Storypath/Cuentocamino: : THE DAY OF MY BIRTH, THE DAY OF THE BOMB

Storypath/Cuentocamino: : THE DAY OF MY BIRTH, THE DAY OF THE BOMB:   THE DAY OF MY BIRTH, THE DAY OF THE BOMB                          for Mayu Kaneko and M. G. Sheftall ● He takes us back in time...

CHAIN SAW OIL, BIRD FEEDER, SWIMMING POOL

 

CHAIN SAW OIL, BIRD FEEDER, SWIMMING POOL

        The one subject that is truly worthy of a Christian poet:

        The great Mystery of God, revealing his mercy to us in Christ.

                            Thomas Merton, Art & Spirituality

God for Troublemakers and Tom Merton.

What the chain saw makes possible.

Cut birch limbs fire length, bind them

with rope and display them with stones.

Tough beauty to throw or burn. Find a way

to say you’re not too old. The poet,

if he is one, goes to work. His chain saw

gets him a pass with neighbors and

New World Sparrows. Gayle walks Lucy

by garden porch on extended leash.

May she not get caught and fall. Birds,

here, foraging, bathing, frolicking.

They must mate after their bath,

pretending it’s Sunday afternoon.

Their crowned striped heads shine

full of rich Nyger seeds. High quality

thistles, these, spilled seeds from

feeder by the Finches. We’re with them,

Karen and I. We travel in different

circles from Melania and Don.

My cookies for Camp Hope tomorrow

are counted and stored. King Arthur’s

Best Chip Cookie. Two sticks

Land O’Lakes Butter, three kinds

of chocolate, calling for two full cups

of oatmeal pulsed into flour. A cup

of raisins. Protein breakfast for dessert

following the meal of Sloppy Joe’s

and Cole Slaw. Karen’s in her chair.

The cantaloupe and melon

I cut fresh came from this Earth

which we love dearly. All is not

well in the Gulf of Hormuz.

Constant improvising to fix

problems they themselves created.

I think I mentioned the swimming pool.

I’ll get there. I try for 32 minutes

acting as much like mating birds

as I can imagine. This life, this

blessed, blessed life.

Jim Bodeen

11-15 April 2026

WITH SO MANY THINGS TO GET RIGHT

 

WITH SO MANY THINGS TO GET RIGHT

                     for Jim Hanlen

I’m in the free car wash line reading your poem.

The Mountain’s so kind to greet you,

Mountain meets Poet.

This is Grand Opening.at Ducky Car Wash.

Free All Day.

You can’t tip the workers getting wet.

I say to the man in the necktie,

You’re a bunch of cheap Sons of Bitches.

Other things have to do with cookies.

I’ve found the best oatmeal raisin cookies in town.

Winco and Rosauer’s tied for Best Cookie.

Only Oatmeal Raisin. Winco ‘s three bucks cheaper

for a dozen. They’re not as pretty

but they include pecans.

I told the baker at Rosauer’s she doesn’t get

extra points for what the cookies look like.

The manager at Winco refuses my offer

of the Rosauer cookie. Take me

to the baker, I say, a bit over the top.

I’m still in line at the Car Wash,

writing you with thumbs on my phone.

The boys are wearing ties—neck ties.

I’m pissed they can’t take tips.

You could walk out with real money

in your pockets at 5 o’clock..

500 bucks maybe a grand with tips.

              Jim Bodeen

He cracks a tiny smile when I tell him to organize.

I’ll help with the strike if we can drop the wipe-down rags

at 2 pm when lines are long.

You don’t think I’m serious, do you? I say.

I’m on your side, brother.

I’ll show your guys what to do

with those ties on our way to the street.

ON NOT BEING HERE AT EASTER

 ON NOT BEING HERE AT EASTER

                   for KLP

This will be different than your birthday poem

at 20, Kate—that one, so much fun. Yet

listening to you on the phone today

talking with grandma, my tear ducts

emptied at the sound of your voice.

I’ll write, I said. I’m working on an old

word, vocation. Tom Merton, monk,

calls it our work: deep interior.

Your reading tonight from the Dharmapada.

Practical stuff saying, Thrive.

Buddhas only point the way.

Vocation comes from the divine,

a summons. What you do

as a way of life. If I say anymore

mystery disappears. Over the phone,

I remember saying, Be our roshi.

Love, Grandpa

31 March 2026

IN THE PEW READING MERTON WHILE BELL RINGERS PRACTICE RINGING

 

IN THE PEW, READING MERTON

WHILE BELL RINGERS PRACTICE RINGING

BEFORE WORSHIP, THE SMART PHONE

IN MY POCKET CALLS ME,

And when the phone call comes,

my friend has been pulled over by police

without a license. Would I come

and get him? He’s close. It’s Palm Sunday.

Jesus on a donkey.

And when the grace is gone

we no longer seem to reflect on it.

His car is in the church parking lot now.

He’s walking. And my car is on the curb

where he was stopped. This is what

I know of what’s real and what’s not.

He sits beside me in the pew

and I hand him back his keys.

I thought I had resolved the problem.

I guess not. I do not know who is

speaking these words. Him or me.

For any problem you got. Here we go.

Two choirs surround me singing.

Two choirs singing and ringing.

Jim Bodeen

Palm Sunday, 2026

NOTE TO PASTOR JILL ROSS WITNESSING AT THE BORDER

 

NOTE TO PASTOR JILL ROSS WITNESSING AT THE BORDER

    We lift up our eyes to You in heaven,

    O God of eternity, wishing we were poorer,

    more silent and more mortified.

            Thomas Merton, Dialogues with Silence

Happy Birthday, Pastor Jill.

Thank you for praying for me.

You’ve always been a monk like that, praying for others.

You make things easier.

And Merton.

When I found him in 1968, just back from Vietnam,

I didn’t know his body was already gone.

I wouldn’t know for certain

until after I was sure he’d gotten

that photograph from the other side

of the mountain.

For those looking for that photograph

is something I pray for. I was reading Four Quartets

with Brother David in the garden.

I wanted to say these things without using words.

I didn’t know how. All I had was Happy Birth Day

Two words. Hyphenated. I didn’t know about the bombs

when I went to bed. Lucky for Merton.

I thought maybe you could feel my breathing.

Or maybe, maybe, you knew I was walking

by hearing my footsteps.

Jim

2 March 2026

LOVE IN 2026 AND BEYOND

 

LOVE IN 2026 AND BEYOND

               for Barb and Cragg

        My hope is in what the eye has never seen.

        Thomas Merton, Dialogue with Silence

So many flowers.

So much paint.

So much material to work with.

Silk butterflies from Japan.

So many ways to remember

Harriet Powers. So much gathered

testimony. So many threads.

Barb, Karen, Harriet.

So many mothers of beauty.

The yellow iris bulb is a world.

Jim

5 March 2026