Wednesday, August 19, 2009


The destitute you will have with you.
Always.  Well thanks a lot God for that.
I can never wholly enjoy a thing.  I love
my paved streets and well-stocked
library, my favorite shirts and my four
or five pairs of shoes.  How can I ask You
for the slightest thing without remembering
the poor, the sick, the shut in?  My
prayers must sound like the feeble
whinings of the wealthy
compared to those that have less.
My health is a constant reminder to me
that some pass more painfully on this earth
than others.  My heart that loves and empathizes
beats with sadness admidst the joy of living
and I cannot stop dancing to that syncopated beat.  My
life passes with an apathy to gladness.  Being mindful
of others is not a good thing for people like me, 
if  there are people like me.

Monday, April 20, 2009


She left by the back door-
no one heard her go,
no squeak from the hinge, that tattle tale,
to name her exit route.
No one pled, scolded or called out
no one bade her go with scorn,
darkness tucked her under wing
then suddenly it was morning.

She had unloosed herself,
by degrees pried her lonely fingers
open. She half expected,
to feel inside that slipping grip,
the flutter of meaningful things
escaping, but only she stirred
down to ashes the embers while
her family cozied to disaster.

Monday, March 30, 2009


First the breast comes to mind,
that red vest between the brown lapels.
Sturdy bird on twig thin legs,
it seems a brisk wind could topple you.
I've never seen a bird upset, little stick legs
skyward. There you are, little
rotund friend with a sweet song
that sends me back
to grade school days, where I watched
your southern cousins listen
cock-headed groundward with unblinking
eyes. Through sun-washed windows,
the teacher droned on about spring
while we good little children budded
inside, like the trees pink with promise.
Somewhere up north the snow was melting,
eaves dripped with ice tears
but we had flowers all year round
and my heaviest coat was a sweater.