Poets’ Corner
After Canada Day
Tiny Beach, July 3, 2021 After the lockdowns, After the ragged works and restless days Of these many months, Between four walls amplifying Each slight and jab Each offence and outrage Each rumor and testimony, Old grievances rubbed raw Beneath the added weight of waiting, After all this, and more, and less, My family and…
The Parable of the Vineyard
It’s said his last words were Unto the uttermost part of the earth, My place of birth, And standing there, I gaze upon a cloud And wish to high heaven that he’d come out. I look steadfastly on His witnesses: clear windows fused with light And heads long gone By walls washed white, And…
As Light Dissolves
“There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.” I John 4: 7. As light dissolves the shadow’s sway So love drives out all fear. The night retreats before the day, As love turns hate to cheer. The army of advancing love Fools night without deceit No raptor strikes; instead a dove…
Summer Afternoon
Above our house an ancient maple spreads Its branches wide to shade in shadow all That falls below: Perennials in reds And blues and, wearing muted greens, a small But stubborn bed of hostas which we’ve done Our careless best to kill through sad neglect. A hum of bees floats lazy in the sun. Loud…
After Whistler’s Mother
“Take the picture of my mother, exhibited as an ‘Arrangement in Grey and Black.’ To me it is interesting as a picture of my mother; but what can or ought the public to care about the identity of the portrait?” – James McNeill Whistler The pages of the history of art open to Whistler’s Mother….
Far Away Friends
(a fable for children and others) for Ellie “A king—long years ago, When nights were long and dark And forests thick and dangers oh! So dangerous—lost his spark, Lost his remarkable spark Of joy. A meadowlark . . .” Part One: In Search of Meadowlarks Catherine had a friend. Her friend was Emma May. They…
A Midwinter Song
The chaste moon cackles over fields of white and pours its pregnant wrath upon a black crepe sky where seems the sun will never rise nor fill its run on this, the longest night. Beneath her blushing falseness tramps a lone and lonely hireling; bit with frost in callouses and cuts, near lost to winter’s…
Lancelot Andrews Preaches a Nativity Sermon, December 25, 1622
The church was chilly, though the King had come to hear the sermon; no braziers set out; chill of December. Andrewes, golden-tongued, delivered words describing the long route the Magi took, the trials they endured: In solsitio bumali—”the dead of winter”; they rode wearying miles obscured by fog and snow; high prices paid for bread; camels…
Take an Ear
When some big loudmouth makes a crack, some I hate Christians rant-attack, I want to beat him to a pulp. Which isn’t Christian. So, I gulp it down and don’t—but dream I did. It’s like when Peter sliced that ear off Malchus as the end drew near and Jesus said, No more of this! Our…
Montana Seeds
For Eugene Gone, I was the bristle in the brittle pines looped fractaling along the highway bends. Mine were raw quills, of goose and porcupine; mine the rock brains; mine the hands that slapped wet prints upon the breaching stones; a tremulous, confessing risk of joy; the silver in the sockets of my bones; the…