
It’s not quite six yet
Which I still find “too early”
The boy’s in high school
I’m still adapting to the high school schedule. That will come. That will come.
poetry, prose, and photography

It’s not quite six yet
Which I still find “too early”
The boy’s in high school
I’m still adapting to the high school schedule. That will come. That will come.
Youthful memories
Comic books
Toy ray-guns
Sunlit days
Free of shoes
Sand covered toes
Burning echoes
Of the first-girl-I-loved’s
Bemusement
And resultant mockery
I wonder
Why suffering
Delights us so?
Such cruelty divides us
A charred gulf bearing
Smoldering rubble
Remnants of hope
So many memories of this journey called life. Painful ones sometimes rise up, reminding me of their place in my mind, my psyche. Hints of underlying angers and frustrations, damage done.

If we all wage peace
Perhaps sanity will reign
Deny destruction

The smoke will soon clear
And autumn’s blessing will come
Scrubbing the air clean

A new beginning
Intersecting new with old
Moving forward now
A new work week starts. What will you accomplish?

wild roses
gathered by the child
captured sunlight

Smoke and haze return
Our murky air unpleasant
Awaiting a good rain

Sitting in dim lightÂ
Not darkness, tranquil
People highlighted by shadowÂ
Candle’s energy dancingÂ
Upon faces, glinting eyes
Music carries wordsÂ
Deeper than whereÂ
They’ll go
On their own power;
Calmness fills empty spotsÂ
Within my soul
Refreshed andÂ
Birthed anewÂ
Seattle’s St. Marks cathedral has hosted compline for decades. Sung evening prayer has roots deep in Christian liturgy and the Anglican tradition. These speak to me deeply, especially in candlelit halls of stone.

Thanks to those who stood
Refusing to accept things
And speak for justice
Enjoying this rest
Last Sunday before school starts
And chaos ensues