spiritual trust

Nov/13 By

                  “You [God]  are the slim crescent of a moon that I see and my self is the earth’s shadow that keeps

lest I should be old-fashioned

Oct/30 By

  The morns are meeker than they were, The nuts are getting brown; The berry’s cheek is plumper, The rose is out of town. The maple wears a gayer scarf,

nothing that didn’t sound illusory

Oct/16 By

The Kite By Judith Beveridge Today I watched a boy fly his kite. It didn’t crackle in the wind – but gave out a barely perceptible hum. At a certain

banned books, broken computers

Oct/2 By

In the Reading Room By David Ferry Alone in the library room, even when others Are there in the room, alone, except for themselves: There is the illusion of peace;

to curb the petty smallness

Mar/9 By

Prayer by Liz Waldner If I were in a book it would be the book in which some lesser angel bemoans the state of my soul and is comforted for

february childishness and a lecture on the man

Feb/13 By

But Men Loved Darkness rather than Light by Richard Crashaw The world’s light shines, shine as it will The world will love its darkness still. I doubt though when the

on this beautiful path

on this beautiful path

Jan/23 By

“The mind can go in a thousand directions, but on this beautiful path, I walk in peace. With each step the wind blows. With each step, a flower blooms.”– Thich

copying out a poem in the kitchen while making mac and cheese

copying out a poem in the kitchen while making mac and cheese

Jan/16 By

Primary Wonder by Denise Levertov Days pass when I forget the mystery.  Problems insoluble and problems offering their own ignored solutions jostle for my attention, they crowd its antechamber slong

january might brighten

Jan/9 By

Swanlight by John O’Donohue If it could say itself January Might brighten its syllables on the frost 
Of these first New Year days whose cold is blue. Meanwhile in this

a possibility nonetheless

a possibility nonetheless

Jan/2 By

After the bitter nightsand the gray, cold dayscomes a bright afternoon.I go into the creek valleyand there are the horses, the blackand the white, lying in the warmshine on a