You know what I remember first about my daughter being born? Weirdly, not the miracle of it, or the bruised tender extraordinary Courage of my wife, or the eerie alien glare of the birthing room, Or the cheerful doctor chatting amiably as she hauled out our girl, But my daughter staring at me, from . . . . Continue Reading »
Each year I shroud them in their bubble wrap, The kings next to the shepherds and their sheep. The donkey’s head lies in Melchior’s lap; I settle them for their long winter’s . . . . Continue Reading »
A paralyzing gelid vortex of a January morning. He lay under the covers as the beckoning New Year’s sun began to manifest itself through the curtains of his bedroom window, but unlike the busy old sun unwilling to rise up and begin the day. His better half, it must be said, was already dressed . . . . Continue Reading »
Not fit enough to wander the wild woods or separate my wouldn’ts from my shoulds, what can I say? Not spry enough to scamper on a deck or fend a tall sloop from a leeward wreck, I steer my way. No longer lean or lithe enough to climb a groaning glacier out in Mountain Time, here I shall stay. So: . . . . Continue Reading »
To some, writing and reading poetry amidst the ruthless violence in the Middle East, the trials of the Church at home, and the general anxiety of our time, may seem cutely whimsical at best, and shamefully detached from reality at worst. But, I maintain, it can be quite the opposite. Continue Reading »
The elements were stark: a winter wall,snow, ice, snapped wrist. Through the breakI could just glimpse the color of the bone.But cold and white, the January crust,weren’t the whole story. Seasons turn,bones knit, a secret stirs beneath the snow. . . . . Continue Reading »
I feel less lonely when I watch TV: The heartbreak and the healing both go quicker, And Marketing’s best minds keep courting me As though my name were capping a marquee— . . . . Continue Reading »
Smart people have informed me I am on the wrong, or losing, side of history. But will there be a right and winning side when the world is gone? . . . . Continue Reading »
Though ill with cancer, I am here outdoors To walk slow steps and feel the warmth of spring. By chance, a nearby hermit thrush outpours His ecstasy to live, to fly, to sing, And daffodils hurl yellow at the sky As if they too would venerate this day. . . . . Continue Reading »
VI. Veronica Wipes the Face of Jesus He stopped a moment, when her eyesMet his and grieved to recognize The mark of suffering in his face. With a slow hand, she drew her veil,Revealed herself, ashamed and pale, As if awaiting his embrace. . . . . Continue Reading »
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