Thursday, June 29, 2017

Chased by Ghosts

I hear
Them from behind.
Distorted echoes fade.
And know that like the times before,
It is no use at all to strain my ear.

I still, though, think that this time I will hear.
So I try to distinguish more.
But although I have prayed,
What do I find?
I fear.

Monday, June 12, 2017


It lays
Upon a ledge
Deep in a closet down the hall.

I (almost) wish that it will fall.
But on the edge
It stays

Yet still,
When friends arrive.
I drag it out to its display.

So when they leave, they'll turn and say
"He might survive"
I will.

Friday, September 30, 2016

A Cool, Rainy, Fall Morning

As it fell
Upon my house
Against my window
And, frankly, on my soul.

I should tell:
The dirt remained
The pane? More opaque.
And the pain? All too whole.

It can pelt
But also heal
Or lift awesome ships.
But not today. Instead:

What I felt
A subtle pull
Growing each moment
To drag me back to bed.

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Infinite Possibility

A man has value in his self,
That comes from God above.
But adds to that (and to his shelf),
If great books will he love.

For what he knows and what he dreams
Will come from his own age.
Yet can be stretched beyond his means,
By words typed on a page.

The Nile, Thames, or lovely Seine:
He may not get to go.
But still feels the love and pain
From Shakespeare, Keats, Hugo.

We have but one short chance to live
While bound by time and space.
So take the gift the masters give

To travel any place.

Sunday, May 29, 2016

The Messenger

He comes to the bridge, and the current, he sees,

Is Swollen, uneven, and deep.

He squints at the sun, then down through the trees

In thought (or is it in sleep).

But now there's no time, for he or his ride,

To rest, or even to think.

The covered span still awaits; his horse trots inside.

At the Inn, they'll both have a drink.

Thanks to small blessings, despite heat and haze,

The roof protects from the sun.

The walls hide distractions and focus their eyes

Away from the water's swift run.

Of these too-few seconds, he takes one or two

In the echoing dark of the bridge.

To ponder his his night; what he must now do:

He shivers, then rides to the ridge.

Friday, April 29, 2016

Blame The Weather

Morning came; the sun? Not in sight
Early on, I felt something not right
Lying there, asking "Why?"
As I looked at the sky
No sign of warm morning light.
Cool, damp zephyrs licked all round my head
Having, with them, subliminal dread
Over us, a grey sky
Looked like it may cry
Yet perennially just sulked, instead

Thursday, March 24, 2016

Torn Asunder

Inside the Holy of Holies, a veil lies on the ground.
Inside the hollowed-out earth, He lies without a sound.
The veil was torn in two before it fell upon the floor
His body, torn apart, was brought down when he breathed no more.

Soon the curtain will be moved, a new one in it’s place.
His body too, will not be found in this cold, empty space.
And yet, despite their simutan’eous tragic fall
They represent opposing truths; and one: no truth at all.

For Jesus’ "missing" body means more than an empty tomb
While a new curtain still will simply hide an empty room.
The open doorway now revealed the emptiness inside
The ark was gone, replaced not with the law, but pious pride.

The sacrifices, valid still, were made by two-faced men.
With Sacrifice of Priest and Victim, they need not be made again.
Thus, while the new veil will seem like the old (it would appear).
His body, Glorified, will breathe upon them, “Do not fear.”