tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52178742024-02-19T11:12:47.074-06:00Love During WartimeChevaux de Bataille and Random Quotidian ThoughtsUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger2505125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-77936277100926173682024-01-31T17:01:00.003-06:002024-01-31T17:01:41.806-06:00Library InfoThis month diverse
Tai Chi hobbies
platforms for activities
learning coding
to help
literary pursuits
a list to seize desire
The long awaited prequel
is an adventure
after being a mercenary group
the mystery arises behind Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-14215501939494621552023-06-15T07:55:00.001-05:002023-06-15T07:55:17.334-05:00When Will You— interogate the passion fruit
— condemn the potato
— confront the wild dogs
— harbor the fugitive puffin
— eat locusts & honey
— dance in martian twilight
— watch dawn through obsidian
— breath with a lion's heartbeat
— hear the wind's muzurk
— know which way the wind blows
1.IX.03, Commonplace Book 2Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-65103483438727203252023-06-15T06:51:00.000-05:002023-06-15T06:51:03.922-05:0022.Aug.03today you'll sip the morning
you'll wear the afternoon in your hair
you'll eat the evening
the mist ponders your heartbeat
an owl meditates on your eyes
the sea breathes through your lips
i come to you as a supplicant
i come through my faded dreams
i light many candles
i rest on your bosom
you open your eyes
the song begins
From the archive,Commonplace Book no. 2Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-51802444177128179782023-06-14T07:13:00.007-05:002023-06-15T07:56:19.136-05:00At the dream borderAt the edge of fitful dreams
I pray for the trees,
trees in light, trees in dark
I pray for Saturn; and for the moons,
the many moons circling
the Spiro Mounds
I pray for you, my darling,
I pray for your smile
and give thanks for your laughter
14.VI.2023Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-69833089033538683482023-05-13T08:15:00.004-05:002023-05-13T08:15:37.323-05:00Psalm 55I am full of worries, and have no peace
I am stressed by the noise of the world
My heart trembles, I fear & tremble
I call upon the Holy One
Morning, noon, and night
And put my trust in the Compassionate One
4.III.2023Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-91596795954209467182023-05-13T07:56:00.000-05:002023-05-13T07:56:17.934-05:00Psalm 13Have you forgotten me?
How long must I be perplexed?
Give light to these dimming eyes;
Breath upon these stopped ears
And open them to your voice.
Yet, in my wanderings
I trust in your Word
And will direct my song to You.
From Psalm 13
21.IV.2023
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-73575331609744984132023-05-13T07:43:00.001-05:002023-05-13T07:43:15.944-05:00Haiku: 12.V.2023Storm passing;
roly-polies on the patio;
wren stunned at the window
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-35823342993073091752023-05-12T18:16:00.005-05:002023-06-14T07:15:18.527-05:00Because I’m Not GayBecause I am not gay
I have no fashion sense:
I’ll wear white after Labor Day,
Bermuda shorts, and socks
with my Birkenstocks.
Because I am not gay
you won't find me on the dance floor;
I ain't got no booty,
and I don't know how to shake it.
If I have to dance,
I'll do the white man's overbite.
Because I am not gay
I’ll never love like a woman
or weep like the angels.
I won’t fullyUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-91894877209398447592023-04-29T06:47:00.004-05:002023-04-29T09:31:13.383-05:00Status ReportIt all began Wednesday week. Which is to say, a week ago this past Wednesday, April 19. It was an up day. There was an issue of training that seemed would be helpful to the office, so I spent about an hour and a half creating a step-by-step guide, with screenshots. I confirmed with a few co-workers that the instructions were clear & understandable, and each one said it helped and thanked me Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-59298855381250189172022-12-13T16:21:00.003-06:002022-12-13T16:21:59.254-06:00The Morning MoonThe morning moon wears a crooked smile
and she recites from the book of ancient discipline:
From blood to blood her intent is a sliver of light, so
she sets her face against the mouth of morning.
Who can say what the moon knows, wearing her wry smile?
Who can say, but the cat in the window, or the dog in the manger?
Who can smile on this dark path, this foreign night —
but sister moon? Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-18775484430695044362022-04-22T13:05:00.002-05:002022-04-22T13:05:14.198-05:00Haiku: 20.April.2022Plastic bag skitters
idle flirtation with westerly wind
asphalt riverUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-53772710144489094022021-10-07T13:43:00.002-05:002021-10-07T13:43:52.891-05:00Forms of PrayerRev. Don Owens, former chaplain to St. Anselm of Canterbury Church of Norman, Oklahoma – the Episcopal college ministry for the University of Oklahoma – once broke prayer into four forms: verbal, physical, contemplation, and visualization.
Verbal prayer is the form most familiar to us. The Episcopal Catechism describes seven kinds of prayer, any of which could be verbal. Additionally, St. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-2302997047942169912021-06-24T17:56:00.003-05:002021-06-28T09:03:24.301-05:00Review: Failed State, by Dave BontaDreams are portable axes mundi. An axis mundi is another term for what the Celts called a Thin Place, where worlds meet, that liminal space where we become aware of both the phenomenal and noumenous. Tellingly, the Australian aborigines call it the Dreaming.
In the introduction to his latest collection, Failed State: Haibun, Dave Bonta tells us this collection was drawn from a dream journal.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-40093312681181610762021-03-28T07:46:00.002-05:002021-03-28T07:48:54.423-05:00Because I Am Not Southern BaptistBecause I am not Baptist,
I can never know God;
I can’t be friends with Jesus;
I’ll never be saved.
Because I am not Baptist,
I won’t be elected to the Rotary Board;
I won’t make the right business connections;
I better buy fire insurance now.
Thing is, in my privilege, I could pass.
I’m no Phillip Green; I need not say:
‘I’m an Episcopalian.”
I am an unrecognized foreigner.
Because IUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-63299912907736525322020-12-09T18:59:00.002-06:002020-12-09T20:18:34.199-06:00)Twin Rainbows(Again, the world seems to be mad and beat:
all I can hear are the whispers of pain,
and the sunrise is pink fog in the street.
There's a broken crucifix at my feet.
The storm was dismissed by a hurricane.
Again, the world seems to be mad and beat.
I saw a black crow flying sixty feet
into the dawn. He didn't stop to explain.
And the sunrise is pink fog in the street.
The twin rainbows in the Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-47216047602384966372020-12-08T15:51:00.002-06:002020-12-08T15:51:28.608-06:00At the Crow's Laugh InnAt the Crow’s Laugh Inn
Dancers strobe by the bar
The electric body pulses
As the dealer smokes his fat cigar
Crow’s Laugh was founded in 1784
With ale and lager and wine
Now men hold each other
And form a chorus line
King George was the object
Of that ancient corvid’s scorn
Now women watch each other
Slow dance into the morn
Soon, the crow will be laughing
At another madman’s fall &Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-32391084570298287452020-11-01T19:23:00.003-06:002020-11-01T19:23:38.245-06:00Ode to NovemberFor Virginia W
You stand at the doorway
in your motley coat of rust and gold and blue
You stand at the doorway
almost smiling at the semitones dancing
on the wind
You wait, and you wonder
There at the doorway
What do you offer?
A hollow thanksgiving?
What do you offer?
Appolonaire’s trench war nightmares?
You look behind you where the Scorpion dwells
you look before you to the hand of Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-32633142596704996062020-03-26T16:19:00.002-05:002021-08-02T13:54:50.831-05:00About “Never Thunders”This poem began as a walk in the field with my high school chum, Dana P. This was my second year of college. I was living in Boyd House (a converted military barracks later torn down). I had recently returned from Princeton, NJ, and the end of a romantic relationship.
Dana had come to visit me, and we were walking out in the fields - somewhat lost in the stars and fog. Off in the distance, I Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-86890073855058518802020-03-18T17:28:00.001-05:002020-03-18T17:28:10.235-05:00Hagiopoeia IISamuel Clemens did not consider himself the author of "boys' books,"
or even humorous books. He saw himself, first and foremost, as a
newspaper man. "Most of my life," he once said, "I've been a journalist. As such, I was licensed to tell lies that would make Satan blush."
Before he became a professional liar, Sam was a riverboat pilot on
the Mississippi. "I had Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-14076469961801480142020-01-09T17:43:00.001-06:002020-01-10T07:40:22.591-06:00Surprised by God: an appreciationIf you’ve read the synopsis for
Surprised by God, the story may seem familiar - especially at a distance: A young person declares herself an atheist, leads a bohemian (or hedonistic) life, then slowly discovers God. Danya Ruttenberg’s story fits into a genre I call “spiritual autobiography”; it shares that basic outline with C.S. Lewis’ Surprised by Joy and Augustine’s Confessions. My own faith Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-6353572821064551872019-10-01T10:38:00.000-05:002019-10-01T10:38:54.342-05:00Finding Beauty in the Hard PlacesI seek beauty in the hard places
in the dark night of the soul places.
I seek beauty in lost tears
in a forgotten promise.
I seek comfort in the cold places
in the last place you'd look places.
I seek comfort in a glance,
an embrace, the soft tremble
of a falling leaf.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-7697556563648190032019-10-01T10:34:00.000-05:002020-01-16T13:31:07.902-06:00About Tom ColeYoung Tom Cole
was the master of his soul
should you happen to ask him.
As he looked at his life
so free of strife
he would call no man his master.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-43502716049152465922019-06-05T07:31:00.000-05:002019-06-05T07:36:51.288-05:00My Labyrinth Year: IntroductionWhen I reflect on the past year, the word which immediately comes to mind is “community.” And this seems appropriate, since the modern Christian labyrinth walk has its roots in pilgrimages, when new communities would form among the pilgrims as they traveled to Jerusalem, Santiago, or Canterbury.
In my life’s pilgrimage, there was a time when I thought I could walk a spiritual path alone. But Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-48145164526882911102019-06-05T07:00:00.000-05:002019-06-05T07:34:36.032-05:00My Labyrinth Year II: 2.Dec.2018
The next event was facilitated by two women who had attended the same training
as I. It’s still not clear to me if either was the primary point person.
Regardless, they had chosen to structure the experience around a form of Lectio
Divina they were familiar with, and had previously used in other contexts. I
was not familiar with that format, and was unclear on the terminology they usedUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5217874.post-25951920130834946722019-06-04T18:35:00.000-05:002019-06-05T07:16:09.700-05:00My Labyrinth Year III: 2.Feb.2019My involvement with this event was unofficial, so I have not included support
materials for it. Yet, my experience in assisting with the event reinforces what
I have learned this past year.
C was the point person for this event. She had gone to the same training as J,
K, and I. I was in the process of preparing a different presentation, which I
will discuss in the next section. But, as part Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0