descent into hell

no fault divorce

has nearly killed

marriage in america,

LGBTQ agenda

will nail coffin shut.

children — confused,

abandoned, impoverished,

scarred and/or enslaved —

pay the price for adults’

sexual freedoms.

family foundation crumbles

from failure to invest;

when amoral people

ruin a republic

chaos reigns.

in the loop of prayer

pure and persuasive as spring rains

accumulate and wait for moonrise…

memos from heaven everywhere; next to

my feet…see, i am taking off my shoes.

bare branches as springboards for

flight, riding the breath of God?

onion heart…never getting all the way in

but what cardiologist God, wearing scrubs,

air around him clarified suddenly and

by that i think God means us to be

an inner fountain springing always fresh

to grow in His reflected image!


An ending poem of 12 lines for the end of the year and the 12th month as prompted by Laura Bloomsbury at dVerse. I chose ending lines from poems in Sea Glass by Luci Shaw, 2016. (In final line I changed pronoun “its” to “his”).

america the beautiful(ly broken)

post-Christian nation

still wrestles with her past sins

may God have mercy

image from divinesteelarts.com

aki no koe (autumn’s voice)

We’re grateful to live where autumn ripens into a real season. Fields of corn and soybeans dry, then die to be harvested by hungry combines. The trees shed their modest summer greenery and commence puttin’ on the ritz in shades of russet, rich brown, gold, and burnt orange.

We’ll admit to overdosing on pumpkin: picked from pumpkin patch, decorating our doorstep, carved into jolly jack-o-lanterns, made into moist muffins or perfect pie, sipped as pumpkin-spice flavored coffee or chai.

We all enjoy sitting closer with family or neighbors around blaze of bonfire, roasting sticks in hand, as the sun goes down. Even the dogs and cows put on warmer coats.

when outdoor temps dip

make s’mores in microwave

marshmallows puff up

Linking to dVerse poets where Linda Lee Lyberg hosts autumn haibun. Photo of my grandson who is 3 today!

in real time

retirement arrived

finally unexpectedly

what does it mean??

too tired / put on new wheels

older & wiser (we can hope)

still too young to die!

(Lord willing)

got some good years ahead

to leave lasting imprint

(or learn at last to listen)

golden & embolden

dance a brave attempt

who cares / what

people think

be the real (old) you / me

restless dreamers

remodel our lives

unparalleled

committing

random acts of poetry

interlude

autumn’s lost robin
standing guard in our back yard
protects last apple

yo is a saint, bro!

in latin formality, the roman

catholic church names saints:

Augustine, Teresa, Peter, Francis,

but we protest(ants) read our

Bible as saying we’re all saints

(all who believe, anyway) yeah,

you…you…you, and me, too!

thattsa holy whole lotta sainthood

sooo y’all (all of us livin’ in da ‘hood,

that is), let’s live…gotta live alive!

live in the light of the knowledge

that we, yes, WE (you and me)

reflect the very Glory of God which

we see in dear face of Jesus Christ!!

and remember now, it’s HIS glory

(not our own) so live humble-like

‘cuz we’re just jars of clay holdin’

the most precious treasure, the

Holy Spirit…jars fired in his kiln

and offerin’ his light to dark world,

go on now, bro, let the light SHINE!!

___________________________

Inspiration from sermon by Pastor Tim Ouwinga (entitled “Called to Be Saints: Humility) and 2 Corinthians 4: 6 & 7and my bro, Dale.

tattoo lady

she’s mystery, an enigma
embodies fox or cougar
pretty in her day, now age
obviously wears wrinkles

bleach blonde, made-up
tattoo on forearm of her
butterfly babies flown,
ladybug kids now grown

husband dead and gone,
she’s borne a lonely grief
so empathizes with much-
younger divorced prodigal

encounter after club hours
exchange glances, numbers
packs her sequined t-shirts
touring country in his truck

little shoes

Reminders of precious little boys

following Daddy’s footsteps

tracking through the house

leaving loveprints all over my heart.

rendezvous

Joining in the fun at dVerse Poets where Lillian invites us to include flavors of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream in a poem…that’s NOT about ice cream 😉

Ever cool, Britannia shmoozes,
“hey, Sugar Plum, how about we go out
for some Miz Jelena’s sweet potato pie?”

“That dastardly mash for a late night snack?!”
She pauses, “but I could go for a cuppa coffee.”

“Coffee? Buzz, buzz, buzz”, he teases; (head
will feel like an urban jumble, he thinks). “Well,
change is brewing, take my arm and let’s go.”

Looking at the time, she mutters,
“Can’t believe you talk me into this
half-baked scheme at such an hour.
This is nuts!”

He pats her hand, winks and grins,
“Maybe we’ll order urban bourbon instead.
Goodbye, yellow brick road and hello Miz Jelena’s!”

how paint chips fall

Try paint chip poetry with Linda Kruschke!

________________

i’ll no longer think the

grass is always greener

as my life will be verdant

under cumulonimbus skies


after watering the zinnias,

i will take a drive to the

local spice market to taste

a wild huckleberry sorbet


later, i‘ll read and write by

candlelight before retiring

to antique brass bed and

sleep late, when i am old

 

Screen Shot 2022-07-03 at 2.47.17 PM

coming out with pride


i may be confused and often uncertain
but i know i’m a BSW binary “she” woman

feel threat of whine lobby with sheer power to steer
education and culture in indoctrination queer

to flaunt “rainbow lifestyle” and banish cake bakers,
to finish off florists and expose photo takers

demand access to children to drag recruits in
destroy any churches who dare mention “sin”

i remember how, with hopes for a child,
man and woman vowed life in promises wild!

when we agreed to disagree, honest speech was still free
at birth accepted biology, sex seemed self-explanatory

people think we’re more intelligent today
let’s “follow the science” they say…yeah, okay

let real girls compete in “girls’ athletics” fairly;
and ovaried females win “Woman of Year” squarely

DSM once viewed gender disphoria as problem
maybe surgical mutilation not best way to solve ‘em

if “woke” business platforms would be truly inclusive
they’d tolerate all values, not be diversely abusive

double-X-chromosomed, i’ve got my pride too
so don’t bully grandmas who talk straight with you!

Pride is the mask of our sins. ~ Palestinian proverb

_______________________________

i’ve been working on this poem for awhile…seemed appropriate for “pride” month!

Previous Older Entries