No card this year, but . . .

Our Long Walk

The late-fallen snow,
hard-packed by the feet
of those omnipresent
classmates whose company
we forgot,
posed no danger, yet with
instinctive eagerness
you held my arm
and I held yours.

We did not know,
as we lingered
in the scattered shadows
beside Schroon Lake, that
after twenty-two years
we would still walk
arm in arm,
pressed close, sharing
breath, love, life.


(Our first date was Feb. 14, 22 years ago; we'll be married 21 years March 10. It's been a great walk.)

Wisdom from the (South) East II

~Congressman who reveal nipples in online attempt for girl also reveal he plenty nuts.~

~Only big half-wit turn down free Cold Beer.~

Wisdom from the (South) East

~ Lazy man, like man with no arms, must exert big effort to be handy.~

~Man who thinks he King Shit have head up ass.~

For Spring

If you'll forgive the expression, it's been a pretty shitty winter, even here in the deep South where God dwells. Spring is on my mind . . .

For Spring

The dark underneath presses
upward in silence, a process
becoming never complete. Soft
drops seep inward, baptism of
hope, hum of life barely begun.

Breath-mist curls skyward
in yearning, daily eternal
mystery, death-life
repeated in signs and seasons
and days and years.

Naked notes trickle and blend,
unlearned symphony
played by slender hands. Speak.
Sing. And I saw that
it was very good.

Howling Skitters

Thank you, NFL, for serving up a rotten plate of Black-Eyed Peas for the Half-time Show. And the side orders of stale Slash and undulating Usher didn't help it go down any easier. It's the morning after, and I still feel queasy.

Handfuls

This is pretty late for a Three Word Wednesday post, but I've been sick this week (really, I've been off-and-on sick since Thanksgiving), so I'm thinking through a haze of generic Nyquil. Anyway, here you go, such as it is. I think I can tighten it up later. Three words were abrasive, loss, handful.

Handfuls

Abrasive days have ground
me into the dust, yet somehow
sharp edges remain.

If God would explain
this toiling path, supposed divine
plan to make heaven mine—

I’ve no ready answers. I can
only guess, or stiffly stand
and shake defiant fists, or make

peace with my lot, take
whatever comes, gain or loss,
as handfuls of grace.

And now a few words from T. S. Eliot

These words have been rattling around in my head for the past week:

And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And I pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

T. S. Eliot, from Ash-Wednesday (lines 1.26-33)