From the back cover....
Poet Jack Bender brings an amazing diversity of life experiences to his poetry. He’s been a U.S. Army officer, a computer programmer and a musician who also taught music in schools and prisons. He has written widely about teaching and was selected for the pilot program of The Courage to Teach. Currently, he is a poverty activist and author of
Skin on Skin: Living the Way of Jesus by Walking with the Poor, a book
about Christianity and social justice, seen elsewhere on this site.
His poems express the growing depth of his reflections on human relationships and the teachings of the natural world of which we are a part. Even in the most solemn of poems, slivers of light are present.
Deepest of all is his understanding of experiences that go beyond words, touching the mystery of life’s meaning and the presence of God.
This is a ‘keeper’ book—to enjoy, share with friends…and, most of all, to re-read and read again.
106 poems, nine black and white works of art by Cindy M. Bender
Heaven
If you can’t find heaven
here on earth,
do you think you’ll find it
after death?
If heaven is not in
a kiss, a flower, a mountain,
a stream, a deer, a cloud,
a swan, in you,
how is it nearer
when the worms come
and a blanket of ice
obscures the sun?
If you gaze at a beautiful tree
but check your watch,
or make plans,
how can heaven be near?
When you want nothing
and you forget who the one is
that wants nothing, then, heaven appears –
inside you and outside you.
Resentment
Grudge is a banker
who hoards your money.
It’s not his to keep,
yet, he clings.
Sell your investment for possibility,
for this dark and steeled vault,
you have the only key.
Be a ship that comes to port
and pours out what it holds.
Take in fresh water,
Repair the torn sheets,
and, by all means, sail.
Oh, to stay in brackish harbors
is a life worse than death.
To sail is paramount.
To be safe is not.
Embrace Me Once More
“One atom,” a scientist said.
“One atom.”
Capone, Christ, Caesar, Chagall –
all one atom.
Lincoln too.
From the sighs of the iris,
redwood and willow
come the ocean we share.
Our tide comes in,
our tide goes out,
a dozen times a minute
and we encounter
T-rex and MLK, Sufis and pirates
without a thought.
When I am gone,
breathe me in.
Even if what was mine
For only a blink
Is scattered to every shore –
breathe me in.
And add to the countless moments
when we’ve been one.
From the Back cover...
Jack Bender's poetry revels in the joy of simple moments in life: time with friends and family, with experiences of the natural world, our American culture, our work and the mystery of our spiritual lives.
Of the sacred, he says:
I numbly wait
for miracles
and peak moments
while all around me
the mundane
joyously sings in full voice
This book is for every reader who wants to deepen their own experience of living...and to learn how to experience and name their own profound moments...Jack Bender is a teacher of spiritual growth and awareness.
158 poems, eleven black and white works of art by Cindy M. Bender
A Sign of Human Nature (4/15/13)
A documentary need not be filmed,
nor a book written.
A statue need not be erected,
nor medals be given.
It need only be said,
that when two explosions
rocked Boston,
and its beloved marathon,
exhausted runners ran to hospitals
to give blood.
Grounded
Through the ages,
absent-minded birds
misplaced their body parts,
eventually becoming,
to their great surprise,
light enough to fly.
With my hair gone,
and my teeth beside the bed,
why does all my flapping fail?
Earthquake
I remember the day that I realized
you and I were separate people.
I had been confused when thinking
that we were one being
with two names.
We had just left the awards ceremony
where you received
the “Student of the Year” award.
Walking down the hallway,
you shared that the award
had been your goal.
The building shook with wild tremors.
I could hardly stand.
You were living a separate life,
secret keeper,
daughter of mine,
stranger.
The Joy of Retelling
My father used to tell
of how terribly cold
his hands would become,
as if thrust into fire,
when picking the white celery
from the frozen muck
in the black of early morning.
I was always caught up
in this tale, and others,
not by his telling,
but by his pure joy
of recollection.
Praise be to the past!
Amen.