Thursday, August 30, 2007


I don't know what to tell you about this poem. Really, at all. So here it is....


I still fear...
For if I give you more,
You will take it.
Lover God
Lover whose breathe whispers over my skin
whose hands tangle in my hair
Lover who can still
Shorten my breath
and bring a blush to my cheeks
Lover who knows where I am
most sensitive
most vulnerable
Lover in whose deep embrace I tremble
for fear that I myself will disappear
Lover who will never let me go
Lover who will insist
patiently, endlessly
on all that is me, mine
Lover who seeks to possess fully
Lover, I still fear
But thou art holy
And thou art thou,
Divine Lover, Holy Possessor
And Thou, My Beloved
So, Lover who loves also my fear
With hands and heart
soul and lips
I move to love you back.

Written 6/23/07

Tuesday, August 21, 2007


So, I've actually been trying to write something in response to the recent mine cave ins and the bridge collapse, but it isn't working the way I want it to yet. However, I was going through old stuff and found this and figured it was equally appropriate.

We construct beautiful worlds with ordinary words
To imitate a Paradise we’ve never known
Sometimes we reconstruct reality
And are saddened
Sad that things are so ordered
Sad that we cannot improve them
And so we grieve the conditions of our life

But You, You who created us
You who lets us live this life
A life of pain and sorrow and joy and beauty
Do you feel powerless when tragedy strikes?
How do you grieve the things you will not change?
How do you hear our cries?

Written 8-11-06

Friday, August 17, 2007


At least about blasphemy...sort of.... If I wanted to say what I meant I'd write prose.

What blasphemy is this,
that we are all as much of God as we ever see?
What divinity leaves divine image
to peer around our sins and shortcomings?
Divine knowledge hidden behind our ignorance?
Divine compassion buried within us?
How can we not quail when we realize
the full weight of who we are meant to become?
Doomed to fail and destined to try,
We are not enough to represent the One who made All—
We cannot even love that One with appropriate love.
But who else is there?
For better and for worse, we are all we know of;
All who can share this one great secret:
We are beloved.

And Blasphemy it is: For we are not enough,
Not enough to be even pale reflections of that love,
The Love that loves us,
The Love that keeps us,
And the Love that sends us out,
to love one another.

Written October 10, 2006

Thursday, August 9, 2007


Or rather, not.


free time
extra hours
actually finishing the “to do” list
being alone in the store (because it’s 2am)
befriending stars

being alone in the dark
feeling like a ghost in your own house
laying awake in a tired body
counting sheep, goats, the whole damn barnyard
the tick tock tick tock tick tock tick…
dreaming of sleeping

glaring at a refuge-less bed
sleeping while awake
endless, dayless, nightless


Written July 2007

*This is not clinical depression, just the depressing realization that insomnia is an endless, cycleless sort of cycle. And you have my sympathy if you also understand that description.

Sunday, August 5, 2007

Sunday Morning

I love Sunday mornings at Church, the gathered community, Holy Communion. Every now and then I wind up in a spot where I can watch everyone receive communion. This came from what I see:

Small hands upturned
Reaching up over golden rail
Chubby fingers still
Eyes open and watching
Watching parents and priest
Wondering at our mystery

Small hands upturned
Just like those beside them
Just like those which blessed
Broke and shared Bread and Wine
Love freely torn apart,
A fully lived mystery

Small hands uplifted
Childlike willingness to enter
Faithful body, mystical communion
Equally yoked, equally called
Child and Adult, Stranger and Friend
Brought to one table, one feast
Brought to bring mystery

Small hands uplifted
Hands too small to hold or heal
Hands to weak to carry a world
Hands made holy
Wholly given to simple acts
Wholly given to holy mystery
Written 7/17/07

Saturday, August 4, 2007

Friday Pilgrims

There is a wonderful, faith filled group of women who can be found here. They have a weekly set of questions for anyone to answer. It's a fun way of building cyber community, but not really what I'm doing here. However, this week their questions lead me to this poem. The title comes from the latin (I think, if not, then some other dead language) word for pilgrim and the first set of the couplets derive from medieval pilgrim's practices. The second come from trying to live faithfully. Which is more than I usually say about my writings, but I was worried that if you didn't know the same set of arcane and esoteric knowledge I know you would be very confused. I will happily answer (some) questions as they arise.
Anyway, here:



Sore from uneven ground
Shuffling forward, scrape by scrape

Sore from kneeling too long
Sending desperate prayers into silence


Mindlessly tracing small images
Molded to a problem they can hold

Marking progress over beads
Measuring repetition, faint glimmers of hope


Seeing only the destination
Shining for the faithfuls’ reward

Squeezed shut, not daring to look
Soaked with tears, tears of hope and fear

Separated by history
Style of practice

But one in
Mystical body
Melded through faith

Written 8/4/07
post edited 8/23/07 to fix some typos and the like. N.B. to self: learn to proofread or not type when tired.