american questions

how does young american male become radicalized to violence?

what effect do lies of extreme rhetoric have on immature minds?

will we unite as fellow citizens or tear down our own country?

mister toad

surprise by stick pile

warty toad with gloss-black eyes

stares…then hops away

Photo by Luban Tvaroh on Unsplash

summer shower

backyard maple tree

washes her leafy head

in morning downpour

then towels long hair

to dry in afternoon’s

prairie wind until the

fresh evening petrichor

beckons me outdoors

to pick up fallen sticks;

loose hairs shed after

miss maple’s shampoo.

for sarah

From ‘Apple’ by Sarah Connor:
“There is a wholesomeness to apples:
 the white flesh crisp, fine-grained,
 the sweet, sharp scent. The skin.”

remember…

the soft flesh of her skin
fine-grained and oh so white;
breathe in sharply such crisp
wholesomeness: the sweet
appled scent of a woman


From ‘No mail – no post’ by Sarah Connor:
“No words.
 No rhymes, no poeming tonight,
 just this blank space,
 this white page, 
stretching endlessly”

poet’s legacy

will old blogs stretch
into blank white space?
No! corvid words live on
endlessly…in books,
rhymes of poems and
even tonight’s posts,
like letters mailed
lovingly to the future!


Linking to dVerse as a tribute to our fellow poet, Sarah Connor. Thanks to Kim for her interview/conversation with Sarah posted tonight! And may God be near you and your family, Sarah.


porch pillars

he avoids work on two pillars
of our front porch: mismatched,
slightly noticeable but definitely
different…manufacturer sent
him an alternate color which
was not apparent until installed
and now considered permanent.

it’s like marriage of two people,
pillars of the family: mismatched,
probably noticeable, and definitely
different…manufacturer (GOD)
sent provisional individual but all
was not apparent until installed
and now considered permanent.

perhaps that was designer’s plan
and purpose: opposite pillars stay
where they are as He works on
them; two who vowed to stand
by each other, both a bit offbeat.
even though the effect is dissimilar,
together they can hold up the roof.

iowa in july


glimpsed thru evergreen

summer blushes crimson red

neighbor’s hollyhocks


cornfields of faeries

follow grandchildren’s ball games

fireflies shine at night


angus cows with calves

graze in heavenly pastures

sweet ruminations


not surprising


… that pagan, yet spiritual, minds become superstitious in the end.

 


– after listening to “White Horse Inn” podcast discussion of Michael Horton’s book, Shaman and Sage: The Roots of “Spiritual But Not Religious” in Antiquity

inundated

mucky floodwater

rain brings too much of good thing

overwhelming force

strikes levees, homes, bridges, schools

volunteers come, help clean up

luminescence

fireflies like prayers

flashes of hopefulness rise…

yet full moon outshines

image, “transformation”, from pixabay

faith in motion

life’s locomotive rumbles down track
with muscled horsepower multiplied
once it leaves station, cannot turn back
so one must trust train is well-supplied.

who is the engineer guiding this train?
he’s the one who knows the destination
he stays at throttle through sunshine-rain
brings it safely through line’s every station.

i know the conductor, he’s engineer’s son,
my worn ticket he will stamp and receive
i’ll travel with him till my journey is done;
holy faith-powered…you too can believe!

At dVerse poets’ pub, Punam invites us to travel by train. My oldest son worked as a train engineer and gave us this framed print which hangs in our home. “Santa Fe” is translated “holy faith”.

haik-coo


pair of turtledoves

coo-cooing from tree and roof

to welcome us home


algae in birdbath

orange oriole takes sips

disturbed reflection


sing praise at day’s end

robins echo each other

my heart joins chorus


cavernous musings

Dora at dVerse suggests we explore liminal spaces…

photo by lynn

“In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between them, there are doors.” -William Blake


shadows, jagged and toothy
hang from limestone gums
as sharp stalagmites reach
up from dark jaws of chaos.

what hideousness in pit of
earth’s bowels? a creature
vicious as vampire bat or
loathsome as cave troll?

dare strap on headlamp
to crawl through dampest
fears? discover passage
into fiery lake of magma?

only blind fish and dank
bacteria can exist in space
lost to the conscious world,
bathed in eternal twilight.

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