I noticed that our Barbara Lee
will speak on living playfully—
but meditations should be logical
and all their phrasing philosophical!
Well, I felt very under the gun,
to meditate and make it fun.
So, here’s a poem from my blog,
born half in light and half in fog.
It lacked some rhyme an meter—sure—
but, I hoped that that would add allure.
To make things worse—and really odd—
I used that weighty label, “God.”
Still, maybe there is something here
to brighten up a chilly day
so here it comes without delay:
Well—I think God is brighter than we think—
and bored with fat old books and brick facades.
I think She’s in my favorite coffee shop—
in the windows and the doors—
‘cause God would want us walking in and looking out.
And maybe God is in the girls and guys
who serve my dark roast grande with no room?
But—maybe when I’m driving, God is in my car
—I don’t mean sitting on the seat—
I mean in the wheels and in the tires and in the parts that make it go.
Then again—wouldn’t God be engineer and tune-up man
—if He had the time I mean?
He’d be great with wrenches and those test machines.
Contrarily, maybe he would take the steering wheel—
he’d drive real fast and watch the corn rows flashing by.
He might get in the lane with arrows pointing out of town.
He’s probably into moving on
and getting where He’s never been.
He’d want to find some waves to surf, view the Taj Mahal
—and see what’s shakin’ at the mall.
Uhh—I noticed when I type
my little finger goes astray and hits the “Q” when I want “A.”
God’s in that pinkie too I bet—perfection’s not Her thing—
or earthquakes wouldn’t quake and bees would never sting.
Just look with me at the flowers on that tree.
If branches loaded down with white are not Divine, what is?
(A parenthetic comment here—
I wrote this in the spring this year.)
And robins singing for their mates—
God’s tuning up to procreate.
I think God is brighter than we think,
because He’s spread himself around,
in life that’s great and crumby too,
‘cause life is where the action’s found.
I think She’s in the whole darn thing
and maybe nowhere else.
How could She stand off somewhere,
some supernatural force?
would she mind if we used upper case to start our words
for Coffee Shops and Cars and Robins singing in the Trees,
for Roads and Corn, and Pinkies too—
and only say the G-word when we sneeze?
Then I wouldn’t oddly say “He” and “She”
to name the wonder in it all—
including what’s in
(capital Y) You
and (Capital M) Me!