey a little morsel for the great appetite yet you are a predator of mercy and a hound of affection you weight up me with great hands able to crush and dissect and gentle to heal. into Thy hand I commit my spirit THOU HAST RANSOMED ME o lord, God of faithfulness. -Ps 31.1-5

This little Treasure i keep my longing in my pocket and bring it out on rainy days it reminds me of your constant presence and lifts my heaviness away. and when you see my pocket treasure how you smile, i know— because your life has bought my treasure and now it’s all i own. thou hast seen it, o lord do not keep silent o lord, do not be far from me! Stir up thyself, and awake to my right, and to my cause my God and my lord judge me, o lord my God according to thy righteousness. -Ps 35. 22-23

By Name give nothing to You, and i get everything favor and grace intertwined with faith and trust. oh God, You can do so much to me, to all, and i can’t see how wide, high, deep and long Your love goes, but it goes and goes and goes and i am left alone in your grand cathedral made of me and my friend the homeless man down the street betty, who does all the baking and Your everlasting face among the crowd, calling Zaccheus and me by name--and we’d give everything just the same, to know Your form in me, to see and so make believe You.

John One light-flame burning burning where is your mother? who is your father? can you stretch our generations? (look softly at yourself) (burn quietly little wick) make love your fuse and wait again —to burn like the sun inside— homely wick, wax and flame the room, dark, dim waits to see the light of men wait, with me, for him.

New Birth every day is new birth, wet with infant weakness so dependent to eat, breathe, sleep i am insecure, and conviced otherwise (i try to survive) wait on me, o God? how can i ask such things? all your patience kills me help me to suffer in a day to die every moment til frail weak and helpless I AM more of you tomorrow. “we are truly strong when we cease to believe in our strength, when we feel nothing but the weakness and the limited powers of our spirit.” -Fenelon

I Have This Heart i have this heart, in my hand it’s tangled and a mess, it thinks its name is adam and that happiness is best yet i say “no, that’s not your name,” “heart of mine, be still” yet it won’t comply, it’s hard as rock, (and wounded, better still) ah, dear heart, wallowing why thumping do you go? the beat you meet is beyond your keep and the blood is black and slow. who am i, to tell my heart to stop and change its mind? it’s unfeeling mess is mine and i’m falling all the time. there is a name, better still than adam, or abraham, yet my lips cannot form the sweetness of the fragrance. so apart from me, o name, who

Heart and Eyes i looked God in the eyes and truly, he was kind. he smiled at my bravery and told me i was blind —i asked for sight— but he quietly reminded me that i found my way here why do i need eyes? i knew my concern was others. he reached behind me and lifted a heart —here is a much better place to start— i smiled and took it, warm and calm— little did i know, it was his own. Ps 97.1-6

Two Wires hold me loosely world for my mind swings on two strong wires one is myself, all interests there in the other one, is You, Almighty and the funny thing is i agree so often with what i disbelieve, (and i disagree, in living, with what i believe) who will save me from this height? from this body of death, this double mindedness? who can withstand being so divided on a whim? have i lied myself into this image? and, yet who will save can i be loosed and free to restore and remain in Your arms only?

Adoption don’t you realize? all men are children and ache for a playful spirit. oh, they wait with a temper stomping, crying, asking, throwing their hearts, and eating their minds away with sparkles, thrills, images like their reflection. and i am an orphan wanting a father longing for mother kick-ing my legs y a w n i n g sleep ing . (missing someone, or something?) oh my father, who are you? where are you? And why am i ?