Poetry

Scorner

Michael James FitzgeraldLeave a comment

Snake Courtesy Gospel Media Library
I remember him from
bright garden days,
familiar as blood,
slipping effortlessly
between razor thin
blades of deceit.

They warned us,
young keepers
of the garden, but
as you must remember,
we refused their
preternatural gambit.

By summoning hiss
the tattler conjured fears
& hot, sulfuric tears,
reducing a
pyre of passion to
smoldering disaster.

Then feigning injury
and taking sudden,
terrified leave,
the slithering seraph
fled beyond and
quite without us.

Until we meet again,
foe and friend,
may the fear
of eternal light
carry you far,
far, far away.

Michael James Fitzgerald

Late Summer Blues

Michael James Fitzgerald1 Comment

Empty baseball diamondWell, I woke up this morning
about a quarter past yawn,
when I crawled outta bed
it was way before dawn.

Oh, I got them blues, yeah,
them late summer blues.
Let me tell you all about ’em,
the late summer blues.

I drove down to the store
and couldn’t believe my eyes.
From wall to wall there’s nuthin’
but back-to-school supplies.

Oh, I got them blues, yeah,
them late summer blues.
Let me tell you all about it,
my late summer blues.

No more picnics or parades,
we’re done with county fairs,
no more campfires or s’mores
or front porch rockin’ chairs.

Oh, do you got them blues,
them late summer blues?
I want to cry all about it,
them late summer blues.

All ya see is yellow buses
and geese flying south,
if someone says Halloween
gonna punch ’em in the mouth.

Yeah, I got them blues,
Yeah, them late summer blues.
I think they’re here to stay,
The late summer blues.

Michael James Fitzgerald

Present

Michael James FitzgeraldLeave a comment

Photo of a rainbow

The present is
no slave to
the past.
It is the past.
This moment
does not invent
the future.
It is the future.

Preparing for the future
brings the future
into this very moment.
Reparations for the past
invites the past
into this moment.

The past need not
remain a disappointment
nor the future
a terror
when we gracefully
welcome as dear friends
the future and past
into this
ever-present,
miraculous
moment.

Michael James Fitzgerald

The Girl by the Stream

Michael James FitzgeraldLeave a comment
Painting of a girl by a stream, surrounded by orbs, by Gilbert Williams
Copyright © by Gilbert Williams.

Every morning and
every evening, a girl
sat by a stream that
ran through an
ancient forest.

Alone she came,
morning and evening,
to listen to the quiet
and hear the murmur
of her far-off dreams.

And the girl was
the soul of the forest,
and the stream was
the soul of the girl.

The heavenly trees,
kindest of friends,
whispered to the girl
beneath hovering wings.

Cool water glided over
bare feet as she
wrote what would be in
her radiant world of
tomorrows and dreams.

The trees and the water
taught her the way.
In the quiet of the forest,
she found her way.

Michael James Fitzgerald

A Genealogy of Anger

Michael James FitzgeraldLeave a comment

Anger. You’re aSunrise and clouds in Provo Canyon.
child of frustration,
born of exhaustion,
a sibling of expectation
and disappointment,
cousin to resentment,
swaddled in judgment
fanned by blame,
cheated by shame,
conceived in pride and
self-deception,
utterly devoured
by a careless,
illegitimate, violent
family of lies.

On the other hand,
great secrets
are hidden in the
randomness of life.

Peace. Thou
child of patience,
protected by sacrifice,
sibling of a warm,
childlike acceptance,
cousin to contentment,
fostered by forgiveness,
nurtured kindly and openly,
held with tenderness
and affection,
conceived in truth and
virtue and honesty—
welcome to the reliable
family of unconditional love.

Lord, create in me a new heart.

Michael James Fitzgerald