The Selfishness in Me

The selfishness in me finds the selfishness in you.
It’s always on patrol watching everything you do.
I don’t even have to try; you know it’s always true.
The selfishness in me finds the selfishness in you.

When I don’t get what I want,
‘Cause you went for what you want,
My ‘righteous indignation’
Is really aggravation.

The disappointed look,
The quotation of Scripture,
Simply the muted evidence
That my inner child has thrown a tantrum.

©2010 Bob Mason

Jeremiah 17:9 The heart is deceitful above all things, And desperately wicked; Who can know it?

It can be so hard to sort my motivations. Too many times what I think I do for 'righteousness' turns out to stem from another agenda.
I need help! Thank God, I have it . . . Him.

Cutiful

There is beauty
That widens the eyes
And paralyzes the face
Distanced by splendor and awe.

Then there is beauty
That widens the smile
And wrinkles the eyes
Drawn with laughter and joy.

©2010 Bob Mason

I thought I heard our little Missy say ‘cutiful’ today, when we were in our car in front of Harbor Freight Tools. I was mistaken, but nonetheless the appropriate association was obvious.

Ring (September 11)

Ring . . . ring . . . ring.
The bell resonates at the frequency of my soul,
Somehow shaking loose
          The tears I had managed to control.
Liberty, sweet liberty vibrates through the cold,
Melting and crumbling the walls that had tried to hold,
Emotions that trembled and then rolled
Down my cheek.

©2001 Bob Mason
 

I was moved and inspired as I heard a bell ringing on my radio, as NPR tried to express what was happening--it was either September 11, 2001 or the day after. I had watched live on television as the towers crumbled, numb and in shock. The ring of the bell released what I was feeling.

Where Strength Lies

“Go and change the world,” said Jesus,
Didn’t He?
“So we must we will,” said Peter,
Pitiably
Twelve to One hundred and fifty to make things new -
        sea change wrought by chosen few.

The task looms huge before them.
        - an empire ruled by might and war.
        - an empire fraught with sin and more.
“Clearly to succeed, we must meet might with might!”
“Clearly, to proceed, we must enforce the right!”
        With sword - for sword rules in this awful age,
        With men empow’red with righteous rage.

Stealing softly on the wind,
        A different voice comes pressing in.
Echoes ring in Peter’s ear.
        A truth once heard advances near.

                If my kingdom were of this world,
                        then would my servants fight. (John 18:36)
                All they that take the sword
                        shall perish with the sword. (Mt. 26:52)

“How then, Lord, must your cause prevail?”
“How then stand, as foes assail?”

                Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit,
                         saith the Lord of hosts. (Zech. 4:6)

All other strength
                               Lies.

©1994 Bob Mason

Clam Beach Sabbath

I don’t have access to the kind of math
that would make my finances work.
Perhaps I can’t afford it.

Despite the posture of my upside-down house,
I can’t seem to shake any “change” out of it.

But still, here I am
at the edge of the vast Pacific,
Where the lowering sun casts shadows of mountains
from molehills,
And my children dance with the sea,
And everything is alright.

©2009 Bob Mason

The picture is from the Sabbath day that inspired this poem.

Coffman's Recipe (for a church)

Mix lumbermen and refugees
Carpenters and redwood trees
Moment after moment seized
This is what you get.

Mix gingham smocks and home cooked meals
Faith and purpose forged in steel
Strudels pies potato peels
This is what you get.

Mix God and preacher on his knees
Hand that works and eye that sees
Solid heart that full believes
This is what you get.

Brick after brick
Board after board
Coin after coin
Bill after bill

Hour after hour

Day after day

Week after week . . .

And this is what you get.

©2008 Bob Mason

I wrote this on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the dedication of the Fortuna Seventh-day Adventist Church where I grew up. I was asked to preach and included this in my sermon. The Coffman of the title is Pastor Carl Coffman who was the pastor who oversaw the building of this beautiful church a few years before I was born. I am pleased to have him as my Facebook friend.

The Secret of Unhappiness

Inward, inward, inward
Go inward, under-your-skinward.
Never look up
Don’t kiss and make up
Stare into your half-empty cup.

But do make up
What you must have
Can’t have
Should have
What you’ve got to have
To be OK . . . or better.

Give it a rest
Don’t look how you’re blessed,
Or unhappiness
Might elude you.

©2010 Bob Mason

Apocalypse

What do you think of the Apocalypse?
Foretold,
Retold,
Untold,
Bought and sold.

Terrored words of purchased lips;
Words of old,
Words of gold,
Sometimes cold,
Always bold.

Could they be true?
You wished you knew,
As hot air blew,
And terror flew,
Through
Your heart.

I believe they are true;
No matter how bizarre
Or far
From where you are.

But terror does not shake my heart;
I'll face down the fiery dart,
Because I know the author,
And He loves me.

© 1994, 2009 Bob Mason

10 of Infinity--1

Who are You,
Who ask my inhibition
From any competition
With You?

Are you He of infinite arrogance,
Or love that shows no variance?

I believe the latter,
For You have settled the matter
On a hill far away,
On an old rugged cross,
And I am Yours.

©2010 Bob Mason

4/26/2010

The Self-Same Sky

The self-same sky

That acted all open and sunny

Is now covered and inscrutable,

True colors masked in gray,

Depth unprobe-able,

Height now finite,

But not really.

You will be unmasked!

You cannot hide forever!

I will see your blue;

I will see your sun,

And wonder

At the incomprehensibility

Of your full disclosure.

©2010 Bob Mason

4/26/2010

Spinning

Why do I so enjoy spinning,
On a chair designed for sitting,
Or a playground toy unfitting?
With the trees all whirling round,
The Doppler shifting sound,
And the sense I've left the ground.

Maybe I feel like I'm winning,
When I see the whole world spinning
Around me.

©2002 Bob Mason

Murphy Park, Modesto
3/3/02

I was reminded of this poem today as I watched my little girl playing on the very playground toy I used to spin on when I was just a little older than she. It has slight safety modifications, but it still works great!

Robert Frost

I strive for mastery of word and line
With thoughts that rhyme and keep the time;
But not in clips that shout and moan,
"I rhyme, I beat, I am a poem."

©1993 Bob Mason

I so love the poetry of Robert Frost. He uses rhythm and rhyme that flow like the best of prose. This is my homage to his unsurpassed artistry.

Requiem for Yet Another Pile of Feathers

What tethers your trajectory so to the earth,
         whispering raptor of the night?
Is it the sonic tininess of squeaking mice,
         the reverberant reticence of rustling reptiles
                   that sets your altitude?

Do hunger and height conspire
         to suppress your legendary hearing
                   as the roaring diesel
                            permanently interrupts your flight path?

©2010 Bob Mason

I have seen so many piles of barn owl feathers by the side of the roads of California. They always seem to fly low and silent over the countryside, squawking from time to time. When that path takes them across a highway, they don't always make it. I think it's the big semi-trailers that get them.
 
Each time I see one of those piles of soft and beautiful feathers, many times with the cinnamon-edged creamy wings intact, I feel a little sad.

Absence

Absence, and fonder hearts,
Blending, in stops and starts.
Distance, between two points,
Moving, once frozen joints,
Learning to move and be moved by love.

©2010 Bob Mason

Airborn

If only you could see the top of your cloud,
I'm sure your opinion would alter.
I think you would find it's more than a shroud;
You'd trade in your dirge for a psalter.

It's fluffy and bright,
            Mixed shadows and light,
                          High mountains and canyons so deep.

It's puffy and soft,
            Cathedrals aloft,
                         White pastures for featherweight sheep.

©1993 Bob Mason

It (The Nearest Star)

I do not know how far
It is
To the nearest star--
Only what they tell me.

I do not know which one
It is
Of all those suns,
Except as they tell me.

But that doesn't matter out here,
With the wind in my ear,
And Divinity near.

Looking up at the quilted sky,
I see through the batting a hole,
Its emptiness full
Of one shining star.
And my heart says
It
Is the nearest,
For it
Touched me.

©1997 Bob Mason

Conversation With a Shadow

Refusion

What is my golden calf, oh Rescuer,
Or do I have many?
Pieces, perhaps, of things I once knew,
Still in their places ready to fuse and use,
When I, the refuser, have tired of waiting
For You.

© 2002 Bob Mason

Blow

Blooow! Blooow! Bloooow!
In well-tempered spasms
        across my outstretched face.

Lift me up you gusts of glory,
       Soothing and inciting
                    with each blast,

       Filling and emptying
                feelings passed
                   feelings passed
                        feelings past . . .

          expression

Past impression
               into peace.

What are you,
      lifting
          surrounding
                subduing me?

Are you the breath . . . of God?

©1997, 2010 Bob Mason