Three Kinds Of Tears

Tears of joy,
Tears of sorrow,
Tears of hope for tomorrow,
I’m constantly cryin’
These three kinds of tears,

Tears of gain,
Tears of loss,
Tears of blood
At the foot of the Cross,
I’m constantly cryin’
These three kinds of tears,

Cryin’ for the sick and the dyin’,
Sometimes I don’t even know
Why I’m cryin’,
Maybe it’s something that happens
To all of us throughout our years,

Tears of laughter,
Tears of pain,
Cryin’ real tears out in the rain,
I’m constantly cryin’
These three kinds of tears,

Someday soon I’ll stop my cryin’,
In a sun-filled paradise
I’ll be lyin’,
With nothin’ to cause me worry,
Nothin’ to cause me any fear,

My tears will dry up with the rain,
No more troubles,
No more pain,
I’ll stop cryin’
These three kinds of tears,

Yes, I’ll stop cryin’
These three kinds of tears.

Raking Leaves - Circa 1958

Fan rake steel fingers
Shoot out at the leafy ground
Making a metallic noise
Heading for the ditch
Where leaves are being consumed
By fingers of creeping fire
That flow toward the cross road pipe
Scaring the cat who hides there
Into running with kinked tail
Up the oak tree trunk
To join those that have yet to fall.

Ballad Of John Flowers

Veterans Day, 2009

John Flowers came from Chicago town
Raised on mashed potatoes,
Filled his canteen with Ripple wine
As we all marched out to war,

They told him, “Yes, we take your kind,”
“Just do what you are told,”
John Flowers picked up his pack and gun
Headed on down the road,

He sang a song as we marched along
So low you barely could hear,
I picked up on what he was singing
By bending low my ear, he sang:

The Pilot asked one last question
“What is Truth,” he wanted to know,
Jesus turned and answered him,
“Truth is all that is left
After all the lies have been told,”

The Captain heard him singing, said,
“Don’t you sing that song no more,”
John Flowers raised a mighty hand
The Captain spoke no more,

We stood there in the mess hall line
They dished us up mashed potatoes,
I bent low my ear to hear John Flowers sing
But they’d hanged him from the gallows.

What Is Truth

(After reading Ryan H's FB Post)

Truth is what is left after all the lies have been told.

--S Darjeeling

Lazarus

There was nothing that could be done for him
He was toast,
The bullet had ripped through the large artery,
The bullet fired from the robbery gun,
The bullet with his name on it,
He saw it coming, you know,
Saw it exit the end of the S&W
Then slowly make its way toward his chest,
There was nothing he could do but watch:
A little boy riding a red bicycle to school,
Climbing trees
Going fishing,
A young man in Viet Nam coming home to be alive,
A middle aged surveyor,
An older man playing T’ai Chi,
All of these coming to him
With the .357 slug in slow motion,
He deflected it with his hand
But it was too late,
Then there was the voice commanding him:
“Stephen, get up and come out,”
He walked out of the rough-hewn tomb
Shedding his bandages,
Blinded by the Light,
His beloved Mary and Martha before him,
The Sanhedrin standing in awe
Grinding their teeth.

Mindfulness

When you wake up
Ask yourself what it is that is waking,
When you brush your teeth
Ask what it is that is brushing,
As you stare into the cosmic mirror
What is being reflected
At you is at you,
Not you or for you just at you,
Smile at it, try to touch it,
You can’t,

When you walk out to feed the horse
Pause for a moment,
What is being fed and what is feeding?
Listen to the morning owls calling to each other,
The coyotes howling,
The highway roar,
The stealth bomber overhead,
Take three breaths
They are all gone,
Within the space between
Inhale and exhale
They did not exist,
Then or now,

Emptiness is never quiet,
Quietude is never empty,
The space between two words
Creates them,
Like the distance between two electrons
Who know each other’s actions
Without knowing each other.