Author Archives: Ken Greenman

All life ends with tears of sorrow, perhaps, or with the deep satisfaction of the fortunate, with soul deep sighs for all joys: kisses; springs; winter wonders; leaf fall; summer rain birth pain; forgiveness (for evils done with or without … Continue reading →

How weak how foggy how fluid how fragile the wall between hurt and healed how ephemeral is normal insanity a matter of degree stability a dollop of drug hope a held hand owning the chinks in our own armor creates … Continue reading →

God, who is everywhere and within, whose every name is holy, whose kingdom is, whose will is, thanks for each days needs, fulfilled or not, help us to forgive us for our sins for you are forgiving us always, lead … Continue reading →

Two grand trees stand near each other in our woods. One is elm, split base, long branches, trunks, more like, squirrels home in its hollows, chipmunks burrow in its roots. Across the narrow creek between, the other, a maple, single … Continue reading →

Johnny Mac was fourteen carrot Irish, orange-red hair, brown freckles. Skin, scorched nearly pink, by summers sun. Five years older than me, maybe more. I would never know. We could be buddies though, because, as my mother later whispered, Johnny … Continue reading →

That there is chaos does not mean there is no order. That the merlin mangles dove, his talons cracking neck and breast while doves heart still beats and brain knows does not mean Order is not prompting from the wings, … Continue reading →

My Father sang his songs to me, but I, for so long deaf, heard his melodies and words only a decade before he died. So, I had, instead of sixty, rather ten years to learn how to sing our songs … Continue reading →

I need no bibles guarantee of immortality. I need simply to sit and see, growing in the grotto I cut in our woods, a young maple tree, standing among other saplings staring high into a grove of old oaks and … Continue reading →

I used to think, maybe if I can just learn to live until I die, I’d be a very lucky guy, or, maybe, if I could learn to cry whenever I needed to cry, I’d be a very lucky guy, … Continue reading →

Baby Jesus wrapped in burlap. Mary and Joseph softly glow. The nativity, wreathed in snow. We take a moment, ignoring wires, to consider the Christ, sired by the Maker of this winter and this ice. Though we rejoice with synthetic … Continue reading →