All poems copyrighted © Noel K. Anderson

Agreement

A man in my church said,

“I don’t agree with your poem.” 

So I drew my lightsaber

And lopped off the bastard’s head. 

How can you “not agree” with a poem? 

Maybe I should have just quartered him. 

Saddam Learns Mercy

Saddam Hussein has moved onto my street. 

The local kids and I throw snowballs at his house. 

He and his wife sit and drink coffee in their breakfast nook

while he scans the want ads for work.

   “Check R for ‘Ruler.’ What, nothing?”

Dreams of mercy for ex-tyrants haunt me

like my dream of sharing Communion with Noriega. 

Why should I care about these killers? 

Perhaps God wants to be justice enough. 

I must learn mercy as well.

2004

Back in the early nineties

I was thinking ahead to the future

and the Millennium turnover. 

Not about 2000—or even 2001—but a couple of years past. 

After the Big Change, there will be a calmer

time-after-the-big-change

and we will go on counting New Year as before. 

I wondered, “What will, say, 2004 feel like?” 

Like this. . . .

(As will 3004, 4704, 27,004, and 688,884)

01.07.04      09:56

Real faith is

that which lets us in

on the joke

that is ourselves. 

01.24.04    21:26

This house is not settled—

chiefly because it is not yet

sufficiently simplified.

All organization can be seen as a simplification—

equally valid for notes of music

as for new houses with unpacked boxes. 

New Habits

I will do no more complaining.

I am tired of counting flaws

and thinking that I deserve so much better.

I will seek to build my heart and mind

on a series of praises

so that my life will grow into

an exclamation instead of an explanation. 

Too much explaining leads to complaining,

but many praises lead to. . .

                                                . . .more praise.         

Bakersfield

New frames within new frames—

we live between beds and desks

grabbing bits of food and gasoline

in quick stops discovered

somewhere in between. 

It is the chaos of shallow water—

wading in rapids, scanning for salmon—

and here, with cold toes, I can’t remember

the smell of pine in the forest

or the sound of a once-familiar company.

Here we work:

each grizzly at its desk looking for fish,

paws parked on the frames’ edges

holding steady. 

Yarn

From somewhere in a pile of dust-colored cardboard

came a flash of chartreuse like a shooting star.

The contrast chirped for attention,

Begging for an honorable mention. 

That bit of yarn in the pile—

like the memory of a childhood friend

who once made you laugh—

suddenly reveal a precious heart

for no reason other than

it caught your eye

and momentarily stopped you

from not noticing. 

Sunday School

Again he raises his hand—face taut with conviction.

He will have his say, by gum,

and justification of his flyaway ideas.

His thoughts all finish in split ends

but he is driven to know.

When he starts in, some classmates roll their eyes

and give me sympathetic looks,

but they don’t realize how much I learn from him.

This sociopathic gadfly makes it clear to me:

no matter what we know or do not know

and despite ourselves, it is true

that people want to believe more. 

Better Than Ever

Twelve years ago—where she was, 

what she thought, the things earning her passion

and whole attention—all flash into sight

like an embarrassing old photo. 

The arrogance of early adulthood

shines out like an unworthy loyalty.

But now—in the new photo—

such good news! Look at her: 

she has matured, and her world is 

colored by new virtues and self-control. 

She looks better now than ever. 

Present

Hey you—yeah, you there—

the one reading this—listen: 

As you read these words

I am with you. 

You know it’s true. 

Albeit my present future,

you can tell, can’t you? Just as I am

fully present scraping these lines onto this page,

I am intensely aware of your awareness

of my presence. 

I am with you. 

Even as you re-read (for now, it is years later)

I am with you—with you all—just the same. 

As My Mother Dies

As my mother dies

I pray and burn the candles. 

The wetness of wax, tears, and sweat

witnesses to the unreasonable fertility of the moment. 

I wipe my nose, my cheeks and feel my heart 

melting in grief. 

This lovely person—this unique personality

that is my mother—like a short candle in its last flickers,

shines a bright, bright light over all my past. 

The future—a future without that light—looks dark indeed. 

Three Rules for Life in 

This New Millennium

(With Five Addenda)

1.  Do something truly good. 

2.  Do something beautiful. 

3.  Refuse to discuss anything controversial. 

             Repeat. 

APPENDIX I.

The hardest part

in trying to do 

something good

is that it takes

so much

Patience. 

APPENDIX II.

Just as there is

a kind of silence

that heals old guilts,

there is a silence

that kills the conscience

through patterned neglect.

Not knowing the difference

runs the risk of confusing

Satan with God. 

APPENDIX III.

A candle, wick fat with flame,

sounds a calming drone

through this otherwise empty room—

a simile of remembrance

like the presence of a dear, old friend. 

A very dear, very old, very friend. 

APPENDIX IV. 

What truly merits our fear?

If we say people have a right

to their fears, how in the world

do we justify that right? 

APPENDIX V. 

Earth Day:

In short,

the earth is a poor substitute

for God. 

The Workaholics

They love to work hard and call you

lazy if you can’t keep up.

Secretly hostile

haters of peace, 

they love succession and self-elevation.

They strive to become because they are not. 

They will never be as big as their ego demands

but they’ll die trying. 

Effort is god—work, the palest memory of faith. 

Die trying to remember faith. 

Die trying. 

Duet

A bird chirps outside in the morning darkness

(my windows and walls are not well-sealed).

I sit alone in a small, dark room with but one

little light to read and write beneath.

The bird sings as I scratch out this sentence.

Who is to say we are not intimately connected—

a closely-linked, well-rehearsed duet

of two of the very best of friends?

If I stepped outside, she would fly away, and

if she flew in, I would stop writing. 

The kind of closeness we are meant for

is the kind we now have. 

For now, we sing together.

FOUR Fools 

FOOL 1

The first of fools says, “There is no God.” 

The greater fool says, “There can be no God.” 

The first makes a conviction of his ignorance;

the second absolute faith of his doubts. 

“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom,”

say the Ancients, but it may be better translated,

“Knowing God as God is the beginning of wisdom.”

Those who confess that God is God

have a new life and new horizons—

a wiser life and destiny. 

Fool 2

The Narcissist says, 

“There is a God

and he is a lot like me.” 

Ask the Narcissist to tell you about God

and hear him speak of himself. 

“To be Christlike is to be like me,” he says. 

Better faith says, 

“I am a miserable sinner

and God is nothing like me.” 

Wisdom says, 

“I am an awful example—look instead at Christ—

read the gospels.”

Fool 3

Another Christian says, 

“I must make myself a good example—

a role-model for the lost and unredeemed,” 

by which he means, 

“I am superior—set above others.” 

Better that his “example” should be

as far away from himself as possible—

as far as Heaven from Earth. 

A better witness is spiritual ineptitude 

and utter emptiness. 

Fool 4

The fool says, “I am full.”

This is the pride that must fall

that truth be told. 

The fool over-exults in his own joy,

gloating and glowing with great waves

of self-absorption.

The fool never allows joy to descend

to a place of peace. 

Solitude

A ticking clock in a quiet, empty room

and two, good ears to hear it. 

The ticking slows then stops,

but the listening and hearing continue. 

Sickly

Through a wheeze, a cough,

and a pathetic sniffle comes our

feeble song of praise. 

Diseased hearts spin curves

on even the purest of prayers. 

Our piety and devotion are sickly,

received at the throne of Heaven

only through the ineffable graciousness

pf the King. 

Positive

I lingered at the back of a long line,

waiting to wait for a chance—

a one-in-a-million chance—

to prove my strength by ringing the bell

with the swing of a hammer. 

I saw myself winning—

sounding the bell after a thunderous pound—

and hearing the crowd cheer. 

       Oh yes, I can ring the bell, I do believe!

The very thought that all this waiting

might end up in an otherwise-failed “fine attempt”

eclipses all the good—

the hope, the expectation of joy. 

Asleep?

Only the sleeping may awaken.

And who is asleep? 

Those who think themselves awake. 

Those who believe they are not asleep

are asleep in their dreams. 

Only the one who says, 

     “Surely, I sleep.”

can be awakened. 

Four Rules for Human Life

1. Stay calm (God is good).

2. Share your food.

3. Help others. 

4. Spread j