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Sunday, September 30, 2012

Tree of Life

No matter how high a tree may grow,
it can never touch the sun.
Yearn though it will, strive how it might,
it can never reach that golden height.

God planted the tree of life in His garden,
firmly rooted upon this good earth.
We are the fruit borne of that tree of life,
grown in the beautiful garden of God's delight.

We, too, yearn for the heavens,
offering our sincere prayers to the sky.
We, too, struggle to reach that light,
to move from shadow into God's sight.

Like apples, sometimes we fall quickly,
smashing down with a rock hard thud.
Or like leaves, we take momentary flight,
twirling gently down into God's good night.

Either way we can never fully attain
the elevation needed to rise above the stain,
we are the bruised fruit of this worldly life,
and our children, our seeds, inherit our blight.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

A Shade of Love

I see a dark shape pass quickly by,
just a glimpse from the corner of my eye,
but when I turn to face the open door,
I see nothing but my shadow upon the floor.

Still, a cold shiver bumps up my skin
as I wonder why it happened again,
this feeling that it is you,
or, rather, your love's shade,
that frequently visits me
in this discomfiting way.

My father, my mother,
my sister, my brother
-- all of whom now soar
on ethereal wings --
any of them, I ponder?
Could they be visiting me
from their new home up yonder?

But I know that isn't true.
In heaven, I am sure
there are better things to do
than to visit again this baleful earth,
or to pine for love left behind,
here inside this painful curse.

No, it is certain that if I am haunted
by the wight of a love that once I vaunted,
then that shade of love is certainly yours,
so why, damned ghost, be so demure?

Out from the shadows, out from the heart,
you shade of love hidden there in the dark.
Out of my life, and out of my mind,
quit stealing my joy, quit robbing me blind.

Leave me alone now, you dreadful ghost,
and rest in peace, you whom I loved the most.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Carry The Present

Multiply your future happiness,
add in a few more years,
remember to carry the present,
subtract time for past tears,
and then you have a tally,
the mathematics of being here.

Shoulder your current burdens,
lift them up and soldier on,
remember, too, carry the present,
the gift of God's love here and yon.
To bear the yoke and heaven's rein,
carry the present ever and anon.

We are repeaters of heavenly powers,
receivers of signals, like radio towers
we carry the present will of God,
we transmit His invisible thought abroad,
in our thoughts, our actions, and our prayers,
we make this present reality from His rarified air.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Saturday, September 29, 2012

How Question Mark

How often do I think of you?
As often as one plus one is two;
Whenever the sunny sky is blue;
That's how often I think of you.

How much do I wish for you?
Every time a star shines through;
Every time the grass makes dew;
That's how much I wish for you.

How long will I wait for you?
Until the end of days is through;
Until my name upon cold granite is hewn;
That's how long I will wait for you.

How often? How much? How long?
Until my heart is dead and gone.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Thursday, September 20, 2012


Truth often shines brightest from the interstice,
that unconscious space between
purposive thoughts when, unguarded,
a flash of intuition gives us an unobstructed
view of our truest selves.

Unvarnished, unflattering, undeniable,
like drunken words uttered late at night
to a lover for whom the heart has grown cold,
the truth of ourselves is hard to touch,
hurtful to hear, impossible to escape.

Judge not lest ye be judged,
an unrelentingly hard way to compose a life,
but the truth of those words
never shines brighter than when
we see ourselves through the interstice,
perceiving ourselves through God's fingers
spread across His disappointed face.

Let not the narrow spaces be a discomfort,
take joy in the fact that truth
intercedes so sparingly into ordinary life.
More frequently, and our spirits would be crushed.
More brightly, and our souls would be scorched
by the heat of unprotected truth.

God's gift may be His decision to give us His
truth in poisonous little drops that we can endure,
and which we can only receive through the interstice.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Friday, September 14, 2012

Craving What You Cannot Have

Type two diabetes is a death sentence
for the way you used to live your life.
Suddenly the sweet things you loved to eat
are no longer a part of your diet.

So you change. You adapt.
You learn to accept that bland
food, and aspertame after taste,
are all that you have left
to look forward to for
the rest of your ever loving life.

But you never stop craving
the things you can't have.

In a lot of ways, it is
like my love for you.

No longer available,
no longer good for me,
no longer a pleasure to
anticipate and enjoy.

Saccharine sweet, you were,
but your love left me with a
very bitter after taste.
Had I indulged you further,
it would have been the death of me.

And still, I find myself
craving what I cannot have.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012

Wednesday, September 05, 2012

Buddha Cookie

The Buddha says I can search the universe
and still never find someone who deserves my
love as much as me.

The cookie fortune I have in my office
tells me "Love yourself first and
everything else falls into line."

and the fortune cookie company
are conspiring to send me
a message.

If only loving myself
was as easy as eating
a Buddha cookie.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012