Saturday, April 21, 2018

The Rewarder


by Jim Rapp

Sometimes faith finds a specific object –
a healing, a deliverance, a benefice –
but more often its undefined subject
is unnamable, provides no satisfice.

The wanderer must home in on a distant star
and pursue it though its flickering light casts
no shadows, lights no page or path, nor
guarantees – nor guarantees – a home at last.

Beyond that receding star – far, far, far yet
beyond; a thousand eternities far and dim –
faith sees the Undefined, the Object of its
quest, the Rewarder of those who seek Him.


Saturday, April 14, 2018

The Ruthless Arbiter


by Jim Rapp

When innocents die in gas attacks
it seem only right to strike the perpetrators.
An eye for an eye – if struck, strike back –
insert ourselves as "righteous" arbiters.

No matter that care is taken so that
no missiles strike the guilty smiters,
extract no eye, inflict no harm nor swat
the accomplices of the perpetrator.

Instead "righteous" arbiters aim their drones,
in other conflicts, to pull down houses,
deform the limbs of young and old:
and who will arbitrate their causes?

"Vengeance is mine," says the Lord,
"I will repay." Eye for eye, tooth for tooth.
Atrocities, the Righteous Judge will hoard,
and then repay, coin for coin, with no ruth.

Snowstorms Are For Kids


(Haiku form)

Snow storms should not come
on weekends when kids are home
from school anyway.

Storms should interrupt;
should put a stop to all things
children love to hate.

When I pass on to
Heaven I'll apply to be
the keeper of storms

dispatching them to
interrupt adults' plans while
pleasing the children.


Saturday, April 7, 2018

In Secret Praise of April Snow

by Jim Rapp

Most Aprils are drab affairs –,
bare branches and seas of mud –
but some years God threads the air
with snow, weaving a shroud
to cover the dreariness; a rare
addendum I covertly applaud.


Wednesday, April 4, 2018

Even I Could Do Something Good


by Jim Rapp

If imperfect people didn't do good things
there would be no good things done.
We all have sinned – are sinners – but that brings
no requirement to, at all times, be one.

The problem rises when imperfect beings
refuse to do good things, indeed when
their imperfection thrives on woundings,
when healing seems to them to be a sin.


Tuesday, March 27, 2018

Kinnickinic in Summer


by Jim Rapp

From sources that I know not of –
wide and raging in the time of melting –
but  narrowed now, she slowly drains the cove,
leaves a bare and rocky beach molting.

One might fear she is reconsidering –
might choose to become a Saharan wadi,
cast her silver skin, leave off meandering
for good – renowned then only in threnody.
________________
Threnody: A song or hymn of mourning
composed as a memorial to the dead


Sunday, March 25, 2018

Love Makes All The Difference


by Jim Rapp

I went to the party to have a good time,
met new folks, ate good food, talked
all evening, and then left about nine,
glad that I had gone, but as I walked
away my hungry heart began  to pine
for something more; a shadow stalked
my thoughts, dis-eased my troubled mind.

Arriving at my home I found you there,
and spent a precious hour with you,
an hour filled with warmth like summer air,
imbued with freshness like morning dew.
I know now that the happiest affair
with food and chatter cannot stand in lieu
of one good hour of friendship dear,
when friends re-join and love renew.


Thursday, March 22, 2018

All the "R's" I've Saved


(Haiku form)

Someone reading things
I've written may assume I'm
parsimonious.

You see, I leave off
"R's" at the end of words like
"your", making it sound

like I'm Italian
immigrant, and thug to boot:
"I busta you nose!"

But all I’m doing
is saving "R's" for future
generations, duh,

Preserving the "R's"
so my grandchildren will have
an adequate stock.

And if you believe
that, I've got a truckload
of "R's" I'll sell you.