Category: spiritual
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St. George’s lament
lizard on fence rail dark in long shadows green among the vines did you know my forefathers hid among vines from your forefathers before stars fell from the sky before the burning before the long winter came before the dying before their bones became dragon’s lore 6-26-21
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Zen Gaelic
You caught the blue grey glint of a single pinwheeling feather falling from the sky. It left no ripple on the water as it sank. No one saw its surrender but you. 6-16-21
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Of milk and honey and the immortality quest
On the lintel above your door scotch tape copies of vaccinations. Pray the angel of death passes over and the blood red sea doesn’t flood your lungs. Near the light switch by the door hang a mask to wear when you go hiking in the wilderness. Gather your belongings buy a house in the promised…
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Job fair on Mt. Horeb
It wasn’t the burning, but the talking, the order giving, commands to go back to the scene of the crime and making demands and threats. Killing non-combatants in a war of words between empire and the kingdom of heaven has nothing to do with burning. The shall nots are easy; do nothing and you win.…
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untitled Ridvan poem
in the deepest trench of the ocean drops that once fell upon the tops of the highest mountains still retain memories of the sun 4-28-21 (Today is the Baha’i holy day, The 9th Day of Ridvan and during prayer this came to me.)
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Queuing at the Door, or, A Prayer for Bob Hinkle
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by
1) Fold your hands, bow your head, Shut your eyes and pray I would try, but no one said how to pray Just how to act like praying I wanted to know where to go, how many Steps to take, how many doors to open 2) Dad would get angry, If you cheated and opened…
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Seeking a Talking Bush in a Forest Fire
Thirty-five hundred years from now When no one writes in stone And COVID 19 is just one of many plagues Vaccination cards nailed above doors Of immigrant internment camps Who will edit facts that do not fit Purge first-hand accounts to make it holy Provide the name of a trust fund princess Who didn’t want…
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The Burning Bush
before it bursts into flame tomorrow’s promise patiently waits upon the bush for right conditions 4-6-21
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prayers in the spectrum
From the bedroom ceiling hung a Buddhist wheel on string sheer curtains, white blinds, half light, windows painted shut, stale air, no breeze, cell phone off, naked inside your head on a single bed with dirty sheets waiting for prayers to move the wheel. 4-2-21
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The rehearsal
We rehearse for a performance unaware it has begun until applause begins We don’t know, if it is for the curtain opening or closing We wait for silence to adlib the next line “A pearl doesn’t know it’s value or understand it irritated the oyster…..” before the clapping begins again 4-1-21
My husband's poetry 