Category: spiritual
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seas of light
too hot to swim ducks and geese rest in cattail shadows in the shade of my yard I rest, call friends and wonder if the dead never leave us and are just resting in the shade of this life before they begin to swim in seas of light upon light 6-9-26
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Thick and muddy
This morning the pond is thick and muddy; turtles still must extend their heads above the water to breathe. Geese teach goslings how to swim and dive for food. Mallards rest quiet on shore, while cattails grow slender and tall. Trees shake last night’s rain upon my head as I count the name of Light…
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Leave a window open
When clouds and thunder pulled curtains over the sun, momma would read scriptures written in the sky. She have us throw open the southwest windows, because if the pressure could somehow equalize and if the house had enough fresh air to recite prayers and if the walls held no fear of dying, the house would…
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‘Wind’ or, ‘Unknowable Essence’
I do not feel, see, hear, taste or smell you, but I feel the heat and searing cold you carry. I see what you move, hear the wind dance with the trees and disturb my sleep. I taste the rain, smell the flowers and cough with your pollen in spring. I know you intimately by…
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Prayers up
Movers come at 8:30 Junk/Salvage guys at 10 Suitcase is packed Coffee’s hot and fresh Patio is calling one last time Prayers up for Jasmine 9-15-25
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haiku prayer
morning sun through trees chases night’s dew from spider webs moisture weeps to ground 9-14-25
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meditation haiku
in dark shadowed woods morning light filters bright green one leaf floats to ground 9-13-25
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Tailless lizard
High above a plane glistens in fading light, crescent moon visible in blue sky. Plane and moon pass by each other or so is seems from where I sit. Tailless lizard walks by on porch screen. Does it know I cannot reach it through the screen or is its arrogance why it is a tailless…
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Waiting
beyond the door of our house I sit in the shade on my right a small table, a bottle of water, a notebook, a book of poetry, a book of prayers bright green moss cushions my feet birds call from the woods the Tourettes hum of distant traffic palms turned skyward I’m waiting for healing…
My husband's poetry 