The Art of Teaching
Like gently playing chords first loud then…nonchalantly………soft; the secret siphoning of information from my mind to where my students sit and accidentally learn.
Read more "The Art of Teaching"Favorite Song
I like a lot of songs, but not many like me, not out of rudeness— real songs are not rude— they are just busy with notes and lyrics and keeping pace. But this song must have eyes for kindred spirits, must be the voice to unspoken enchantments, because every word and every beat turn me […]
Read more "Favorite Song"Shelob II
The spider who threatened my head as she trespassed across the wrong bed Mis-measured the distance of the flip-flop resistance and now lies in state with the dead. … Based on a true I-wish-it-would’ve-ended-this-way story The true fate of Shelob II is currently unknown. It is unclear whether she met her demise in the great […]
Read more "Shelob II"Things Exist
Things exist to be, they said to pulse, and jive, and jest. No deeper mean, just lean, they said for things exist to be. – But all is bright and rich we feel, a vasting meadow span that makes our life-light keen, we feel for things exist…in He
Read more "Things Exist"Awake and Sing
Awake, oh heart, and sing for whatever today may bring is a dear and precious thing from the hand of our God— the wonders we couldn’t have dreamt of or the solemn grief-proofs of love descend alike from above— so sing! And the foe will be hushed. .
Read more "Awake and Sing"Experience
We teach the best by stumbling in ways we thought we knew, and stubbing toes on drywall till we find the way to stalk. – The cleanly path, the painful-less that smooths its way around like silken shoes is bound to lose the strength of real and talk. – And so we strive to go […]
Read more "Experience"The Awkward State of my Brain
I mean to say all kinds of things, but I forget; my public and my private mind have never met.
Read more "The Awkward State of my Brain"The Winter Sky
The winter world is cold— and withered and old— the trees droop, still and bare, in the scathing air, clothed only in gray loss— mourning the leaves lately buried with the frost. … But the sky is soft as mother-love for children wounded of life— it is older than the cold and beautifully, gently bold.
Read more "The Winter Sky"Effulgence
Just across the grave-gray pond a thousand sliver boats of light bear, like messengers, their glint and gleam to us. A whisper—faint— from far across where park lamps throw their starbled shine while shadows close the farther shore in darkening blue and gray.
Read more "Effulgence"The Homecoming of Johnny McLeod
Pounding down the dusty trail, far up and off away, pounding toward McLeod place. Johnny comes home today. – A year ago, the snow still clumped in mounds of melting gray. A year ago he’d worn his sword— but now he comes home—to stay. – She hardly remembered the smell of his beard. She’d kissed […]
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