The Loneliness of God
His Cross (mine by rights)
The photo-relief of a door
Hammered into
The heart of God
He makes the way
By being the
Way
Matthew 7:14 KJV
[14] Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.
Echoing Aesop
Matthew 11:16 KJV
[16] But whereunto shall I liken this generation? It is like unto children sitting in the markets, and calling unto their fellows,
The loneliness of man
Matthew 11:2-3 KJV
[2] Now when John had heard in the prison the works of Christ, he sent two of his disciples, [3] And said unto him, Art thou he that should come, or do we look for another?
Borrowed Words
I was talking to friends about AI scrubbing the internet for content and I figured I would test what it could do.
What emerged took one word-grief, one click, medium, and two defaults
The poem was generated in less than 3 seconds
Spooky.
Grief is a heavy coat,
That you can’t take off.
It clings to you all day,
And whispers in your sleep.
It’s a hollow in your chest,
Where laughter used to live.
A silent, empty space,
That echoes with a name.
The world keeps spinning on,
But you are standing still.
Watching colours fade to grey,
On a distant, lonely hill.
But sometimes, through the clouds,
A single ray will shine.
A memory, a gentle breeze,
A reminder of the love that’s thine.
And slowly, bit by bit,
The coat begins to fray.
The colours start to bloom again,
A little brighter every day.
Good Stuff
Held
Twice, maybe three times, I have brought them inside, folded as they were, in sheets off the line
Catching them involves prayer and patience then you scoop them inside the soft of your palms
Hold them, safe and warm until they are
Back in the sunlight
This is the moment of Grace
When they should and can run free
But instead of this they turn and sit on my shoulder
As though they have found a true friend
Waiting for something called “rain”
I joke about the manure shoveled on the ark, was there a schedule? Did Noah share the load?
And less so about the cubit span
Measure the world in arm’s length units
Measure the horizontal aperture for light
One cubit for air, one cubit for sun and moon and stars
Naked for the first time
As the clothing of the sky
Rains down upon us
Haunted survivors
Love Letters
Dearest,
You remember better than I do the letter I once wrote to the justletsbefriendsboy.
Not like you—so far out of my league—worlds wake at the sound of your voice.
I want to squish your check sideways and demand your attention like the petulant but well-meaning child I am and love—
Grandma!! Look!
How does one grasp the attention of the Eternal Beloved?
Surprisingly easily because you love us so.
A really good listener
I want more like Christmas morning
Waiting for your voice
In the House,
Love.
I teeter, I wobble
Never having impeccable balance
I swing between hope and chaos
One part of me veering toward extremes strangely reminiscent of sci-fi movies and teen melodrama—
Attempt to reproduce the metaphysical places that come to you in your dreams
Buy all the thrift store wedding dresses and parade about in them!
Become a true cave or island dweller…
I have become obsessive about the time
In Diomedes (big and little)
Howland and Baker Islands
He brings me rain to ease my heartbreak
And stories he has told with aplomb for millennia
A persistent widow
A mustard tree
A cry that goes out at midnight
And all those angels
Poised, always poised
To bring home those he loves