Listening to the timpani
the rhythm of the rain
the rap, the tap,
the ratta-tat-tat,
...
snow seen in the valleys
off the highway
down below, the road I traveled
...
We think it is so distant
the judging of others
racism, bias,
...
At the journey's end,
a time of reflection, of sharing
of giving of ourselves
...
Maybe it is the memories
the change of pace that brings us there
the sense of vacation
...
A tapestry is being stitched
story by story,
step by step, thread by thread
...
An urgent call
a race down the dark stairs
a flicker of color as I ran outside
...
Like the Magi,
We are each on the journey
a quest for the king
...
There is Hope in the words
of my poems, your words
shared with me, my fingers on the keyboard
...
With the prostitutes, the tax collectors
with the unclean, the lepers
Christ is the voice of inclusion
...
Hope came, in the birth of the Son
to bring hope to the people, waiting for so long
for the stem, the root, to bring forth hope
...
Changing our focus, the nature of our ways
less greed, more compassion, more sharing
for all whom we meet, for all in the world
...
We gathered, took time off,
pondered our freedom,
on the anniversary
...
They meet after months and yet
The time melts away
And they are back in the swing
...
Capturing The Sound Of Rain
Listening to the timpani
the rhythm of the rain
the rap, the tap,
the ratta-tat-tat,
the staccato of the drumming
on the roof of the van
The storm raging ‘round us
in the stillness of the parking lot
trying to drum to the beat
on laps and the steering wheel
keeping time with the chaos
the randomness of the clatter
Too few drummers for the task
capturing the sound of rain