When He had on the third day seen as far as bent the waters green the endless upend, wave and roar the changedness of trough and tor and having perfect in His hand at length the Maker vasted land. – – – – – Petra M. Greening, pexels
Read more "Day Three"Traditional folk song of the indigenous peoples of Melenoria, sung in the Èthanshwogg dialect Wylu, cocka shlimby, fwy? Shlimbu nogga swimbry vly! Kalu-ziki ruzuvah, Ishdu bliki zuru kah. Myluzenri shubu tekka shlien! Lazuka mani ishubizelien! . English Translation: Crazy one, you brag gleefully, eh? Happy head, making mud!* From out my heart a war cry, […]
Read more "Zuru Kah"Glowing medal slinging rays, coruscant, burnished, light, killing time in grand displays, come meet me after night. – – – Image by Christine Cravens from Pixabay
Read more "Pageantry"You are the only One I cannot see— I’ve searched the faces on my crowded way, athirst for You—Your arms of flesh—to lay my head upon. And must it never be? You go with us, but how invisibly! I miss Your eyes when I look up to pray and wonder why You hide them far […]
Read more "The Nearest One"We all see ghosts—at least do I. They hang, sometimes, inside the mind the vision spots: fractured slits of broke morality They linger in the memory and sometimes make their presence known to tempt or tease or taunt. – They are because we put them there and loved them—once—from deep inside and gave too much […]
Read more "Holy War"Ana, Your grave lies small beside the grass, which short–I hear the sound of mowers still rises higher than the marbled flat within the ground. This place we laid you: never once to see the sun, or the brown and dying blades of life. But now the grass is green again and now the sun […]
Read more "To Ana"Lizard leaps from stair to step poised, practiced. An adept that seems concerned lest creatures yet might see his stagecraft and forget. – – – – –
Read more "Lights, Camera, Lizard"Summer nights when daylight lingers— fingers paused on the screen door; talking warm air, crickets and fireflies— a friend that doesn’t want to say goodbye.
Read more "Twilight"Morning light, spilt through foliage, splashing the grass with gold; the simple, daily pouring of nourishment into a crumbling world.
Read more "Morning Light"The little bird that flies beneath the puffed up sky owns the gift of life and the pleasure of God’s eye.
Read more "The Little Bird that Flies"
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