Saturday, May 28, 2011

May 28. Twenty-eight words.



Not just a license plate,
but how it shields the grinding wheel,
a father standing over his son,
the shadow of authority,

a bystander,

unable to prevent accidents.




*

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

May 24. Twenty-four Words.






So perhaps love is this way: high pressure
then afternoon rain, the fresh smell of arrival,

forgiveness, like regret,

staying face up through the cloudy
ablution.



  
*


(link to Monkey. )


Saturday, May 21, 2011

May 21. Twenty-One Words.



Fear never burned
with disbelief like the mouse,
forced headfirst
into the wind,
flight without feather or faith
to catch himself.

*

 

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

May 18th. Eighteen Words.




Like a word misspoken, then taken back. 
We call it morning, with coffee
so strong it needs cream.

*


 

Monday, May 16, 2011

May 17. Seventeen Words

 
 
 
She
huddles
against failure,
curls into yesterday, despairs,

stunned

that she was Chosen
for this moment.
 
  
 
   
 *
 

Friday, May 13, 2011

May 13th. Thirteen Words




Beauty’s indifferent to poverty, affluence.

My reflection floats on the surface

And wonders.

*

Monday, May 9, 2011

May 9. Nine Strophes



Hoar Frost. You don’t need a picture.
Memory does it for you, imbedding words into being.




Yet there are also words with no visuals.
Abstractions like hot and smothered. Sigh.

How interesting that God describes Himself as the Word.
Covering both universe and nothing. 




God’s name is not Word, He is Word.
But He has many names.
Is there any honor greater than being named?

Apricot tree.
Magpie.
Ice.




A name,
being invited in,
winning the draw, finally chosen.
You are.
  
Billions of dirt brown birds,
 along with hairs and stars and sand on the beach
 and ubiquitous shreds of plastic
 gently rolling down a pitted street in Africa

… becoming something.  




The Word says I will have a new name in Heaven.
Names, unpronounceable here 
no doubt,  but  I imagine there
one syllable  in every name
to be yes.
*



Friday, May 6, 2011

May 7 Mother's Day Weekend




Emptiness 
filled by likeness:

you in me.
*


I miss you Mother.
Marjorie Carey Brosius
(1927-2004)