Work and my season nowdone, I seek for the powerof deep wine with bread.A light touch of breeze andsun bless my head,hatless, this hourby the sunflowergarden. The tall plants are placed here as‘decor’ meant to lift spiritsbut I sense they are something more.Each one reminds ofan old woman bending,her faded hair of former yellow petal,droopingContinue reading “Sunflowers”

Dead Batteries and Signs From God

Bank robbery,andsimpler larceny,both make the innocent-born-guiltyconscience squirmbutmost of us commit not crime,norease into any wrong actionlocked away timemight cure. Still, I hear we all wereborn in sin,and need a warning sign,lest further untoward events occur.It’s written inthe holy booksI tried to read, back to front. I always take a second look,hoping to understand what IContinue reading “Dead Batteries and Signs From God”

Labour and Work

There isand wasand will always begreat distance betweenthis sideand the other. At the moment of opening,existence is a journeyfrom … to …whereall travelers must move,bound, as by blood-signed contract,under order ofwhich God (and science is a God)or ethic prevails. A star can be a traveler,a seed as wellthoughthe necessary steps,from a place to one further,areContinue reading “Labour and Work”

The Workhouse

It’s pretty human to shirk,to shy awayfrom what looks likework butno matter his conditionor how late the hour,sooner or later, on calloused knees,each exits illusion’s bowerand punches a clock. From first breath indentured,don’t we all,whether slaving for Peter,for Paul,or Joe Blow Commercedown the block,have misted life’s hard laboursole on offer,to answerwhat a wandering dream forbode,andContinue reading “The Workhouse”

Piano Lesson

Tiny vibrations crowdthe roof’s peak,slide downand splash across new-leafed trees,midpoint of the half season. In the beholder’s eye,colour is rich yet,a wet thing whoselayers are exposed,shady green under excited yellowunder washed out, delicate blue. A human, passive witness andamateur scientist,imaginary note pad in hand,tries to understand this,perhaps as sheaves ofimpossible music,wondering,“Who authored bliss?” God justContinue reading “Piano Lesson”

Birds and Stars

Sometimes, still,I sing to hear the soundand wonder ifour dusty-brownbirds do this, too.Though worksong’s ofutmost import every day,I’m sure birds alsoplay. I’m certain theymight call each othersilly names at times,sole to hear anecho backas summer’s sunclimbs. Further, yet, my theory is:life keeps an hour divineto step asideand game at love. The proof of this glowshighContinue reading “Birds and Stars”

Me, Pussycat, God

If I were the Pussycatand Hewereme, I wonder exactlyhow thatwouldbe. I might sit,contented,my own simple businessto mind and,suddenly,find my whole self lifted in air,to be cheek by jowland ear pressed to ear. I’d struggle,push, lean,and rathernot be there but I’d have nothing to fear. All powerful,the Pussycat’dhave no reason to be mean, I’d feel lovedandContinue reading “Me, Pussycat, God”

Sunday, At Church

It is raining.Tiny brown/grey birds(I believe they are sparrows)huddle under eaves next door.A dirty and thirsty one hop/flies upfor a drink and quick bath atthe metal trough above him/her whilethe rest stare into a slanted downpour,perhaps thinking private thoughts.They are waiting for the rain to stop,possibly chatting with each otherin the way that birds mustContinue reading “Sunday, At Church”