Christmas 2019

Recall, imagine the painting of Jesus

as an enfant descending from heaven

with the cross already on, above his back

before he is born.

Imagine the life of Mary and Joseph now

husband and wife and she untouched by him

pregnant, virgin, immaculate the life

inside her to be claimed by this life.

See the seventy miles of travel

on a donkey, by foot to answer the call

of Rome when time and circumstance 

will claim what no authority can take.

And see Joseph hear the Angel say

the one word among the many others

shepherds and magi had said

he did not want to hear -- "Flee."

Then the exile for years in Egypt.

This is how the story begins

in each of as we come to see 

the claiming of our human-divinity

is no easy matter though we are born

to no other Fate or Destiny than

to say "I am" the mantra of the universe --

we bear the cross we were born with:

and this is called Christmas.

-Byron Hoot

The Hunt

Imagine you're in the woods

in the second week of deer

season

           sitting, standing ten

yards from a stream 

rippling over rocks, around

sandbars, under fallen trees,

the hemlocks holding snow,

the leaves on the ground 

nearly covered,

                        the air brittle

winter cold and a deer appears

and for a moment don't know

if you're a hunter 

                            as it walks

across the water

                         and disappears.

-Byron Hoot

Ask to Receive

There is no certitude to offer what I ask

for but for the fact there will be no

answer given

                     if I keep asking questions

of what, of whom has no answer to give.

A lifetime can be spent asking the wrong

questions so we can say, "See?  I told

you so!"

              But who wants that as a benediction?

There is no question each of us are given a question

at birth to ask and once asked

heaven and hell become what they utterly are

and we see why this world

was once, still is paradise.

                                        The wrong questions,

the wrong answers open nothing.  It is that singular

question -- perhaps whispered - to which the answer,

"Yes, I've known that all along!"

is a song of salvation not even Angels can sing.

-Byron Hoot

Still, Though

Two people sit opposite in deep-hearted

disagreement talking of their lives,

laughing, frrowning, smiling, sipping

coffee hoping the conversation

does not end.

           One Step, Then Another

I am listening for the combination

of sounds that says footsteps

are being taken;

                           there is no solitary

footstep, just like no singular moment

of love exists.

                      So I listen and look

for that one step making the next.

         I Don't Know What It Means

Everytime I think,

"She's not the one for me,"

my heart and soul and body

break into laughter.

(written in tree stands while deer hunting)

-Byron Hoot

A Simple Woman

(Poem for Ann) A simple woman. Simple in the way a shell is simple In all its translucent curved beauty, Delicately shaped by mathematical order, Echoing the spirals of the galaxies Spinning in the darkest skies, Or the whorl of the sunflower’s face, Under the shimmering wings of the bee, Legs laden with golden pollen. Simple in the way a leaf is simple In all its verdant, veiny sheen, Its synthesis hidden from human eye, pulsing with the green miracle Of captured sunlight, The same elements as in our very cells; Forged in the crucible of the stars, Born when the universe was born. Simple in the way that love is simple, In all its warmth and grace, Its language that of the Divine, Wired in the brain of our forebears, Living deep in the synapses of thought, Lauded in word and song, Ever sought by humankind. 

-Patricia Thrushart