The Wandering Lady Who Would Be A Saint


I see her around town,
The wandering lady.
She’s searching.

Yesterday she was in our neighborhood,
Walking tentatively up our driveways,
Toward our front doors.

Not here, the voice said.
She obediently turned away,
Still searching.

Over and over again,
The message:
Not here.

She was close once,
Finally in the right place,
She thought.

The police came and told her to leave.
She was back the next night.
So were the police.

“I’m looking for the Lord,” she told them.
“He came out of that purple cloud.
“He called me.”

“I’ve got to find him,
“Tell him I’m ready now.
“I’ve given everything away.

“I’ve given everything up.
“I’m nobody now,
“I’m ready now."

“O Lord, can’t you hear me?”

“Not here,” the voice said.
“Not now.”


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Skipping


My dead relatives see a future they never imagined.

And here I thought the future was so far ahead
I could scarcely imagine it,
Beyond the usual flying cars,
Electricity from air,
Freedom from disease.

My dead relatives say I’m living in the future.

I don’t have to look too far back to see how right they are,
Or too far forward to see how wrong they are.
But right now, right here,
What is this exactly?

It moves so quickly I don’t have time to focus,
My thoughts are blurred,
My explanations obsolete.

I am skipping across the surface of time,
Watching my hair turn white.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

God's Little Figures


And it was said,
Let us make God in our image,
After our likeness,
And He shall have dominion over all the Earth,
And God we created he Him,
In our image,
From our spirit,
And we so exalted God
We came to believe He created we us,
In His image,
Individual and separate,
God’s little figures,
Made out of clay.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Sight For Sore Eyes


How insignificant we are
Among the minions of space
And time.
Yes, yes,
It’s the profound realization of our age
Among those not generally given
To profound realizations.
I hear it all the time,
Spoken with reverential awe
By some initiate
For whom a certain curtain
Has only recently
Lifted.

But what if we are the only things on two legs
That cerebrate so
In the neighborhood of this particular infinity?
The only coffee shop in sight
On that long and lonely interstellar highway?
Well, that would be something,
Wouldn’t it?
We just might be a real sight for sore eyes
After all,
The whole damn bunch of us.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Heaven And Hell


Sometimes this peaceful suburban landscape
Seems like heaven.

I am momentarily reprieved
And the people in my tiny town glow,
Translucent arcs of light
Moving about their daily tasks.

We stop and talk a while.

Hell returns.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved