Like a Heathen
Like a heathen, I let the sun warm me awake And thought of Donne but rose alone To wander a wooded lane well-dressed with summer sun In silence broken by bird call But no soul to break my fast. The wind walked lightly in treetops Gossiping of nature things And rabbits guarding the brush edges…
A True Note
I want to lift a song of praise to You, LordAnd have its notes fall as clear and brightOn the day as birdsong,Unsullied by varying interpretationsOr the applications and miscalculations of even my loving,Yes, my loving neighbor bound by the constraintsOf experience, empathy, education, expression.Pure ecstatic praise so incapable of misconstruationThat may in one wondrous…
The Awakening
Do you smell it? Be still in the warming sun. Smell the North forest Stretch out of its long dark nap To the rising birdsong that will not still. Let it drag you too from the damp chill, This primal aroma of the midyear solstice. A soul’s awakening for us all— Gaia’s children drawing strength…
Did You See the Fog Slip Away
Did you see the fog slip away? As night chased by day, she went Though three days she held the world In her grip and slid in shifts But never loosened nor lifted By the most slight of breezes That might have pushed her loose from us. But no, she held, as Dickens would have…
Spring
The earth stretches herself awake In a months-long yawn, Ebbing gently into the day of the year. The last hour of rest savored Under the warm cover of her Fall-gathered blanket and winter duvet: The last growth which drew out her strength Now restoring that energy against The riotous clamor of the pollen-drunk morning.
Impulse
A little thought grown bold draws my mind After its irrepressibly crooked and dusty path Through the cramped nooks and broad plains Peopled by shadows of facts and brushstrokes of fancy.
Ink’s Dance
Ink carries so much weight Embedded in its strokes and flourishes, Laboring under our love and our war, Straining under our disordered dis-ease, Curbing our wildness to its purpose. “Speech! Speech!” we thunder. “Hear. Hear,” it rejoins in elegant serenity. The dance of its law brings us to pointe There our whirling chaos becomes a…
Psalm 3
You – Your Word came That living sword that pierces, Slices with a blade so quick, So pure honed that it draws no pain – At first – but then the spirit and soul divided – The joint and marrow separate – the pain comes, Spirit and soul set at enmity, this cross I bear.…
Midwinter Grace
I stood between the sun and my car And felt the heat from one amplified by the other Spread along my thighs as I scraped ice from the windows Heavy frost still graced the drive. My breath hung in silver clouds But golden winter sunshine enwrapped the scene: An infusion of joy in bleak midwinter.
Hope Speaks
Do not shut me away; I am the last. I lingered to better tend bitter wounds. For soft and healing touches are not cast By hurried hearts nor kept by unattuned Disheartened minds, but do drift slow in wakes Like gentle knocks at quiet hours.
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RootsRewound 