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Category Archives: poetry
Raising the dead
They say that Elijah raised a fatherless child, stretched out corpselike over his body, breathing for him, with him, breathing until his new life began. His mother, from then on, developed a habit of peering over his shoulder into the … Continue reading
Trinity
Trinity (in preparation for Sunday) When the children were little, and they wouldn’t listen, they wouldn’t play nicely, or tidy their toys, or eat their greens, or let go of the poor cat’s tender tail, I would say, “I’ll count … Continue reading
Posted in other words, poetry
Tagged cats, children, counting, one, parenting, poetry, three, Trinity, Trinity Sunday
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Between
There is a chasm between birth and being where stuff falls, collects and, hidden by the distance and the dark, smoulders, sending up smoke, ciphers breathed in the language of the unborn and forgotten, known only to their God.
Some things ascend (others do not)
The skylark, singing. Clouds; but those that reach the mountaintop fall as rain, giggling and gurgling. A swan, slow to start, duckpond runway, lifting largely, broad wings set free. Incense laden with prayers, pious particles. A child on a trampoline, … Continue reading
Breathing room
I have expanded since she left, as though she wedged me tight, her elbow in my side, that space whence God had made my other self; restored my second lung inflates; her voice still susurrates as I exhale.
Posted in poetry
Tagged bereavement, family, family systems, poetry, self-expression
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The Mime
Living in a portable Perspex box, beauty teases on the breeze, my hand smacks hard against its borders, my lips bruised from reaching for tenderness.
From a great height
The green wooded hills appear moss-laden, springy, inviting embrace
The usual
I started the meeting excusing myself – “This has been an unusual day,” – when, cut short by an out-loud laugh, I wondered how long, in fact, it had been since we talked about anything normal, reasonable, regular; accepting the … Continue reading
Boston marathon
Innocent desire: the race to outrun the bounds of one’s own body. With love and prayers from Cleveland.
Posted in poetry
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