When Donald Trump Washes the Feet of the Homeless: For Delia
Pope Francis washed the feet of 12
disabled people this year,
A boy paralyzed in a diving
A man and a woman with cerebral palsy,
Got down on his pope knees on a pope pillow and washed their feet,
Washed the feet of two elders who could hardly walk,
Then kissed their feet & smiled a kind smile.
The gentle pontiff poured water from a silver
their feet in a silver bowl,
Wiped their feet with a clean white towel,
Kissed their feet and smiled a kind smile.
He knew that Jesus said if I'm your teacher
wash your feet then you wash the feet of others
the spirit, not the letter, of the law.
Last year the good pope washed the feet of two Muslims
and two women at a juvenile hall in Rome,
Years ago washed the feet of young mothers
in a maternity ward in Buenos Aires,
Kindness washed and kissed the feet
of 12 AIDS patients
in a hospice in Argentina,
Washed and kissed the feet
addicts in a treatment center in the
The good pope reminds us that it's not
who's feet are being washed, it's
the spirit behind the gesture.
Donald Trump, raised in a Christian
knows the example of Jesus.
Jesus is his teacher, right?
Oh, maybe not about respecting women
is Don's teacher, right?
Does that mean President Don
will wash my feet?
Will he wash your feet one day &
Pour sacred water from a silver pitcher
on your feet?
Catch the dirty water in a silver bowl?
Wipe your feet with a clean white towel?
Kiss your feet, look you right in the eye and smile a kind smile?
When Donald Trump kneels on a pillow, just like humble Pope Francis,
and washes the feet of a woman,
When Donald gets on his knees and washes the feet of a Muslim,
Washes the feet of the Mexican man who's
is bowed because of ignorance and hate,
feet of the broken and the poor,
That's when America
will be great again.
In the spirit behind the gesture.
Jim Moreno Fall 2017
If You Don't Mind
Tired mind is a lonely bird with small nest
in Winter's tree,
Rested mind is soaring bird hunting
Angry mind is
hot wind embers'
Laughing mind is light wind
sooth tickle chuckle mad,
Stress mind is chaotic dance,
thought flood, flash flood fear,
No-mind is meditation dance,
water, sun, loam,
I breathe in, I breathe out light portrait window,
Sumi-e sprig elk horn branch,
Just me and Blue Boy shifting gears,
meditation mind, no-mind,
Wind calls me home in years gone by,
fence of rainbow flowers,
Sky is my father,
Earth is my mom,
Moon my grandma,
Mystery my mirror
I cannot explain,
So I breathe in, I breathe out,
I dance, I sing, I teach,
I am the silence after
Moreno, Winter 2014
el regalo del arbol (the gift of the tree): in honor of pablo
pablo spoke of branches in the night,
branches found me in a dream, white gowned, chippewa princes
floating above motherearth, waving goodbye,
branches lay wise, loving wooden fingers on my chest,
lightly touching, lightly loving, soothing, as had the woman,
branches penetrated my chest searching, finding,
gently holding, healing my wounded heart;
dream gift of medicine man.
when poetry finds me I am always alone—
watching, like eagle in deep, blue sky mountain nest,
when images, paintings...portraits of my mind find
I am waist deep in snow melt river water,
washing, rushing by with wet, blue-lip whispering words,
soothing sounding liquid beauty,
tears welling, rising, blessing peace—
above me, winged-ones singing joyful feather songs,
when poetry arrives companioned by grandfather wind,
caressing my tired mind with grandfather love,
I hear words surfacing from some ancient, sacred place,
sounding sometimes hot—like a forest ablaze with heat & thunder,
sounding sometimes gentle―like
a child's sleepy bedtime prayer,
sometimes muse summons by shadows drifting lazily,
cloud shadows wafting on windows of passing cars,
like phantom horses floating down sand dunes from pharaohs past,
pablo might say: I am summoned by branches of the night,
mi corazon es muy fuerte; porque son las palabras en mi corazon,
y el toque de las ramas en mis suenos.
heart is very strong because of the words in my heart,
the touch of the branches in my dreams.
Jim Moreno Spring 1994