Rites of passage

There was a man who loved his daughter. Not unusual, but this particular man was not very good at showing emotion, and thought that people would know, by his actions, how he felt.  He knew that this made them needy at times, and he blamed himself for it, but still he could not open up.... Continue Reading →

Homelessness and Hunger

A good way to feel. A good way to be. From Carol Hopkins.


blown down barn

Is God trying to reach me? I don’t know if there have been divine signs or if it’s my natural proclivity to be drawn to people in need, but I have been noticing more often than usual the stories of hardship, homelessness, poverty, and hunger – and not only the physical, but the spiritual as well. Yesterday I was one of many listening to a presentation from a local organization that is doing its best to face the twin challenges of homelessness and mental illness. Last night I chanced to watch a documentary on television called, “God knows where I am” about a homeless woman who starved to death due to mental illness that prevented her from reaching out for help.

I want to help people. But I have no idea how to do so. So, I write it out. To hold all the pain I perceive in others is…

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This paean of adulation and hope from The Feathered Sleep


Sun filigreed through high tree lines

Touching our chosen space with bright finger tips

We swing, irregular rhythm, sometimes your momentum, sometimes mine

I watch you point your toes and know

It is hard to remain calm, not to act upon

Desires bound by respect and difference

You are a forest nymph, a hummingbird

You are a nayad of the lake, your honey my want

I imagine holding your bottom lip lightly with my teeth

Graze your unapproachable grace with whispering touch

Green water is still and birds sound from high

I hear it all

And only the gentle deep of your voice

How you move your mouth

The tilt of your long elegant neck

Sunlight turning your skin into caramel

Picks out the rushing river of your eyes

Glances off the high wistfulness of your cheeks

Your thin tshirt a wrapper, I long to pull toward me

Your fingers…

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At 4:00 a.m.

I skirt the singularity of sleep. In a wide ellipse, I ride alone on her stony moon. I reach I wave I cry My hands I wring These things, they move her not. Overtures from the great pretender.

Hullo again

Awakes, he does, in the foldable bed.  Swims to the surface, breaks water.  Beats the living daylights out of whatever it was they gave him.  Geez, maybe it's been a long time, he thinks.  The daylight smarts his eyes.  There's a vague smell of stale urine.  Pupils adjust, and he sees the sea-green serenity of... Continue Reading →

Missing you

      At the sudsy soapy sink I think, with hands that have a care. Wrinkled fingers, rosy pink, would rather be elsewhere. That eggy fork with yolky tines needs scrubbing carefully. I'm thinking more of valentines, and Christmases to be. The curvature of salad bowls, the roundness of a spoon. They summon back,... Continue Reading →

Charlie’s Angel

I've been in this bed for too long. Please don't let me go like Charlie. My friend Charlie. He got bad cancer and was in a bed for months. I made the visits when I could, bringing his favorite contraband. His chewing tobacco and a couple cans of Molson's in a cold pack. Charlie started... Continue Reading →

Bedroom eyes

There's a mirror on my dresser. The kind that folds. Each night, as I sit on sleep's edge, I cast a covert glance to a conscience that looks back at me. On any night, I might see what age and regret have done. Or, there may be the saving grace of a wistful smile. Remembrance... Continue Reading →

Flo On

Had time for some selective reading tonight, but I'm glad to have come across this one from "The Used Life"

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