for stephen miller
January 22, 1954 - March 21, 2006
If there if softness
between the rocks and hard places
If there are unanswered questions
rolling into our tears
then we must know
God's grace is purposeful
then we know what it means
for someone to hold
your intentions, hopes,
aspirations, dreams
as if THEIR very livelihood
depended on YOUR blessing
so rare are such exemplars of
unselfishness
of the stuff we need to survive
so we gotta know
the substance of things not seen
is sometimes wrapped in flesh
we gotta know that the magnificence of spirit
is our softness in hard times
few men dare to dream
and believe as my friend did
stephen resurrected my hopes
for a future...
still beating the odds
so i remember that he did
remember
the gleam and pitch of his aura
recall the irony
of his tedious perfectionism
remember how delicate his palate was
for soul food smells from the kitchen
remember that his activism
was not acted, but lived
so when we find ourselves
losing sight of the soft between boulders
between mountains
we must remember
peace in the valley
the respite for our rejuvenation
Because hope is a man I was blessed to know
stephen's memory, like so many who've gone before
is that cushion
reminding
of the many things to be thankful for
the many reasons to smile
even when the hurt is so close and thick
even when we selfishly rebuke
the creator's design
we remember his smile
remember the beauty of what it meant
to believe in blessings.
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6 comments:
i was honored to read the poem at steve's funeral today (March 28) and his family was warmly appreciative. i'm still processing this one.
Tim'm-
I am always amazed at your heart, spirit, and the grasp of the universal concepts of the creative and resurrecting powers of words.
you speak soul and oneness an dpeace and love and see ya tomorrow's, with your words a befitting poem .
stewart
I love this poem...you are so great with words, especially at a time like this. I see why his family was so appreciative of the poem.
know that you and stephen are in my prayers.
I'm saddened at hearing of his passing. He was such a kind man who appeared to deal with this disease as a conquerer. He appeaered to live with it like one lives with an ex because there is a certain thing shared ... some certain thing that can't get the two away from each other..good or bad. I had breakfast at his place one Saturday morning a while ago...
actually almost a year ago the first part of March actually, last year. I designed a flyer for him and we became contacts. After some talking he invited me over for a breakfast talk one morning to discuss flyers and sites. I remember his comfortable and beautiful home that welcomed me like a regular family member. He had a cool breakfast of cereal and fruit, juices and a really good coffee I loved, and I'm not a morning coffee person. We spoke and laughed a bit, laughing at our Ex's ( I was just going through a breakup with my twat-head ex at the time) and he allowed me to vent, quite unknowingly, about the whole mess. I was so appreciative of that. We ate and chatted and I remember he mentioned he had to take his meds. He went to the linen drawer of his china butler and the entire drawer was filled with prescription medicine bottles.
Full.
I excused myself to go to the bathroom and cried standing over his most cool iron clawfoot tub. I remember thinking why was such a cool, nice guy given such a shit deal. I remember thinking what a pain in the ass all the meds he had to take every day must be. the view of all the bottles really got me for some reason. After blowing my nose in a few good honks, I realized I shouldn't be such a sap and recalled how his character and apparant 'yeah big deal' attitude towards his condition made him a strong champion and not a victim. I was so impressed then, my sadness went away, mostly. I will always remember that morning, the smell of the morning like the smell of many childhood mornings.. that dewy wet air grasscut early early morning smell. That smell is always associated with good memories for me. Thankfully.
Stephen is a man to be missed, but will be a joy to see and share breakfast when I see him again.
Thanks, Cenzo
interesting that our affectedness by this brilliant, warm, spirit was something that we'd never discussed. I to remember the warmth of his home. He hosted my first reading of "Red Dirt Revival" in DC after our initial meeting and connection at an Us Helping Us retreat. Most fond, is our 5am walk through some trails in West Virginia... the ways that his courage en-couraged me at such a pivotal point in my transition to DC. I made some promises to him that I plan to fulfill. His life is part of my life's work. Let's continue to celebrate the legacy of this man.
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