Photo by Greg on

Last night thunder came

It broke the sky brought the rain

My soul is still not

Clean. Emotion’s sheen clings

Shattering expectations.

And So I Turned Right

On most days at 3,

I step out my front door

To do my duty.

My little dogs go ahead.

They know the usual way.

We turn left, then left

At the Summer Street signpost.

Down to the white house.

Tip our hats to our friend Pearl.

The lady who smokes outside.

Pandemic days come

And turn the world upside down.

Pearl stays inside now.

The Summer Street sign is gone,

Inexplicably just gone.

And so I turned right,

Yesterday instead of left.

I went to the park.

Empty space. Social distance.

It’s a new experience.

Icarus, Juggernaut and the Rock


My God, My God?…                                                                                                                                                                              We, Called Out, wrapped in red, white and blue                                                                Why have you forsaken?…                                                                                   We plunge from a precipice into the orange sun. His waves burn.                                                                       Amber grain, Why are you so far away?…                                                         We are upside down Icarus. So few remember the story now that liturgy has been Pushed aside.                                                          Everyday I call…                                                     A juggernaut breaks down three houses.                                                                                         Every night I lift my voice…                                                      The fourth estate is Poisoned.                                                                                                                              Is this the One who relies on the Lord?…                                                                                                                                                                           Icarus tumbles.                                                                                                                                       It is better than good.                                                                                                                             We crash.                                                                                                                                                  We die on that Solid Rock.                                                   Let the Lord save him…                                                                                                                     The Juggernaut comes at The Rock…The Rock that crushes….the Rock that cannot be moved.

Let the Lord rescue him….


Jet Lagged

img_0910Heat warms Pacific

Breezes blowing through jungles;

Equator’s winter.

I am jumping timelines in a tuna can: Boston to New York, New York to Seoul, Seoul to Manila, Manila to Ilo Ilo.

“What day is it?” I ask for days.

I am tomorrow’s yesterday even though today is the day I live in all the time. I feel bigger on the inside than on the outside and there’s no room even to pray as the seasons pass away along with my schedule and my knowledge of routine. What am I supposed to do?


Now the cold returns.

Sharp intake of frigid air.

New England winter.

I return to yesterday in a sardine can: Ilo Ilo to Manila, Manila to Seoul, Seoul to Boston.

“Why am I going back?” I ask.

I am fatter from the salt I ate in tomorrow. The worst is yet to come. In yesterday day is night and night is day and for days upon days I wrestle to sleep. Even now, week’s out, I wake up and forget when I am. Somehow in the third Heaven that seems OK. What am I supposed to do?

Then, time remains still.

I  breathe, “bali bali” has

Passed at last away.


All the Words We Can Never Say

Our decadent liturgy is dribbling decencies:

Debussy’s  Prelude all modern and dissonant:

“Of course that doesn’t make you look fat!”;

Dan Gibson’s Introit, all daylight and desire:

“Mmmm! This is so good I must have the recipe!”;

Dawn’s invocation:

“I am really good. You?”;

The laud at the door:

“Such a sweet child.”;

Second song:

“I sing because I’m happy.”;

Canticle of alms and gifts:

“Of course I can buy one. I’ve always wanted one of these!”;


“You sing beautifully!”;

Hymn of response:

“Well of course. That makes perfect sense.”;


” Come back anytime. Just call first.”;

In our service will we ever speak all the words we can never say?


Well That Was NaNoWriMo 2019

Well NaNoWriMo 2019 has come and gone. That was quick! It was just like a dandelion…blooming one day and gone to seed the next. I thought I would have more time to be posting updates about my progress, but then I do tend to overestimate my abilities.

In spite of that, the month did exactly what it was supposed to. It saw me through another reading of the novel I am working to complete. I chopped about 6,000  words most of which were leading the narrative rather than letting the narrative lead. I also began a debate with myself over at least one chapter and its future in the novel….I haven’t decided which side of me wins this fight yet. DO YOU EVER FIGHT WITH YOURSELF LIKE THAT?


I also wrote about five scenes of backstory some of which will (I think) make it into the novel’s final form. Of course they will need to be rewritten. My first drafts are always….well let’s just say not fit for public consumption. My sister would call them “pieces of Drech.”

What I noticed is that as I worked hard to increase my level of writing productivity, my over all productivity level went up. I  started really paying attention to my blog life again. I accomplished a lot more art work than I usually do. My family started a semi regular game night and I got some of the big cleaning projects done  which I had been sitting on for a while. If this keeps up my family is going to want every month to be NaNoWriMo.



The Romans 12 Cycle: Encourager

I sing the summer boys

Home. The clamoring crowds

With strong drink letter

Affirmations that at last

The series is in the bag.



I’ll never say die.

Even when my heroes fall.

I’ll scale the mountains.

I’ll take the skies of midnight

Home in buckets made of clay.



Shovel the neighbor’s 

Drive. Speaking life to the

Winter wind. In the 

Dark journey the truth now brings

A needle’s golden thread.



I call forth the Spring.

A three-strand string binds the shards

Of broken mirrors. 

It makes sense of the damaged homes in

Reality’s tapestry.



I am not a year

Nor a season, month or day

I am but minutes,

An eye for the thread leading

To the finished work, God’s hand.