(“Beyond the Door”, 2023, original encaustic)
The Power of Prayer
Prayer is a lot like making love
Something we do in private
And something we have to figure out
For ourselves,
Similar too in meeting a variety of needs
From solace and satisfaction to connection
And real communion in moments of grace.
But prayer is different too
Because ultimately it is not of the body
Nor really even the mind.
We bring our body and mind to prayer
As those are the tools we have to reach out
But what we receive in reply is beyond
What we can bring.
We may expect signs and words in answer
But if we actually got that
We’d end up wondering if we aren’t insane.
What we get instead isn’t something added
As much as something taken away;
A worry or fear, confusion or doubt.
Like a veil being lifted
To reveal a less obscured view
Of our true nature.
How this happens isn’t nearly as important
As simply that it does.
(9/3/25)
During a season of writer's block,
my pencil idly lays...
My notebook rests untouched on
my desk for days...
Whenever I receive a message
I don't know what to say in reply,
Frustrated with a loss for words,
Tears start to well up in my eyes.
Where is that key
to unlock the words?
When Holmes ejaculated,
'It doesn't take a brilliant detective
to identify many of the people
on this planet are damaged or defective,'
Dr. Watson was heard to observe,
'Never a truer word spoken.
Most we meet, at 221B Baker street,
are utterly, if not completely, broken.
Psychologists reason, 'Conditioning's the cause
for them to follow such absurd routines,'
but it's my considered and confirmed belief,
insanity really and truly runs in the genes.'
'pon reflection, in the blink of an eye,
quoth Sherlock in reply,
'All the King's horses and all the King's men,
couldn't put Humpty together again,
and the same goes for those we know.
But if I'm wrong on that, I'll eat your bowler hat,
or my deerstalker chapeau.'
Tigers in the tall grass.
Bruins in the buckwheat.
Sirens, sing of sassafras!
Eagles, time to eat...
Linger, O my looking-glass...
Red run in reply.
Languid liquor, poison gas!
Death, glance at me sly...
Frankincense burned on the tomb?
Ashes, coat the walls.
Belladonna, how you bloom!
Funeral, how ye palls!
Pyramid, best to get rid?
Gold on rim, crater?
Hell and Heaven, hid or bid?
Only if you're sure!
Wind, over the atolls fly!
Cold as coffee fields!
O my Spartans, don't be shy!
Win or on thy shields!
Forbidden City, thy birth?
Life, what are you worth?
Decency, dismay, thy dearth!
Estuary? Firth!
Honed like blades of iron!
Shining in the air!
O chessmasters, sac the pawn!
Tortoise, eat the hare!
Heaven and Hell, apply. When?
Beginning again!
Coyote, doth fear the hen?
One day out of ten...
Echo
I never get no letters.
Even my shadow don't
follow me around no more.
I've posted many
notes to you,
cried out in the night,
hummed our tune,
sobbed.
But all I hear is echoes:
"Return to Sender"
"Address unknown,"
"No such number,"
"No such zone."
I opened these letters.
Heard what the echoes
said in reply,
but there's only
what I wrote to you,
what I spoke to you,
what I screamed out at you,
when I was alone,
which I always am.
Why can't these echoes
lie for once, just once, just once?
To give me something back, back, back!
I've tried and tried and tried.
I've cried and cried and cried.
Me shadows and me echoes
are the only friends I have.
Sometimes I close my eyes,
I pretend I'm alright.
But it's never ever, never ever enough,
'Cause my echo, echo, echo,
my shadow, shadow, shadow
are in the 'Lost and Found'
but alas, I have long since
lost the address!
Hello, hello, hello, hello!
Anybody out there,
seen my shadow,
my echo
Lost!
I stand before your door with trembling fist,
the wood worn smooth by lovers braver, whole.
Yet still, I knock-- a hesitant insist,
a hollow echo seeking its own toll.
Your heart is open wide beneath my hand,
its pulse a plea, unguarded in reply.
But fear has carved a fortress where I stand,
each stone a promise not to break or try.
You offer me the rawness of your name--
a melody too bright, too fierce to hold--
while I, encased in shadow, drown the flame,
still haunted by a love that once grew cold.
I knock, though every tap is laced with dread,
each cadence stifling what wants to rise.
My echoes bruise your chest, your breath unsaid--
I see the aching written in your eyes.
Yet chains are safe; they bind, but they protect--
or so I tell myself to mask the cost.
For every door I’ve left closed and unchecked
was never truly guarding what I’d lost.
Your heart remains, patient and bruised with weight,
while I, a coward trembling in disguise,
stand knocking, loving-- but too scared of fate,
to open wide and let our echoes rise.
In the wild, grey wilderness of gealtach mind
madwoman's scáth, shadow self, I unwind
sraith scream echoes,
physics contorted in taibhse pain
As I walk the ridge, druím,
of my own private descendant's brain
The festival of the dead, Samhain's hollow night
marbh, dead weight presses,
sack of bones, devoid of light
The ainnir, maiden, of youth and love, now lost
uaigneas, loneliness, that gapes, a void,
a dark abyss, an endless ocean
But like a díthcheannaithe, I rise,
headless, free In the dorchadas,
darkness, of my deepest, most elusive me
neach, creature, reborn from ashes,
from the burnt-out core
mad spirit, that whispers secrets to the wind,
and yawns in reply
NURSERY RHYME for today
Dumpty one day met Alice in a looking glass scene.....
'When I use a word ' Humpty to this lass did say
'it means just what I choose it to mean
— neither more nor less'—
...an embryo politician in training I guess!
'Can a word mean so many different things' observed dear Alice in reply
'which is to be master — that's all.' riposted H D with a sigh,
in a comment still so true of 'body politic' today !
...'what is better ' ....truth... or little white lie'
I am a cob swan and I grace the lake
With my pen, who is my lifelong soulmate
Soon the cutest young cygnets will emerge
A major attraction upon the earth.
Have a stride beside the tulips with me
A lovelier vision there'll never be
I nod to the beauties, passing 'em by
And blink them a wink from my roving eye.
A wink is as good as a kiss from me
My beak is much too large, obviously
Tulips, they shiver and shake in reply
How I love the tulips that I glide by.
Tulips all have their own unique splendour
I couldn't decide which one I would opt for
Borders of tulips arouse my delight
When gliding on the lake, morning to night.
This is my swan cantata, sung with glee
Come along hearties, sing aloud with me
It's healthy for lungs, you're sure to agree
When strolling beside tulips merrily.
warhol's marilyn had everything
but just a flaw...
she was ever so unsure
hopper's lady
of the empy chair...
with such sadness in her stare
michelangelo's girl
..less a picture of sleep
more of piety and grief
whistler ..his ma's own dear butterfly..
but made her more famous..in reply
seurat's lady's gaze ..disppears into the haze
...did seurat miss the point
watteau's black beauty in chalk
red,black and white..
to fill us with delight
leighton's languishing lady ..all admire
her eye filled with such desire
The phone rang just past 5 this morning.
To myself, I asked, "Who must this be calling?"
In reply to my 'Hello', came a serious reply.
There was a strong male voice with a happy
greeting saying,
"My name is Christmas.
I have been sent to make serious requests.
I'm in search of the spirit of giving.
Listen well if to you God is speaking.
Missions of mercy await any who is willing.
Acts of kindness await any who is loving.
Be prepared to open your heart to someone knocking.
Listen to the hearts of those who are weeping.
Be mindful of someone on the streets walking.
Beware of someone on the sidewalk sleeping".
120823PS
In reply to Graig's contest using the example he supplied, with minimum effort on my part.
She signed her name, "Mary"
And she knew that she'd been had
Now, she'd never get the A
So she took it on the Lam....................................b
O for the heart of a young child,
Like gentle Jesus meek and mild.
Who daily lifts their mother’s heart,
with thankful words which joy imparts.
As earthly parents long to hear,
the grateful words their children share.
So, God our Father’s heart is pleased,
when by gratitude our hearts are seized.
Take time to pause and celebrate,
Let praise and thanks your heart indwell.
For life, good health, and daily bread,
make sure your prayers of praise are said.
Your Father all your needs supply,
Give thanks and praises in reply.
This attitude will lift your mood,
and nourish health as much as food.
A grateful heart is medicine,
for feelings of despair and dread.
When prayers of thanks and praise are said,
the heart is filled with joy instead.
An attitude of gratitude,
Is not a pretty platitude.
If you make these four words your creed,
a life of peace and joy you’ll lead.
the screen door closes with a rattle
like a man trying to throw Yahtzee
despite the odds
shortly after, the familiar footfall of my father
calling ‘Baba boy, baba boy’ to me on the porch
I life my mug in reply, filled with hot coffee,
he fills the watering can with cold water
a low breeze rustles the fronds of a palm tree
father pours water on transplanted roots. it grows here
despite the odds
he was ..her own dear butterfly-
&made her more famous,in reply
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