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 Beyond unbelief, beyond belief, there lies an open desert. In the heart of that vastness our longing hangs, a yearning without... [read more] |
 Blue cardinal swoops down, literally my first actual sighting, cawing loud from the treetops, beckoning flock, to begin this winter’s... [read more] |
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Seventeen Words Autumn leaves scatter, a bearded man bends to paper, midnight train departs, dreams dissolve, winter silence... [read more] |
 He said, "I, too, am young at heart." We laughed at that, because he was an old fart: not, perhaps, that much of a thinker, but shrewd and j... [read more] |
 Like Alice and the Caterpillar We circle one another — curious, cautious, Each trying to glimpse the other’s truth, While neither is certain... [read more] |
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your warmth is all that remains of a supernova now lightyears ago [read more] |
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In July. 1974, He called my name, inviting me to step outside and look upon His stars. Nineteen years and some months later, He called... [read more] |
 Should you care to write a novel historically romantic Choose the setting, perhaps a castle across the Atlantic? Two tortured souls, will he... [read more] |
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The Bright and Morning Star inhabited the Virgin's womb; and, thirty-three years later was laid, dead, in a borrowed tomb. He lingered in ne... [read more] |
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Christ Jesus of Nazareth, our King and God, the Most High became the most low when suspended on the Romans' cross. He died the death t... [read more] |
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During that summer's excessive heat, he wore distressed but baggy jeans, shirtless and barefoot. His nearly waist-length dreads cascaded dow... [read more] |
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Clad in a polo shirt and gray straight-leg jeans, he removed Converse sneakers from his bare feet. Fragrance filled the room as I caressed t... [read more] |
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A Narrative of Provocation The poet walks into the square, not to soothe but to stir— his words are stones in the fountain,... [read more] |
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. . . the honor of kings is to search out a matter. ---Proverbs 25:2 Haters and prudes will try to impose shame upon my father's firs... [read more] |
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a provocation in four turns poet, not prophet, nor a comforter— just the grit lodged between your teeth when you try to speak.... [read more] |