Setting Paths

Brick by brick I see the lines of life– layering into the concrete of myself; and wonder (had I known it at the time) If I would lay the path that led me here… again.

Winter Rest

Somnolent, the blear of grassy brown and khaki bends down low before the tuneless rush of wind that lazily pursues its constant quest to touch the leaden sky that spreads abroad and wide and grey and quiet like a dream: the painted backdrop of the winging birds flying on before the smudge of ghostly sunlight […]

A Hymn to My Beloved

Lord, who am I that You should call and set Your love on me? A rebel ruined by the fall, now by Your grace set free. – CHORUS But we will bless the Lord our God Who shed His precious blood. From this time forth, for ever more, we’ll praise You and adore. – My […]

Invincible

Make our hands weak, and we will be strong. Take all our goods, and we will be rich. Inflict pain on us, and we will be healed. Make us your slaves, and we will be free. Give us to death, and we will live. Our God is with us.

Sometimes…

Sometimes all the lights go out or make us to believe that they were never really there. You stumble into every wall and trip and fall again. You hear the snickers all around the sounds but not the sights of everybody watching you. – Sometimes every song goes out an arrow in the air that […]

Ships

Every morning, with the sun I rise and journey to the docks just where the ships arrive bearing goods for me. – High-stash holds of boxes filled with dazzled thoughts and softer light or darker griefs and greys: all the hours for me. – Part-way glad and partway sad I sit exhausted, midway through just […]

Autumn Wind

The haunt of autumn seems so close to home that whisky ghosts of dying summer breeze now tickle heat and steal away with cold and, playful, bear their laughter through the trees. – It seems a world more sharper than the light opens up amid the falling leaves— a sound like crunch! And snapping crunkled […]

Thanksgiving: Writers

My friends from every age— I may not know their faces, but I have met their souls in frozen, concrete traces— inscriptions on a page. Father, thank You for writers. –

The Glasses

When man first came to be and watched from out the windows of his eyes the shifting world about he saw the shine of sunlight on the waves and perceived, invisible, the rushing brush that bowed the trees, he knew the richness of his world and loved it. – When man first turned his mind […]

Thanksgiving: Sundays

Father, thank You for Sundays— brothers and sisters huddled at your feet, singing to You and remembering You and waiting for You— sweet foreshadows of Home. –

melenoria

Poetry