A SIMPLE PRAYER...

We all are suffering:
Rich, poor

Beautiful, ugly,
Old, young,

Democrat, Republican,
Intelligent, impaired,

Male, female,
Straight, gay

American, Russian,
Black, white,

Literate, illiterate,
Poet, cop,

Me, you
Sick, healthy

Free, in jail
Mother Teresa, Buddha

We the people:
Do those words echo -

That old familiar bell?
The music is still there:

Listen, listen...

Poem Copyright 2018 by Dylan Mitchell

DUMP TRUMP: IN GOD WE TRUST? VOTE!

I've loved this Joan Osborne song forever. And I'm not even a Christian. I think the song is more about lies and hypocrisy and how most people condemn those that don't fit the norm. You know, the sort of trash Trump posts every single day on Twitter?

May God have mercy on his dark little soul big time...

Dylan

WHAT THE MINISTER DID NOT SAY

(for Elizabeth)

she left home at thirteen she lived with a man old
enough to be her father she was a mother at four-
teen she washed clothes in a tub she liked Elvis
she smoked she worried about her thin hair she
ate a lot of macaroni and cheese she had trouble
sleeping she set traps for the mice she played
cards she was fond of people and animals she
owned a used typewriter she had few friends she
dreamed of a better life she died young

Poem © 2013 by Dylan Mitchell

ENCOUNTERING GOD ON MY WAY TO SAFEWAY

Jesus, it was heavy pouring rain, and I was glad I had my black umbrella to keep me dry. I passed by a church on my way to Safeway, and suddenly two girls and a dude asked me how they might find a cab ASAP? I told them to hotfoot it to Broadway (they had no umbrella).

They thanked me for the info, and all I could think about was how I am geographically impaired. That's why I choose to walk. Then I noticed the lighted stained  glass window, and I was happy all of this happened in front of a church. Perhaps a sign? I hope they found a cab. Amen.

STANLEY'S CASE

(After Harold Pinter's The Birthday Party)

Boy, why are you so menaced by the world? Is it
God or his death that troubles you so? Making you
quite fey: A little lisping Adam without your prized
testicles. You really are a remarkable case: A
miserable shut-in, you see, you seldom leave your
small room. A lot like Stanley: Open and shut. Quite
curious and classic - that sort of case. But in
America. Only go out when the full moon's watching
you above. The wet streets reflect pale light  and
queer passing shadows, as you make your way to
the neighborhood liquor store: Heineken. 22 OZ. Big
green bottle. I see you, boy. I've watched you
nervously count your last pennies for the
butch and angry cashier. A regular Roman, that one.
And your stringy Jesus hair and pathetic sandals only
make him want to string you up, like a scarecrow or
Christ. He'll make you suffer, boy. He makes you
suffer. All the way out the door.

You seem better during your long walk home. Notice
the many bright lights in the chill December
night. Little Drummer Boys abound. The
Christ's-child's safe in the miniature
barn. If I could, I'd tell you beauty and
truth are just artificial things to help pass
the time: Art. Philosophy. Religion -
all pretty lies, boy. All pretty lies. Give your blood
money  away to the least of your kind instead.
Whisper your false words in a beggar's lonely ear.
Tell him silver is greater than love. Pretend it's a
prayer, a holy promise. Then betray him with a kiss.
It's your ticket to heaven, boy. Much easier than a
noose. The Romans would have loved the shameless
Christ-lights, not because they are such a stunning
spectacle of ceremony, but because they are electric
and would have come in handy for the daily crucifixions.
They'd merely turn the crosses into wooden chairs -
a kinder way to kill. Romans. Real men. Adam
with his silly balls intact, boy.

Poem © 2014 by Dylan Mitchell

DOUBT

(for Roy)

I knew the shoes were old at
the start. But I was still
happy to find them

on the "Free Table" in the
basement of my expensive
high rise

apartment building. I loved
the classic black and white
colors

of the fabric. But failed
to pay much attention to
the much abused soles.

And proudly wore them in
public (after two baptisms
in the costly washer).

But God was not impressed. One
day (while carrying a heavy
load of food and water)

my left sole came completely
undone - and I still had
one more mile to go.

I began to walk with a
conspicuous limp. People
stopped and stared

as if I'd finally revealed
my true damaged soul. But
I held my head high

until I'd made it back home.
Then you arrived with a
pair of much

better shoes: And saved my
feet and soul
quicker than

any prayers I'd prayed to
Jesus and his
diminishing saints.

And I found God in my doubt.

Poem © 2013 by Dylan Mitchell

FOOL'S CHRISTMAS

This kind of Midnight Mass is not what I need:
Two bearded dwarfs in leather tear up the floor.
The sharp tongue of a dark god makes my ear bleed.
All Madonna's virgins are decked out like whores.

How this thick smoke burns my eyes! Whatever
happened to snow? This intense heat is a river
of flames I try to dance on forever:
I stumble and fall down hard. Some unknown lover

hauls me up before I drown in the fire.
The half-remembered poem I recite reminds
me of school: Lear's Fool could not be a liar
and disappears forever, while more unkind

players tell pretty lies and survive the play.
This bar is a stage; this stage isn't holy:
They make me get out. I haven't a cent to pay
for the long ride home, alone in Hell's folly.

Poem © 2012 by Dylan Mitchell

SUDDEN LIGHT

I slept
in my clothes
again

last night. Those stubborn
buttons were beyond
my dying

fingers. No energy to
unzip my pants, take off
a shoe.

The stark sun
stabs my exhausted eyes
each morning.

Shrill
street sirens startle
my numb mouth open:

A long silent scream,
in a deaf man's
nightmare.

Under the heavy covers
I try to shut out
the world

until I'm somehow able
to rise again. Maybe
Jesus

will come to me
during this suffocating
darkness

and take my soiled hand.
He will pull me out of this
deep black hole

and guide me towards that
sudden light. His sweet
and gentle hands will

bless my blind
eyes open
and make my

body pure. He will wash
away the decay
and deadly fear

with his unearthly love. He
will make the sullen worms
forgive my fallen flesh.

He will throw out the mouldering
shroud. He will sing me
wide awake until

I'm wearing something
white and waltzing in the
sun. He will carry my heavy

burden and stand beside me,
as I laugh and dance on
my own empty grave.

Poem © 2009 by Dylan Mitchell

FOR ANOTHER MARY

If I seemed cold and casual
during our last minutes -
let me say I am sorry.

But I was already numb by the
news and the nails. So I took
the easy way out -

and did not bother to say what
mattered most: You wanted me
to live while so many wished for

my early death. And I could no
longer figure out the bad from
the good. But I still said my

prayers each night. And hoped
Jesus or Mother Mary might
prove the worldly ones

wrong. And you held my hand
during that dark journey
until the good news came.

And I will always love you for that.

Poem © 2011 by Dylan Mitchell

What If Straight People Couldn’t Get Married?

I actually overheard someone asking this question, while I was standing in line at Safeway the other day. There was an "article" in one of the tabloids about how gay marriage would bring America to its knees (bad pun on purpose) if it ever became legal. The man asking the question appeared gay to me, and he was chatting with the cashier - a straight male Christian. I assume this because he was sporting a wedding ring, plus his casual answer was: "God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, so your question is ridiculous."

The gay man's face tensed up, but he didn't say anything more. However, the incident really got me thinking about the gay marriage issue, and how some straight folks seem to be clueless when it comes to understanding why so many gay folks are fighting for the right to legally get married.

Let's imagine (to help me make my point) a world in which straight people can't get married. A world in which gays and lesbians are casually stating, "God made Adam and Steve (or Amanda and Eve), not Adam and Eve." A world in which straight people see gays and lesbians getting married on television, in the movies, newspapers and magazines, but never any straight couples. A world in which gays and lesbians defiantly hold protests every time straight people fight for the right to legally get married. A world in which gays and lesbians openly hold hands and/or kiss each other in public, but straight people risk ridicule or worse - if they try to express their love for each other in the world.

Now let's throw in the Bible for good measure (pretend there are sections which clearly state that heterosexuality is an abomination, and the holy union between man and man, woman and woman - is something which pleases God to no end). If you are a heterosexual, how would all of this make you feel? Would it make you angry, depressed, or apathetic? Especially if the idea of straight marriage was considered a "ridiculous" one by many.

Essay © 2007 by Dylan Mitchell

MOTHER TERESA: A BEAUTIFUL SAINT WITHOUT FAITH

Mother Teresa was as human as the rest of us. I know this to be true, because I read it in TIME magazine. She often doubted the existence of God, and felt that Jesus rarely heard her prayers. In fact, she even wondered if there was any sense in praying to a God that seemed not to care about her. I was initially shocked to learn this, because like many people: I see Mother Teresa as a woman of great spiritual strength and faith. The saint of the gutter, forever helping people that the world has given up on. But she was only human. She said so in a series of letters she'd written (and requested they be destroyed).

But the letters were preserved against her wishes. So now we discover that her loving smile was often a mask, and the beautiful words she often stated in public were not words she honestly felt in her heart. She suggested ways to make the world a more loving place, but often felt her words were insincere. She'd learned how to say all the right things, and smiled for the cameras when she was weeping inside.

Does this make Mother Teresa a hypocrite? No, it makes her human, and all the more remarkable. She was a saint without faith, and there are not very many of those. She continued to love the poorest of the poor (and help them even after her doctors had warned her that she was ruining her own health). She taught us that we all have the potential to become saints: that there really is nothing special about it: Give help where it is needed most; love people the world has given up on; any act of kindness (no matter how seemingly small) is better than doing nothing at all.

In short, she taught us to save the world by saving one person at a time. And that is how she lived her life. And to accomplish such a miracle without faith, makes her even more heroic in my mind. Mother Teresa was a saint, but she was a very human one: She moved mountains without faith. I know this to be true, because I read it in TIME magazine.

Essay © 2007 by Dylan Mitchell