Knowledge sex intertwine exchange
Merely showing off catch cling walk
Togetherness ideas dreams whisper
Calling grown up respect beliefs wait
Yelling expression argument curse
Tag: body
Trial Size
Sloping down and then back up, like a speeding truck, I am searching for your love. Transubstantiate, lift then push, then go all out, a mystery solved, doubts soothed, memories calmed, nightmares called what they are. Do you dream at night? I do. I fly through the sky on my back, steering with my feet. Trial size.
Both Ways
Sharing smothered thoughts,
Restricted feelings abound.
Hesitation rules the imagination,
Hiding from the truth,
Although it tortures me.
Yearning for stability,
Some kind of consistency.
If only I could have it both ways!
Ouch
When I turn my eyes in your general
Direction, and rest my gaze on your face
Or body, just for a moment; and in that
Moment, you catch my eye with yours,
Do you wonder what’s going through my
Head, what I’m feeling, why I’m looking?
I wish I knew. But it just happens. Ouch.
Poetry is Not the Giving Tree
Chillin’ in my chair,
Trying not to stare
Into the distance
As I feel my stance
Wobbly beneath me.
A busy day, costly
To my mind and body.
But brings home for thrifty
Purchases of necessities.
Do you blame me
For leaving early
Today? Every
Day, I give my energy
To my company,
Hell or high sea.
Sometimes I see
How it rearranges me.
I wonder if there could be
Some other job for me,
But it’s not likely.
So, even though
I don’t say no
To opportunity,
My situation tires me.
Could there be
Another way for me
To make money?
Poetry is not the Giving Tree
That I wish it could be.
Skeptically,
You look at me,
Saying, “But it could be!”
Oh, Poetry!
How you edify me!
But you don’t feed me.
Slinking slowly
Out of reality,
I have a fantasy
Of how it could be,
But, alas, I am not free
To write constantly.
I must work to see
My paycheck biweekly
Deposited, usually.
So you ask me,
“Don’t you want to be
All that you could be?”
It is enough for me
To pay my usury.
My creditors love me
For my money,
Not my poetry!
Renewed
Thunder crashes,
Lightning flashes,
Mother Nature
Says hello.
In my quiet home,
I sit absolutely still,
And watch
And listen to the rain.
Funny how,
Sometimes,
Life can be so peaceful,
And yet, so full of tension.
We fight against
The coming tide
Of life as usual, that is,
Pain and struggle
To overcome
The challenges
That come before us
On a daily basis,
All the time
We seek to draw
Strength
From deep inside,
From an endless
Flowing river
Of peace
And tranquility.
And yet,
Sometimes,
That river of power
Becomes blocked
By worries,
By doubts,
By discouragement.
It is in those times
Of difficulty,
If we are wise,
We stop and watch,
And listen
To the thunder
Of holiness,
The lightning
Of sacrifice,
And the merciful
Raindrops
Of ever flowing,
Beautiful Grace.
When we do this,
Our hearts,
Our minds,
And our bodies
Become renewed
With a wonderful
Power of light
And blessing.
We can look
Our pain and struggle
In the face again,
And smile.
Renewed
Thunder crashes,
Lightning flashes,
Mother Nature
Says hello.
In my quiet home,
I sit absolutely still,
And watch
And listen to the rain.
Funny how,
Sometimes,
Life can be so peaceful,
And yet, so full of tension.
We fight against
The coming tide
Of life as usual, that is,
Pain and struggle
To overcome
The challenges
That come before us
On a daily basis,
All the time
We seek to draw
Strength
From deep inside,
From an endless
Flowing river
Of peace
And tranquility.
And yet,
Sometimes,
That river of power
Becomes blocked
By worries,
By doubts,
By discouragement.
It is in those times
Of difficulty,
If we are wise,
We stop and watch,
And listen
To the thunder
Of holiness,
The lightning
Of sacrifice,
And the merciful
Raindrops
Of ever flowing,
Beautiful Grace.
When we do this,
Our hearts,
Our minds,
And our bodies
Become renewed
With a wonderful
Power of light
And blessing.
We can look
Our pain and struggle
In the face again,
And smile.
The Miracle of Mercy
Caressing a leaf,
Fallen from the tree of life,
I trace the intricate veins
With the tip of my finger.
What things that tree has seen
Over eons of history,
A tortured pattern
Of vicious destruction.
The human race,
Seeking to dominate,
May in turn eradicate
All life from earth.
On that final day,
We will shed a tear
For the broken promises,
The wicked schemes.
Oh, in so many ways,
How things have gone awry.
Brother killing brother,
The best have shown themselves
To be far from perfect.
But in these jaded times,
All of us have to pull together,
For no one person has the strength
To carry all the wounded,
To heal all the hurting,
To mend all the broken
Tapestries of life.
When we bind ourselves
To each other,
When we lay our bodies down,
So that another creature
Can make it one more day,
We become an integral part
Of the redemption of humankind,
And the miracle of mercy.
Sometimes I Freak, Part III
Sometimes I freak when I go to church. When you step into a church somehow you feel like you should be on your best behavior. That’s not really a Godly feeling or sentiment, since I believe that God accepts us exactly as we are, wherever we are, but that is how I was raised. In fact, growing up, my mother was ruthless in spurring me and my brother to get ready and stop goofing around on Sunday morning. What was important was looking good by being on time, behaving well, answering questions intelligently and in a spiritual way—basically, putting on a front. Lord knows my family was falling apart at the seams in every way, with my grandmother passing away, my parents’ separation and eventual divorce, and my mother’s undiagnosed mental illness. All was not well in the Bowman household. And those feelings come back to me today as I step through the doors of a church, any church, even one as positive, inclusive and accepting as mine. I wonder what deviant thoughts people suspect me of (well, actually, I am quite the skeptic), what deviant acts I am guilty of that separate me from other Christians and from God, what rebellion I am in that alienates me from the same. Going to church is something I want to do, but at the same time, I do struggle with these things every time, and it compromises my experience on the whole.
Sometimes I freak when I try to pray. Yes, God and I are not on the best of terms—haven’t been for a long time. In fact, except for when I pray with others—my wife at the dinner table and the occasional attempt at a weekly prayer partnership, my male prayer partner, something I initiated this year as an attempt to get closer to God because of my lack of an intimate relationship, and the occasional prayer with my Sunday School class and with the congregation in the sanctuary—I am not on speaking terms with God. I know after that enumeration of instances it doesn’t sound bad, but I guess I am a perfectionist, and I realize how far I am from any kind of daily routine which would bring me into any kind of genuine intimacy with God. Being alone with God is a frightening experience for me. Feelings of emotional and physical abuse from childhood along with visions of an angry Yahweh of the Old Testament conjure a being to be faced that is not the loving, caring Jesus that spoke to the disciples in the upper room that fateful night and told them that when we see him we have seen the Father, because he and the Father are one. When it’s just me and God (and I have to admit it is always the vengeful Father that I envision in my mind, not the gentle Jesus), I just freeze up. Gone are the soothing thoughts of “come to me ye who are weary, for my yoke is easy and my burden is light”. Instead it is a booming God that stares down at me and demands to know every sin I have committed and has come to punish me for them in some crazy sadistic way that makes me cringe and from which I yearn to escape. Not a great relationship, obviously.
Sometimes I freak when I open the Bible. I’ll admit, it’s intimidating. Yes, there is a lot of wisdom there. Yes, I believe it is divinely inspired. Yes, I believe there is potential for healing, instruction, direction, inspiration, grace, forgiveness—all that. But you know what else there is? God. He is there, waiting, behind those words. For what? I don’t know. But the potential scares me. I have read the entire Bible many times over, and if there is one thing I know for sure, there is power behind those words. And the thought of being overpowered, perhaps in a scary way, is what keeps me from those words. I have been overpowered, many times, in absolute terror, and I have run from figures of authority, figures who were supposed to be trustworthy caretakers, symbols of love and support, that have turned on me like a viper lunging for its prey. Is God like that? My intellect tells me no, but my heart, and my body, are not so sure. After all, if humans, blood, family, can be tyrannical, how much more can God? And there is something else—God is all powerful. Do I want to surrender myself to an all powerful tyrant? Do I want his thoughts to be my thoughts? No, not by a long shot.
Broken
Searching for that connection.
Where is he? She? It?
Where or who is God,
When I am here, in this broken
Body, groveling before the pain
Of existence, desperate for some
Type of relief, some release
From the slavery of my body?
My heart aches. My soul cries out
For mercy, but where is my God?
Where is that freedom, that grace,
That hope, that love, that I once knew?
Where is my identity in Christ?
Where is my savior?
All I know right now is suffering.
Is that you, Lord?
Am I meeting you where you are,
Where you were on that cross?
And if so, what will be the victory?
What great battle is going on?
Is my soul the battleground?
Is my heart the prize?
Is this what it takes to bring me
Back into your fold?
To break me, mold me,
Shape me into something beautiful?
But I have been here before.
I have been broken.
Must I be continually broken
In pain and suffering?
What are you trying to teach me?
And where are you taking me now?
Stumbling along the sidewalk 