I drew a rose
took off my clothes
swam in a creek
went from wild to meek
and down in a cave
the dark taught me to behave
as holy chastisement
with subtle advertisement
and lost my imagination
in the wilderness of expectation
I thought I knew love
though wasn’t looking above Read More
‘Pearl’ by Amaya Engleking
Words are nutrients for the lone poet. She who, in loving devotion, asks for revelations from God, is shown the brilliant design in golden fish-scale scapes layered as soft pearly flakes– rising miracles from the cracked crust of the earth, with each new world existing both for, and because of, divine love. She dips into one pool and each ripple is a new-born dream, manifest as human on earth, as star in sky, as song in space. Read More
Annie Proulx asks, “For who has not heard music at the end of the day, [the most impressionable time] the quarter-light infused by somber harmonies that say everything that has ever been said?”
Yet even after glimpsing –and thereby eternally believing– this revelation, I still chase the black dragon of writing; believing in even stronger than moments that cannot be expressed in words, the ones that only can. There is a profound statement that mystifies the ages in the opening to John’s gospel, and meditating on ‘Christ as God’s word’ carries me to these far reaches of human belief: that not only can we define the indefinable, but it is our duty as writers to pursue the journey. Read More
Photo: Joan Fontcuberta
The mind fragile; he crosses an ocean and all disintegrates into order.
Into her arms he goes; rip, decision, spill. Freeing the border.
The old line awakens into dance, A New One! The rhythm spins.
The beat of every blue shade. Simple: A new wor(l)d begins. Read More
Form. I can now respect it because I am at the point at which the slope of craft unfolds in a rolling wave – a lush Brisanchu knoll of light and deep shades. But before reaching this unexplored scenery, I had to die. And before that I had to know the God within and without were one. And yet, before even that struggle wrought by youthful temerity, desperate groping and inchoate spirituality in the seven-year crepuscular dome, all culminating in one terrifying moment in Hengyang; I had to love and trust a God I couldn’t even feel, but for the myriad wonders of the world, believed in. Read More
Sadness about the angels who must forget what they are in order to be here. Tiny ones gathered in my daughter’s cheek to pad her from when the kindergartner had a seizure and dropped her onto the floor. The incident replayed over and over again in my mind keeping me from sleeping, my husband turned away from me, furious about the whole thing. “Where is your mind?” Read More
Where do I put this sequin when the sequence
Falls like notes from the cellar door?
On my knees searching on the dirty waxed floor
Hands graze gypsy mambo scuff-marks
And dirty martini olive-swords.
Candles glow in distant red bulbs,
My search waxes dim.
How does poetry save the world like God? Read More
I am perplexed by how much my fellow people are letting the culture of our times pervade their thoughts and ways of life. Currently it is much in vogue to accept people for “who they are,” manifested (certainly in Colorado, where I live) as making marijuana legal and highly visible; to market the mass consumption of commercial drones; to let people choose to end their own lives by doctor-allocated poison, as long as two physicians sign off that they are indeed helpless cases. We are creating a culture of acquiescing to base desires because we have been traumatized by the fear of the other side that wants to destroy all personal freedom. But is it wise to fashion a world based on antithesis to what we hate or do not want, akin to a wild teenager doing that which his parents told him not to do for the sole reason of defying authority? I’m afraid that will not lead us to a more balanced spiritual existence — and thus a happier one — but will just give us loads of self-diagnosed “good people.” Read More