Pottery. A poem.

Pottery. A poem.

The starting from a lump of dirt, I always understood that part. I mean, pretty obvious, the soft, unformed places, inside and out. The forming, molding, pulling, not so much. After all, who can imagine what a piece of nothing … Continue reading

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On peace, left with us. An autumn poem.

all around, grace
cathedrals
the liturgy longed
for in the whitewashed
clapboard weary
world
all around, mercy
symphonies
the dry bones of
summer finally finding
technicolor
hope
all around, peace
preaches
eschatology reserved
for rough hewn pews
under azure
skies

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One for the history books.

In all of history there’s always been
something looming,
something tragic,
something heinous,
something atrocious
to fight,
to flee,
to fear.

And in all of history, there’s been
Someone greater,
Someone stronger,
and Someone sovereign.

Be still and know, friends.

Be still.

And know.

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