writing

The Reader

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You overlook the garden
and the porch handrail.
Together with your ravens,
off on a sail.
Though I’ve never seen a page turn
or heard a sound from your birds,
I thought for sure you glanced up once,
just at the moment I turned.
You three sail the world
with your concrete tome.
Though as anyone can see
you’d find it difficult to roam.
I take those journeys also,
but I’m jealous of your commitment.
But then perhaps you are jealous of me,
living my life not cemented.

© Joel Tipple
296

My Name is Cactus

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Hello, my name is Cactus. I’ve lived here for some time.
A little girl planted me with her papa.
The next line doesn’t rhyme. (Oh, it does)
I live under a bush they call Rosemary.
They almost forgot I was here.
But then, Rosemary got a good trimming,
maybe too good, I fear.
The norm is they take a little,
but this time they took a lot,
and here I was just waiting,
with my mouth open wide in a gawp.
Like I said, behind me is Rosemary,
her front open wide like a cave.
But I’ll guard her from interlopers,
with my spikey mouth and arms splayed.

© Joel Tipple
295

Iron Dragonfly

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Your name belies your disposition, not hard at all. You started life catching wind on a poorly designed chime.
Now you adorn the door to the backyard shed. When you landed here, the shed’s paint was dark gray. Now the paint
is peeling and faded, every bit the hue of battleship gray, after the battle. No, you aren’t hard, but you do endure.
You do endure.

© Joel Tipple

Heaven in Our Hearts

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5 1-5 “For instance, we know that when these bodies of ours are taken down like tents and folded away, they will be replaced by resurrection bodies in heaven—God-made, not handmade—and we’ll never have to relocate our “tents” again. Sometimes we can hardly wait to move—and so we cry out in frustration. Compared to what’s coming, living conditions around here seem like a stopover in an unfurnished shack, and we’re tired of it! We’ve been given a glimpse of the real thing, our true home, our resurrection bodies! The Spirit of God whets our appetite by giving us a taste of what’s ahead. He puts a little of heaven in our hearts so that we’ll never settle for less.”
The Message (MSG)

Heaven in our hearts,
a bit of beautiful against a background of despair.
So much is haywire in the world
and it does battle with the question we all carry to the cradle
and forward…
is it fair?

This notion of justice we apply with no schooling,
maybe before we ever speak at all,
have you noticed?
Somehow we know.

In our anguish,
we seemingly hire God
and fire Him
at will.
Evil speaks itself into our world
and our notion of justice
becomes one of proximity.

But,

God is still God,
whether an innocent child
dies
in Belfast,
Kampala,
or
Des Moines.

Now, that isn’t the typical
winning marketing formula
espoused by Madison Avenue.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Tipple. Ah, we have your number. No, no. We’ll call you.”

But,

At the same time,
a child is born
in Belfast,
Kampala,
and Des Moines
For those who have passed
and
for those who live,
“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.”
English Standard Version (ESV)

© Joel Tipple

Eloquent

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i’m not
all
ways
so eloquent
words
all run for the door
to be met
by the
gate
keeper
who checks to see
if they’ve been said before

and yet
i watch as the words
tumble forth
forgetting
their
place
in line
what i hoped
would be
rhapsody
turns out
not so
sublime

good soldiers
words
train some more
letters
lift
and run
cycle then
until the wheels
go and
spin up
the sun

© Joel Tipple

Duologue Quiver Imbibe

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friend
i love to converse with you
our duologues
make
my mind
and heart
quiver
words imbibed
between us
are more intoxicating
than
liquor
i love
that though we
discuss
we really never
fight
my favorite
conversationalist
my best friend
my
wife

© Joel Tipple

Flight of a Tear

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a tear
has gathered
enough volume
to detach
from the corner of her eye
it now falls
toward the note
she has written

as gravity takes it
downward
it reflects the room
in which she sits
this chill morning

the angle of her face
and the position
of her note
cause the tear
to land just between
the a and i
in the last word
on the page

pain

© Joel Tipple

2nd Anniversary

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WordPress is very sentimental. It sent me a little notice that we had been together for two years! Now, I’ve only been posting consistently for the last 250 some odd days (some of them very odd, and all in a row, don’t you know). Since I’m sentimental too, I thought I’d say thanks to WordPress for this remarkable platform we bloggers get to use. But will there be cake?

Post Time!

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It’s just a half hour to twelve
and on the need to post my post I dwell
What subject should I tackle?
How about that ramshackle
run down house.
You know the one…
that you drive by several times a week
thinking that someday you should peek
in the pane-less window
of what might have been the living room.
A wisp of a curtain still blows in the wind.
Roses still bloom in front,
where someone tenderly cared for them,
not knowing they would be strong enough to
outlast
everyone
who ever lived there.

© Joel Tipple