Bill Grace Poems

Bob Kimball's gift came as no small piece of education
When he spoke of 'the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, '
I would have thought him mad if not a Harvard man
And Paull Tillich's literary executor to boot.
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The case that went to war
Would practice far and wide
For what became eventuality.
Despite healing efforts, it bears these scars.
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If you said a prayer
Or even tossed a thought of blessing
Out our way while we were gone
To Russia to retrieve the child we had
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To this fair Hill has come the quest
To learn from whence the main spring comes
Of pulse and thrust of currents held within
And of many natures to discover that most true
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The President knows a betrayer's kiss as piercing as Jesus knew
But despite high office his wound is more,
The measure of God in him being infinitely less,
Lacking divinity's peculiar powers under duress.
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Our house at best a factory of prayer
1 dog,2 cats with which us humans share
the need for communion with The Other
The child in child like ways ecstatic of gain
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The calculus is much more than we see
And you beloved Uncle beyond my mother's blood
Taught me in last days upon the planet
Something of a truth that is above
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Of the great who came to see him off
I wonder how many listened to his words
That mitigate the drive of power that politics must be
And mocks the better struggles of the holy sea
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Our primordial selves twist skeins
That Twain and Tolstoy have clearly shown to us
That even together we are not so pretty.
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The wink is the evil thing
A predator upon those who do not know,
By those who do.
It allows us to pretend that we are clean
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