Trust

I grew up with dogs as pets,

and not cats, so my opinion

may be quite skewed;

but we had a cat for eight years,

until a few months ago,

when we gifted her to friends

who had both another cat

and much more time

and territory for her to roam.

Gracie was a loving cat,

as far as cat love goes.

She could sit, when she decided

it was time, and demand preening,

purring to no end, so long as

her itch was being appropriately scratched.

Here's what I've been thinking

about for a few years now:

The middle part of life, which,

for most of us makes up

about 80-90% of the years,

is the time when we mostly

live like cats: predatory and

self-sufficient in so many ways,

with disdain, if not fear, toward

any vulnerability or relinquishment.

It is at either end of life,

as infants or the infirmed,

that we find innocence, courage,

and/or acquiesce to  become

transformed into mostly-trusting canines

capable of loving and being loved

in ways so far beyond

our middle-years feline tendencies.

© 2013 Todd Jenkins

Travelling

Judgment takes the interstate,

assuming that conclusion

is the prize, so the first

to arrive must win.

Eight miles over the speed limit,

he barely notices the billboards,

and exits only for necessities.

Funny thing, though;

when he reaches what he

believed to be his destination,

there is nothing there

that interests him, so

he packs up and

hits the road again.

Noticing what c(sh)ould have been,

he is quite sure that 
all the facts are in evidence.

Compassion, on the other hand,

takes a leisurely, circuitous course.

She knows that Judgment’s route

is mostly self-reflective;

that there's more to the

journey than can be seen.

Rather than stopping at

what was or wasn't done,

Compassion also sees

a fellow human being,

and is so curious about 
the rest of the story, she detours 
through another life.

© 2013 Todd Jenkins

Memorial

More than never forgetting,

let us always remember,

which is not really the same.

The former, a way

of holding-on to the past,

with no clear avenue to the future;

the latter, a gift for carrying forward,

in  hopeful, and life-giving ways

the people and stories who preceded us.

May we reanimate the lives

of those whose bravery and sacrifice

are foundations for our existence,

with enough consciousness and courage

to differentiate between love for them

and revulsion for what they had to do.

Let waving flags and unwavering pride

never swell for the hell of war itself,

but for those who descended into its bowels,

by force or choice, to face the demons formed

when greed, godlessness, and fear overcome

the common bonds of all humanity.

Let one-eyed squints down loaded barrels

be not consumed by death’s insatiable appetite;

praying, instead, to commit the lesser of evils.

May our memories of those whose lives

were taken by war, in whole or part,

and those whose appearance and affect

seem to have mostly dodged destruction,

be one part filled with love, respect,

and appreciation for their selfless answer

to duty’s call, and another part filled

with the grief of knowing that we must

somehow find a different road to walk. 

2014-09-11

© 2013 Todd Jenkins

W_nder

No wheel or vowels to buy,

but fortune is definitely

in the neighborhood.

An "i" will get you little more

than an old-school watch

or a gadget of some sort.

It's "a" and "o" that interest me.

Choose the "a" and your body

gets to take a trip

to an unknown place;

not a race or freeway focused

on arrival, but a leisurely cup

of coffee down the side roads,

with little concern for either time

or turnarounds; and enough

of everything for you to pay

attention to the myriad of miracles

you overlook every day.

Sometimes the "a" will

lead you to the "o"

as your mind gets

to take its own journey,

exploring the rich recesses

of our beings that are never

asked for on standardized tests

and seldom broached at all.

May you be blessed

with time and space,

gray matter and divine spark,

to wonder as you wander.

© 2013 Todd Jenkins

Storm Praying

Source of wind and breath,

hold back the former;

gift those in its path

a steady cadence of the latter.

Keeper of the living and dead,

hold those who hover in-between;

guide those who dig and pray.

Inspiration of vision and hope,

fill those who wait in angst

with peace surpassing understanding.

 Shaper of order out of chaos,

speak your genesis words of recreation

into the pain of aftermath.

© 2013 Todd Jenkins

Competition

If life is a contest where some

must be victorious and others,

by necessity, must face defeat,

then diversity is a paint-loaded palette

flung onto a freshly washed baptismal gown

as it hangs to dry on the clothesline.

We must do whatever it takes

to keep that unruly rainbow

locked safely far, far away,

so that it doesn't desecrate

our pristine path to the medal podium. 

But if we are placed on this earth

for an altogether different purpose,

and  the old African proverb is true:

"If you want to go fast, go alone;

if you want to go far, go together.",

then diversity is a gift to be celebrated

and shared for the duration.

It's difficult to look, travel, or think

very far and still imagine that winning

is the thing for which we were created.

Simply being a part of

this gloriously complex creation

already makes champions of us all.

Why would we want to detract

from that with a narrow exclusivism?

© 2013 Todd Jenkins

Faux

Deliver us, O Lord,

from the slick veneer of religion

that needs to fabricate

disdain from others in order

to validate a narrowly

constructed dogma of exclusion.

Deliver us, O Lord,

from the false practices

that elevate self and its homies

at the expense of "other" and "different".

Deliver us instead, O Lord,

to a broad, mill-sawn bench

filled with knots and imperfections;

a pew that has been worn smooth

by years of squirming doubters

who refuse to grasp anything that

will not make room for a congregation

prepared for all weather,

oiled by conversations welling-up

from the deeps of daily life;

to a faith that withstands the storms,

instead of hiding from them;

a self that recognizes and embraces

the divine spark that flashes regularly

in the eyes of all creation.

© 2013 Todd Jenkins