Posts for June 19, 2026 (page 6)

Silky black brethren
congregate above us,
calling down our chimney, 
Caw! Caw! Caw!  

Storm the rooftops!
Heckle those hawks!
Be more like crows!
Preach, crows, preach!

Divine defiance,
amplified.

At 8am on the dot
It begins on any given day

What commences as front porch church
Sacred sunrays in trees
Choir of bird song
Leaves rustling atop hundred year old oaks
Chittering squirrels frolicking at their base

Decomposes into lawn care chaos
Whirling weed whackers
Growling lawn mower engines
And the worst culprit
The drone of the dreaded leaf blowers
Muddling my morning meditation

Tomorrow, I will start my service at six
Before the heathens are up

I woke up with the need for green
the desire to be surrounded by nature
and fewer people, the need to be able
to hear myself think and be rejuvenated
by God’s creation and the sights and smells of
wilderness that doesn’t contain concrete or fumes

upgraded human in a smart home
digital devices sewn deep in my flesh
titanium screwed into my bleeding bone
artificial memories for deep fake love
from a blu-ray box set of Babylon 5

All summer long,
the grass drinks the rain, then
crisps brown when the cup runs dry
and cracked mouths open
in thirsty fields.

But for today
(maybe just for today),
the cup is a trough, overflowing.

I crouch low in the green shimmer,
where light draws fish scales
on blades of grass, and yesterday’s storm
sings in circles around my boots.

I stay there
in shimmer and song. 
I watch the rain
drink the earth.

Speak to me in the language of sirens
Reveal to me your golden light

Stand with me as I embrace desire
Allow me refuge in your Sight

Release me from self-loathing shackles
Dear Aphrodite clutch me tight

Please heal me from my fear of love

Signed:
Your newfound acolyte

For those songs that are not sung
Ones that beg to be given voice
Only to be forgotten . . .
Now’s the time to sing them
Wellspring of community
And make them heard
Constantly

I sink to the floor,
tired of holding my body up.
The tears consume me,
and my body starts to shake.
He kneels down next to me
and takes me,
holding me tightly
into his arms. 

“Everything will be ok,”
he whispers in my ear.
I’m not sure who he is trying to convince.
I want to believe him.
I want to hide
in the safety of his arms.

Wrapped into his embrace,
my shelter from the cold.
But, the comfort of his touch
doesn’t shield me
from the sound of my tears.
His touch doesn’t save me
from the searing pain
in my heart. 

we sat in disbelief/
there was a catch in Billie’s voice/
she mixed up the lyrics during her delivery/
steadied herself holding on to the mike stand/
seemed in another world/
people started leaving the theater/
I wanted to stand up and shout at them/
you fools how can you walk out on her/
a great legend such a unique voice/
tears troubled my youthful eyes/
we all have a bad night now and then/

There is a place where
words fit comfortably
like a thumb returning
to a worry bead or
river glass, handled
until it forgets its edges.

Words mark their borders
and call it understanding.
I send them out not as letters
but as signals, so what I want
and what I say are the same.
Phrases that fall into grooves
worn down by recitation.

No one can explain
in the hearing of it,
rough edges smoothing
like a pacifier
for an infant and still
the sentence leans forward,
asking to be carried farther,
still something in me
keeps making sense of it.