Poem 198 ± December 19, 2015

John Anthony Frederick

I cannot sit through certain movies without crying uncontrollably
Angels in America
The Hours
Beasts of the Southern Wild, when Hushpuppy declares her existence
Scrooge, at the end when he has his conversion from miser to generous giver

It’s the calcified hardness of my heart
Being melted
Washed clean by the idea of
Of Angels hovering, towering o’er me
Of a child’s fierce innocence
Of sclerotic old age made
New again
By Grace

The Tao says
In life, things are soft and supple
In death, things are stiff and brittle, and so
Whosoever is flexible and flowing
Is a disciple of Life, and
Whosoever is hard and unyielding
Is a disciple of death
Which beings me back to this:

To change; to become like
A little child
Is the short road to Heaven

Childlike innocence and joy and
Wonder at every little thing, these
Are the healing
Tears flowing
Joy; sorrow.....

Awe at the marvelousness of music
And in the deep night sky
And in a meal made from scratch
And in a visit from your ghosts
And in the death of the poet
And in every scrap of human majesty
To weep so,
For the very joy of it

John Anthony FrederickJohn Anthony Frederick is a muscian, singer, poet, politician, ordained Interfaith minister, spiritual seeker, teacher, pool player, and magic bean buyer, living Pozitively with his two dogs in Albany, NY....until he moves to Paris.

This poem is not previously published.