Poetry Where You LiveRaymond A. Foss

Poetry Where You Live

160 Main Street

Suncook, NH 03275-1206

http://www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com

Writing Poetry• I read a poem I wrote at the April 17, 2000

school board meeting and I liked the response.• Poetry Where You Live is a state of mind,

believing that, like God’s grace, poetry is where you live, not something you have to seek out in some distant place.

• People say that a picture speaks a thousand words. With poetry, I can paint a picture, capture a moment, a smell, a scene in a handful of words.

Beach Sand

Maybe it is the memories

the change of pace that brings us there

the sense of vacation

maybe the smell of the place

the sights of the gulls, the dunes, the grasses

but oh it is the feel of it,

the crunch and slide of it

the feeling of beach sand

so different from dirt, soil, loam

no, not earthy, moist, rich,

but oh so granular and gritty

even when wet,

moveable paper spreading under toes

sliding beneath the soles

smoothing my skin

clearing my mind

unburdening me of the rest

drawing me to the tactile, the feel

of beach sand

Seeing the beauty

When We Sorrow

When we sorrowwhen we rail

the yoke of our walkour struggles heavy

sometimes seeming unjustyet God is still with us

walking beside our every stepFaithfully offering his peace, his grace

to persevere, to bring us throughto the other side

if we follow the way of Christ

Tears of Grace

The scene in heavenin God’s holy courts

water flowingshowering down on us

Tears of Gracein our Savior’s suffering

the pain of our Fatherin putting the Son to death

Letting the evilthe hands of men upon him

nailing him to the crossthe lamb upon the tree

Tears of Gracepouring out richlyloving us enough

to sacrifice for all mankindthough we are yet full of sin.

Needing to focus

Poetry

I have found my voice.Moments captured in word and rhyme.

Free form verseAnd stream of consciousness.

Spell check off, Why spoil the mood.

Where did the words come from.Where were they hidden.

Why now.

I am free.To share thoughts untold.

To open up.To live.

Dancing with God

A wonderful concept dancing with Godbut are we ready for him to leadto guide us through life’s passagesturning our freewill overto Himbecoming a followerdisciple of the Masterfeeling his hand on our hipour backsubmitting to his willthe yoke is easybut it is a yokenonethelesshard choicefor a society, a peoplewrapped up in Me

Sharing My Joy

Beach Sand – v2

Maybe it is the memoriesthe change of pace that brings us there

our sense of vacationmaybe the smell of the place

visions of the gulls, the dunes, grasses;moving in the air, the invisible breezes,

but oh it is the feel of it, the crunch and slide of itthe feeling of beach sand

so very different from dirt, soil, loamno, not earthy, moist, rich, wet mulch;but oh so granular and gritty, slippery

even when wet,moveable paper spreading under toes

sliding beneath the solessmoothing my skin

clearing my mind, peaceunburdening me of the restdrawing me to the tactile,

the feel of beach sand

In the Depths of Our Sorrow

In the depths of our sorrowin our torment of anguish and pain

God there with usevery step of the wayOnly through the fires

refined by the trials of lifesteeled for God’s purposethat we may share his loveStrengthened by the Spirit

going as we are ledguided by our shepherdwrapped in arms of love

June 10, 2010

The Other Disciple

Each of us journeyingfollowing the path

each of us gatheringcarrying our cross

We are the other discipleunnamed, on the road

walking with Jesusall the way home

He is beside uson our path, in this walk

sharing our struggles and triumphsall of our days

Christ is with usHis Spirit indwelling

calling us to go, to sharein service to our King

The Way of the Cross

In a state of love, of gracejoining the Spirit, our brother

following the call of our creatorshepherded, guided on our walk

in union with the trinitygoing the way of the cross

Seeking to be his servants

the children of our loving Godthe facets of his love for usrevealed in so many ways

like cascades of living waterwashing down over us

Wanting to share, to the whole worldto reach out, to the ends of the earth

that all would drink from these springsrefreshed, redeemed by our savior

led by the Spirit’s teachingscaring for our neighborsbringing us home to God

Living More PurposefullyNot to claim a victorynot our own validation

living more purposefullyto stay centered on God

Not drifting with the wind

not following the flow of the crowdwalking with my savior

on the road laid before me

Using my gifts, my talentshearing my master’s callpersevering in adversity

courage, committing my all

Sausage

Sausage 

Forget the frank,Give me the Fenway sausage.

Lansdowne or Yawkey,Just give me the street, the crowds, the carts.

Sausage you shrug, you the readerOf this trifle, this whimsy

What do I mean, me the storytellerRead on.

 Peppers and onionsTease the tongue

Bun and hot mustardSet the stage

The scorched and blackened piece of meatReminds me of every one

Eaten before 

So much memoryOf family and fun

Of ballgames, tailgates, and the carnieA cacophony of moments

Drip with greaseDo you smell it too on the smoky hot grill?

 My lips curl with a smirk

Writing these linesAs I laugh to myself

Of the pleasures of excessThe lusty gluttonyOf another one.

The Ripples ReturningIn casting the seedsthe stones, the words

into the ground, the searipples touching distant shoresbut sometimes returning to me

A wonder, in the sharingthe words finding fertile soil

reaching hearts opensending their love in reply

Returning these gifts from Godthat they would be planted deeper in me

Casting more stones out into seaseeds on the wind, 

planted on distant shores

Feeling the peace of that moment Sensing their spiritsin this hallowed spacethe hallowed ground I walked onfeeling their warm embrace The stillness of the duskthe bright sun before its dyingsharing this moment with themthe saints who guard this space

My Starfish 

Like the man, the star thrower,reaching down, into the warm skin of the water

touching the warming sand,throwing star fish into the sea

returning them to the living watersnot walking by, not ignoring their fate

to die in the receding tide 

His calling, his urging,to save those he can

to act, not just observefollowing his purpose

his special gift 

Like the man, each of usa special calling, a part of God’s plan

to reach down, to lift up,to serve one anotherto offer God’s love, 

as we are especially able 

Words on the page,an image of grace, agape love;

a picture conjured in the mind’s eyethese are some of my starfishcast into the ocean of the web

out into the world, sharing the hope, the assurance

the certainty of God’s handresting upon the waters, upon our lives

God doing a new thing, out of his infinite loveseeking us, pursuing us, offering himself for ushis limitless gifts, even in our times of struggle

offering hope for a futurebeyond our comprehension

By the Waters

Rest, given by the shepherdunder his protection

into that green pastureby the waters, living waters

clear, pure, calling our spirits

Peace within uswithin our beating hearts

abundant graceflowing over me, over

my head, down my beard, my collarwashing me clean, to that place of rest

Walking beside, following the shepherdthrough our journey of fait

once we too have heard His callanswered his offer of lifecleaving to our maker,

our savior, our allresting where he leads

into the fieldsby the still waters

Entering with Them 

Walking beside meoffering me a bulletin

a welcome as I entered inentering with them

the saints resting herethose who have yet to stay

in heaven above 

Walking beside meoffering me a placeas if at a wedding

seating behind the groomin the bride’s church

something special about my timein this hallowed space

A Christian in the throne room of God 

Oh to be a Christian, in the throne room of Godto be like Isaiah, to be in awe, in wonder

to see the heavenly beings, to see the risen Christsitting at the right hand of the Father

to hear the heavenly choir, to be so graced 

To walk, assuming that was how we move thereto approach the throne of our brother

to bow, to humble myself, in supplication and, oh yes, in thanksgiving

 Oh if only I could find the words, in that very moment

to tell my brother, what his sacrifice, what his obediencewhat his gift of love means to me

 If I but have this chance, to be a Christian

to have been yoked with my brother all the days of my lifeto be in the presence of God, to be before my Lord and King; 

but especially to be able to thank him, to wash his feet,as he has washed mine, as he has poured out

grace upon grace, joy after joy 

To be a Christian in the throne room of God,and to know what that means

The Unnamed Disciples With Cleopas, walking homeon the Road to EmmausLeaving Jerusalem, on a journeytraveling from the city of Davidwondering what is to become of His ministrynow that the Master is goneSo much pain, so much confusionnot truly understanding these things Walking on that roadjoined by a stranger, seemingly unawareunaware of the events which have dominated our daysfrom the triumphant entrance, hosannas and palmsto the cross, to death, to the graveReports of the empty tomb, of his risingbut emptiness mainlyThe stranger sharing, what is this he saysthe prophecy of the Messiahin the life of our Masterthe scripture fulfilledWalking homewardentering inOur savior lives!in the breaking of bread We are the unnamed disciplewalking with Christso unsure, so troubledwhen we should have joy insteadBelieving, if we but walk with himlook to the scripture, to the words of oldhis life, his ministry, all of this foretoldThe words he shared with Cleopas, with us as wellas true today, as on the road to Emmausthe road home, to our Fatherwalking with our savior, with our brotherSharing the good news with the othersuntil all of us have heard, to the ends of the earth

Red Sox Win Red Sox winYankees loseA story so bigIt led the news

Bumped politicsDown the pageIt may even reduceNew England road rage

A-Rod and JeterWhat can be sweeterOh look,We caught a cheater

Taking two from themIn their parkBig PapiWas our spark

Down and outA three-oh slideNot the end for thisTeam with Pride

Red Sox NationDeliriousThis whole World SeriesWill be just as serious.

Reverse the CurseAll these agesSo this club’s historyWill fill more pages

A Servant’s Hands 

He lifted me, saved mefrom my old broken lifeHe lifted me, carried mewith a servant’s hands

Taking his arms, nailed to the crossso long ago, for me

reaching down, with arms open wide

to bring me closethe love of his fathershared by his sacrifice

a servant’s handssaved me

A Beat in Concord I was sitting there in the traffic, waiting for the lightthe heat and humidity building in the van,one window open to the moist air after the flooding I saw a character, a caricature, a man out of time on the sidewalk, under the underpass, half in shadowHe was a beat,not a Ginsberg, no he wouldn’t Howl,a modern day Kerouac, or someone who aspired to be It was his walk, his gait, his hair, his clothesa slouched walk, bath sandals that had been worn outside too longhunched shoulders, time spent in dim lit libraries, before glowing computer screens, shaded lampsan oversized blazer from the thrift storeover a frock prom shirt, frilled and with cranberry edging I could sense the latte on his breathsmell of clove cigarettes in the wool of the coattoo warm for the day around hima mop of coarse black hairthat hadn’t seen a brush or comb in dayssunken eyes, and a certainty he’d written lines far darker than thesewords that would confuse and provokethe unfairness of the mundane, the bleakness of his bourgeois existence unaware of his place, his role in the intelligentsia  A yawn at the coffee house, or maybe a demigodhard to say across the street, as I wasdriving by his path for those few momentsbefore my light went green and I went on down the roadaway from the college-aged, but no longer in college beaton the street in Concord

The First Lamb The first lamb,the first volunteerbefore all others“Here I am; send me!” Christ’s sacrificebeginning before timechoosing to descend as a manto suffer and to die Knowing all he knewof how we would reject himhow he would know human painhow he would die in shame The first lamb, the first volunteerhumble before Godwas the precious saviorour Lord and our brother Giving his all for usthat we may see our fatherredeemed by his precious bloodpoured out on the altar of the cross

Walking My Dreams In each step forwardacting out my faithgoing furtherwalking my dreams One more stepa victorywalking in the wayfollowing my brotherevery single day Trying more and moreto heed the spirit’s callgoing where I am ledanswering my father’s call Here, I am, send meever to do your workusing the gifts given to meto spread your message of love

Together We Danced 

Together, we dancedthrough my day (so far), my work, my lifeDancing with my creatorthe potter to my clayspinning, whirlingto the tune he would playmoving through the momentsthe choices I would makeA dance for the dayhis hand upon meguiding my steps along the way

The Dance of the Clay 

the potter moving,his hands, bodydrawing the claypulling the clayfrom the inert earthlife in the dancethe twirling, spinning upwardcreation happeningour lives created,evolving, growingliving, alivein the dance of the clay