National Poetry Month
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National Poetry Month 10 – Hosanna
He raised Lazarus from the dead called him from the tomb his sister Mary thought that the smell would be overpowering. But out he walked, still bound in soiled cloth. No worse for the wear. “I am the resurrection and the life,” He told her. He then went home. Jerusalem rolled out the red carpet…
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National Poetry Month – 9 Dead Forest
“That forest is dead” our guide told us again. “The trees turned red, their needles sharp little vessels of poison. Even the dirt if disturbed can kill you in time. There are broken down elements secret atoms with unknown half-lives that are shadows and these shadows can never be illuminated. The army men, they came…
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School Days – National Poetry Month 8
I saw a picture today of a one-room school house class taken around 1910. The children look sickly, big bags under their eyes like they’ve been up late at night and up early in the morning. Their father’s probably beat them in the corn and expected them to wear out their one pair of shoes…
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National Poetry Month 7 – Lord Have Mercy!
Lord have mercy! It is chanted in union among the sinners Lord have mercy! I sing it to myself in the night. Lord have mercy! Lord give strength to those who suffer in silence. Lord give hope to those that have none. Lord work upon us in ways we can’t understand, but feel. Lord have…
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National Poetry Month 6 – Won
Sometimes it feels like you get one shot at companionship one opportunity to set the board move your pieces and capture a queen. When she’s there in front of you and her smile is unbearable because it makes you blush you wonder at how every roadblock, and every setback, every Checkmate, only led to her.
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National Poetry Month 5 – In the Morning
Soft skin and warm over the pillow fort displacing the cat I insinuate myself lodged next to you where I can wrap my arms and legs around your body as you sleep. You stir and mold into me and there is nothing on Earth that matters more in that moment but you.
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National Poetry Month – Charlemagne 1-4
I. The King of the Franks standing in the aisle of St. Peter’s Church, he idly inspects the architecture. Constantine’s big basilica crowded with a hundred shrines and tombs and the walls a hundred feet above crowded with mosaics made of glass and above them long and ancient wood beams that seemed to have…
The Numinous Cosmos 