Reasons to Walk
To be alone
To connect
To go somewhere
To go nowhere
To greet the morning birds
To see the stars
To remember
To forget
To breathe
To move
To stay sane
To survive
To be alone
To connect
To go somewhere
To go nowhere
To greet the morning birds
To see the stars
To remember
To forget
To breathe
To move
To stay sane
To survive
GOD’S ETERNAL SOUL
I see through Your eyes
And there are the expanse of the stars
Far beyond my own eyes.
I see the sands promised to Abraham
to be filled with his children
And I see Your children, Your creation,
So beautiful and abounding in love
Like You.
For You are Love
In all it’s splendor and mercy.
I see through Your heart
Your hurt for Your children
And for those who are not yet
But may or may not be
In the future
And then I see Your mercy.
And feel the warmth of Your touch.
And I see through Your Soul
The eternal mercy for those
Whol love You so much,
And who believe in You
That You are indeed in control
And who obey You
Even though they may have hardships…
Because in all things at all times
Your blessings are present
All we have to do is look.
I praise You Father for Your wisdom
For Your love, for Your grace
For You…
Undertow of grey
sky pulls viewer’s
eye upwards
over Notre-Dame
& green trolley
over flower cart capped
with crest of carnations
& amber light
of confectioner’s shop
over the man in the mud-
brown jacket & woman
in ant-black coat.
Rain spatter flushes cloud-
stone-wheel-wood-petal-
window-pedestrian
with an opal
brilliance.
~inspired by Edouard Léon Cortes’ (1882-1969) “Notre-Dame, Paris”
This summer
I am haunted
By the ghosts of summers past.
Echoes of waves,
Salt water drying
Sticky on my skin.
Hammock ropes digging
Into my arms and legs.
Showering outside-
The freedom
Of being naked outdoors
But still hidden,
Sunshine on skin that never sees it.
Deep night in the country.
Stars brighter than you ever expect
Insects and bullfrogs louder
Than you ever remember
When you leave
The noise and light pollution
Of the city behind.
Summer present is
Masks and people
Too far away to hug.
I’ll have to wait for
Summers future
Before I’m free of ghosts again.
Nag a bit more about
the nest on my head,
the baggy fit of my tee,
the scuffs and mysterious
blue stain on my white sneaks
Bother me some about
the polite way to offer an
insightful opinion or,
better yet,
the perfectly proper closed mouth
Offer your incredibly poised justification as to how
the obsequious nature of girlishness,
so called Southern Charm,
is distinguished from servitude
This book, this pocket guide
on being a lady,
is useless to me
I’m a woman
No less than those
righteously prim mannequins
painfully described on pages
that make better kindling than content
That’s just my unruly opinion
Does this come with a gift receipt?
The baby looked hard at the sky–a smoky purple,
thin reddish clouds passing fast—
she peered, she stared, aghast, and rapt at
an evening something I couldn’t see.
Don’t concentrate your finger curl at me
because I am not an obedient house pet.
I cannot be fixed, willed, or trained.
What kind of animal am I?
One that conceals herself in thick summer brush,
and observes your exaggerated movements.
A seductive beast whose silent stealth and stalk
shake the dirt beneath your weak walk.
An animal who, upon instinct,
selects the precise moment when you think you’ve made the catch,
to leap through the air
gnash at your naked neck,
puncture your putride pride,
lick your bones clean
and bury your fingers,
so you know that I am not at all as I seem.
She signed me up
for swim lessons,
Pine Lakes Swim Club,
Saturday morning
instead of cleaning house
and other chores.
She drove me
past Bernice’s garden center,
past the old Acme,
and past the liquor store
where she bought
bottles of Thunderbird
in grassy-green bottles.
We called it a swim club,
but it was nothing more
than a lake with a ring of sand,
and a couple of diving boards.
I was the oldest kid in the class,
conscious of my hand-me-down suit
tight around the legs,
which ballooned out like sausages,
all pink and puffy,
and my curly hair stuffed
into a rubber bathing cap
barely able to contain it.
I really tried to listen to the instructor,
but all I could hear was my heart
breaking across the water
and the lapping of shame in my ears.
–a found poem
Dear friends and colleagues:
I retired after a lifetime teaching at the University.
Are there any available rights or privileges for retirees?
Use of an office? Library? Parking? Computer?
I have been served notice to turn in my keys on January 6.
Moving books and papers out of my office
with such short notice seems mean-spirited to me.
Dear professor:
The University, in recognition of substantial and sustained
contributions to academic disciplines and to the University,
may grant the title “Emeritus” to persons meeting
the qualifications set forth in the policy.
Conferring of Emeritus is not automatic upon retirement
and may be conferred only upon approval
through the process described in the policy.
The Emeritus understands that there is no renumeration
received by the holder of the title.
I too have spent years
looking for the roots of what went wrong
trying to comprehend early and targic death
seeking to make amends
desperate for peace
My face might appear unscarred
but my heart reveals a very different truth
I cherish your vision of the savage plow of history creating a seedbed for a green and growing season to come
This hope is my new found prayer
This poem was inspired by Parker J. Palmers poem “Harrowing” in his book On The Brink of Everything via writing prompt from Leslie Dodd.
