“Fear not:  for they that be with us 
                 are more than they that be with them.” 

                                                — II Kings 6:16

In the wasteland, there is no peace.
‘Peace, Peace,’ they say when there is no peace.
There is no peace, Lord, but that which cometh
        from your mighty hand
and mine are lifted, outstretched, and pleading.

Mine enemies lay in earthen trenches
in wait, their schemes a constant barrage
against the gates of my mind;

And I, no prophet, no priest, no king,
no psalmist with practiced tongue,
no David with sling and stone, let alone
the sword of giants–

Friend is foe, and thine foes are
innumerable, like grains of sand
on the coasts of my heart.

Mine own body betrays me;
        my stomach twists and retreats.
Mine mouth murmurs against me
        and the words I try
        to speak in love.

Who is like the Lord our God, Who dwells
        on high, Who humbles Himself to behold
                the things that are in the heavens
                        and in the earth? 

You are my refuge, my strong tower;
in You will I trust.  In You will I find
the peace that guided my fathers
and the hope that shaped all things
that were shaped.

                                  I plead You hear Thy servant’s prayer;
                                  turn not Your face or Your hand
                                  from the length or the depth
                                  of the day You wrote
                     
                                  as poetry, before
                                  the turn

                                  where I was
                                  born.

When Emily advises
admonishes
directs
us to tell it slant
I wonder what
has caught
the corner of her eye?

                      Mother Nature Teaches  ~
                                        via 
                                      Geese
                              m i g r a t i t i n g
                                   home again 
                                     intuitively
                                      knowing
                                      One = All
                                   weak  &  well
                                vital              vigor
                           flight                     soaring
                         long                               with
                    wings                                    kept
              tip-to-tip                                         support
           uplifting                                               the way for All 

I got started gardening
with Roma and Beefsteak
seedlings freely given
from Sharon, in Maryland.
Two big pots I filled with earth
tomato stakes and green Velcro tape.
Sitting on the back deck
creeping up like the kudzu on the trees.
My grandparents always had a garden
they loved tomatoes.
I watched Chiraag in tenth grade
eat one like an apple
at lunch, most every day.
I don’t much care for tomatoes.
I ate my beefsteaks, halved
with salt and pepper.

I planted cucumber from seed
under the deck in ole Kentucky
two weeks before the twins were born.
In the hustle and bustle
of a toddler and two newborns
I forgot they were growing there
until I hit one clunk with the mower.
Those cucumbers were grown
out of sight, untended,
and we ate all twenty or more
in less than five days.

I took a year off gardening outside
grew some hydroponic basil and lavender.
I didn’t have the bandwidth
third shift and father of three
to do much other than refill water
and add plant food every other week.
Trimmed too much basil
my thirst for pesto unquenchable.
Dill and mint
outgrew their container.
I gave up the hydroponics
as soon as it was warm enough
this spring.

I have ‘matos growing on the back deck again.
Made a small front-yard garden
with peppers, basil, lettuce, radish
and of course cukes.
I water it daily,
spread coffee grounds around the base
none of it might grow.
Birds and squirrels, bugs and moles
they all want their piece.
It’s not only about the harvest.
They call it gardening. Planting.
Not harvesting and eating.
It’s about being in the sun
breathing in the crisp outdoor air
bare hands in the soil
soaking in the same things
the growing plants need.
Watching the cicadas deposit their cases
do they wish for a taste?
I hope I can grow some ‘matos and cukes
home grown produce
ruined the grocery for me.

I lay on the ground made hard from the sun
Heavy droplets hitting me
Soaking my dress to the skin
The night brightens with flashes as the rain pours
and I wonder why no one has fun anymore
To Closed?, to PC?, to uptight of other’s thoughts?
This ain’t no dress rehearsal Folks
A journey that shouldn’t be put in a box.    

Sassie completed 06022025

My Achilles
I would know you in dark blindness
Taking all of my strength with your fingertips
My kiss on your nape
Heart stained
Faith strained
Chasing shadows on walls
to catch you by the heel
and pull you into me
Cells of salt drip and land on untouched skin
I fall into you.

Seduced by gold eggs.

Every day, dopamine drips.

Her Goblin Market.

A woman balances like a spoon on the edge of yesterday’s storm.