Here are we, adrifting In a wake of rippled words Our self-made maelstrom wav’ring While it drowns aloud our slurs In awe of all remains unknown Enraged at what we willed unseen Despair of that which time has shown In terror of our mirroring It’s here our hearts were hollowed out By one-too-many show of tears Till, to a man, each heartache seemed a merely thin and sick veneer Yet, here are we, adrifting All the salt licked off our…
-//- As frost and blossoms Signify Spring’s arrival Both So saint and sinner Justified A contradiction’s Hope -//-
Are we our intentions? Are we our effect? Am I what I said, Or am I what I meant? Are we what has happened? Are we what we choose? Are we what we have? What we lost? What we’ll lose? Am I my feelings, My faces, my words? Am I things that I like: beer, music, and birds? Am I what I think, Or who others think of? Are we who we hate, Or who we claim to love? Am…
For different reasons and in different contexts, whether such judgments are warranted or not, I’ve sometimes been slapped with the label of “Weirdo.” Maybe you have, too? Our culture tends to romanticize its “eccentrics.” Well, kind of. It’s probably more accurate to say that we romanticize those rare innovators, entrepreneurs, artists, leaders, or otherwise significant figures whose various “eccentricities” proved useful to society’s desires and causes (at the time). In the capitalist “West,” at least, we probably only like eccentricity-as-commodity….
-//- An excerpt from Jan Potocki’s “The Manuscript Found in Saragossa” (originally published in 1805): I thought the hermit smilled at my naivety. Then he said to me, ‘I can see, my son, that you still have faith, but I fear that you may lose it … If they offered you a vast fortune to change religion, would you accept it?’ ‘Certainly not!’ I replied. ‘It seems to me that to renounce ones religion is as dishonorable as to desert…
Christian Church finds ‘sacred space between worlds’ on Monroe riverfront At Riverfront Community Church, rituals with ancient roots celebrate the Christian God, the local community, and “the smell of BBQ and sounds of good friends praying and laughing together” by Patty Snorkler (Saturday March 16th 2024 6:30 am) MONROE – You don’t become a child of God. “You just wake up and realize that’s what you’ve always been,” Pastor Francesca Davis said. “And now you have a name for it.”…
YesterdayI met good fightersSmelled the blessed coffee filtersHeard his unborn heart a-thumpin’Felt like all’s on track TodayI caught the petals openSmelled of spring – ah, she’s a-comin’Felt the warmth of sunlit fingersPressing on my back It’s trueI’ve not had that much practiceAnticipating future gladnessBut as Tomorrow bodes its hopeI learn to hone joy’s craft
Someone left his feathers on the lawn of my backyard I thought that he’d be swifter than these weak and willful arms His plumes are strewn haphazardly His pinions overpreened His crest is bent and flimsy like the tongue between his beak Someone left his feathers spread across my property and, naked as a jaybird, wheels with malice over me
-//- Big and blue Drowns out deluge Dry, cracked clouds For a saturated mind. Far below I’m growing spine – the bones a child left Behind -//-