Sunday, August 22, 2010

I remember a time, remote,
When feelings heaved
Then froze,
Cleaving mind from tapping toes
Leaving heart transfixed
Within the icy floes.
The frost, unmoved for years,
Grew thicker with the tears,
'Til hope, itself, seemed dead,
Succumbed to drear and dread.
But time flowed.
Far below,
How, God only knows,
Life never stopped
Hope never died
'Til one day a tide,
A wave of balmy weather,
Finally arrived,
And I survived.

Saturday, August 21, 2010

For the briefest of moments
I am suspended in space
Seemingly separate
Self contained

What I fail to see
Is that this is the briefest of moments
The ground of my being that gave me birth
Will swallow me
The ripples I made will fade
Like distant memories

Sunday, June 14, 2009

What Does Eternity Sound Like?

What does eternity sound like?
A cosmic explosion?
A rushing wind?
A dewdrop forming?
A trusted friend?
Can mortal ears hear it?
Should we fear it?
Can we be near it without knowing?
Is it always blowing and flowing and glowing
Or simply seeking to sow one seed at a time?
Is there a chime that sings, or a warning clang,
Or are we audiologically estranged,
Deaf actors strutting
Treading eternity's stage?
Sometimes this thinking cuts like a knife
Inciting querulous quandaries
As more questions ignite.
Seeking shelter midst time's flight,
I think I hear an answer
Resounding like a nail strike.

Sunday, May 24, 2009


Pristine pastels release rays of rapture
Chasing the shade from deciduous dells,
Remnant of Winter evading capture
'Til now, is feeling Spring's heat on its heels.
Translucent greens germinate from the mist,
Lilacs, fuchsias and violets unveiled,
While roses and reds are unrobed, enriched
From their season of resting deep, inhaled.
Drama ascends as senses awaken
Blinking their eyes at the colorful feast,
Doubtful at first when shutters are shaken
But opened to ochers, aquas and pinks.
World seems awash in this seasonal tide,
In scents the presence of God has arrived.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

Photo by Cor Lems @

Out of Africa

Some names seem writ in water
Their presence barely felt
Little puffs of wind that swiftly die upon the veldt

Whether thousands dead in Darfur
Millions starving cross the main
Those succumbing to the virus
Poor so plagued by reckless reigns

The news from out of Africa
In steady, mournful tones,
Form long and lonely drumbeats
For the souls there marching home.

While these, the great forgotten,
Seem to vanish in the mist,
Some say a Lion's stalking still
For times just such as this.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

Brought to You by the Letter "S"

I'm eeking out a sibilant subsistence
A transient I am
Between scepter and sepulchre
The spectre-like hissing
Swirls mid the blissing
That beckons.
The one sounding sweet
With scents of freshly washed feet,
The other, sour, but what power!
Succinctly said...
I'm stuck twixt the quick and the dead.
I much prefer rock
And righteousness
And redemption.
I wish, Oh! how I wish,
I'd learned to roll my "R"s.

Saturday, January 3, 2009

The New Year

These days after the holiday rush are excellent for reflection,
for weighing our options, for considering how we would like our
life to be "different". In reality, there are probably forces, both
internal and external, that resist any major change in the current
structure of our activities and relationships, and when you
consider moods and thinking, well, those can seem impossible to
significantly change. But, hope springs eternal and we'll buy that
self-help book or gym membership because, deep down, we still
believe in a place where all things are possible.

'Twas the Night After New Year's

'Twas the night after New Year's and all through the house
The people were snoring as well as the mouse.
A fortnight of stuffing their face to the gills
Delight of the young and their Christmas Day thrills
Songs had been sung and ornaments strung
Dinners were hosted and good times were toasted
Ball had been dropped and corks had been popped
As bubbly was raised and Auld Lang was praised.
But now the grand New Year stretches ahead
And all of the revelers, asleep in their beds,
Are dreaming and scheming of what they will do
With gift of a full year, so brand spanking new
That all seems afresh with a pristine potential
Awaiting commands for they all are credentialed
To do what they will as they number their days
E'en though looking forward there seems to be haze
And who knows what mountains will need to be razed...
A pair of eyes opens, and preveniently, prays.

Happy New Year!