Poem, “The Testament”
By law, we felt sin’s weight upon us.
By gospel, saw the ransom paid.
By faith, believed Christ’s death accomplished
the testament: God’s heirs, he made
of sinners, sons of glory now.
His enemies, he drew near by grace.
— Michael Spotts:.
http://www.michaelspotts.com
Where Pavement Ends
Let’s stroll out, my love, tonight
down tired streets with winking city lights.
And where the pavement ends
emphatically resolve against the time.
We’ll find a path so narrow
through woodlands shimmering, crystallized with dew;
glossed leaves illumined palely
by pearl and blue reflections of the moon.
We’ll spy a hidden clearing,
pull aside curtain-vines to let us through
to lay ‘neath streams of starlets
racing on Aurora’s midnight bloom.
If, my love, your hands fall cold,
my own will change their shape;
feathers grown and wings extending
carry you in comfort on the wind.
Aloft removed from stubborn earth,
our vantage of the world improves our perch.
In silence gaze as rooftops turn
to blush-red jewels beneath the breath of dawn.
The august glow is spreading fast.
Come, my love, the night is passed;
we must hurry back along our paths
up waking city streets to meet the day.
Upon the steps where we began,
we linger with resolve
and kiss.
Our walk has taken us beyond where pavement ends.
First draft written 2 March 2005, Murrieta, California
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Copyright © Michael Spotts:.
The Widow’s Cruse
9 March, 2010 - Forks, Washington
Praise God, the kindness of the Lord!
He works as winds uncharted;
unexpectedly imparting to His saints for pressing needs.
Never has He suffered this poor widow’s cruse to failure.
Ever does He care to fill her pots and faith to feed.
Guard Rails
I will make your life exciting
driving close to guard rails, just to frighten;
still far enough to promise that you’re safe with me.
Lean closer.
This music is an anthem
setting ambiance to friendship.
Timeless firsts; these thoughtless risks
come only once and vanish.
Youth is laughter underwater;
snowy picnics on the mountain;
thrift store shirts and fashion jeans;
coffee headaches, early twenties.
Dare ourselves to kiss the moment
or lose a hundred happy chances.
Dance tip-to-toe with brave romances
cut in by time and inconvenience.
The year is almost over.
It closes quick with car door thunder
as college lots turn vacant
for the annual school exodus.
Sometimes with tears I wonder
can I make your life still seem exciting?
Is it enough to call on Sundays
and reminisce on love and timing?
Leaves are dropping off the branches
like years in colored piles.
They settle by the guard rails,
as I speed closer, closer, fighting.
I often think of you.
Fox River Song
Dusk floats down the old Fox River rowing a skiff of ocher light.
Reflections painted on the water swirl rusted pigments of the sky.
Summer evening stillness settles with our quiet, private tones.
The pilot breeze will slowly steer. A guiding current gently rows.
The duckweed and the water lily tangle in our makeshift mooring.
We listen to the branches blowing birchwood songs at eventide.
Copyright © Michael Spotts:.
www.michaelspotts.com
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Fire in the Air
I stand by a river at twilight,
a glow at the end of a match in my fingertips,
sighing for dusk to blush with a fire-crack kiss.
We count from five and then,
racing eyes trace streaks up to the heights.
The heavens shout with rallies of bursting noise and light!
~
A single spark appears,
weaving slowly, green between the trees.
No blinding flash or peeling blast;
the mere pulse of a bulb and whispering wings.
All that interests now are these live lights.
Emeralds that faintly fly through the smoke of a midsummer night.
~
All that has me now are reflections,
fireflies in your eyes;
our hands as they intertwine.
We stand by a river at twilight.
No flame, no sound,
just you.
Jazz Dancing in La Jolla
Eight shoes strolled the winding waterfront
tap-scratching sand on the smooth cement.
Brass strains drifted, faint as a woman’s scent;
slow-dance songs on the sea salted wind.
Bygone men told their cold brass keys
to play something warm and slow and sweet.
They played to a circle of folding seats
and for young lovers who silently swayed in the street.
Family Complex
Her and hateful I
make clamor in the night,
in the kitchen waving knives above a pot of burnt spaghetti.
Roiling tears rise in her eyes,
how I die when she is crying!
Despair has weakened knees. We slide in freezing arms,
as shards to the old floor, crippled, beneath this house of toppled cards.
She lays upon my chest. I feel our bruised hearts beating
‘til all that is heard is the exhaust of words.
The sound of plaintive breathing.
Crumpled small upon me, her sobs are intermixed
with wailing for two children who were robbed of having lived.
The sting across her face
remains from where the slap struck,
pale skin protesting cardinal against cheap gray linoleum.
I console her as she holds me.
I kiss the aching cheek.
Red and saline stain me as I consider all these things.
