Category Archives: Poems

A casual miracle in a deadly garden. An ear, sliced. A High Priests now one eared slave looks down, shocked, at his ear, bloody, on the ground. Then this man, a malcontent, a blasphemer, bends down, picks up the gory … Continue reading →

After he begged his Father to let the bitter cup pass from Him, unemptied, He saw the bloody wine, still. He did not hear cup shatter as He had hoped. So, with a congruence of wills, Jesus took it from … Continue reading →

They had no where to come from. All their places now, erased. Tank track, boot beaten, crushed country roads and boulevards. Smoking hulks of cities, bombed to brick bulks. Small villages where life lived well until death found the farms … Continue reading →

The Ottomans and the Austro-Hungarians hung from the branch, rotting, over-ripe apples to far gone for pie. Time, using millions of gallons of blood and millions of tons of bones, gently marched by and tore them from the tree. Since … Continue reading →

Thank God for the mighty ministrations of His little flock of sparrows and darting swallows hoping the grass, spearing the air as serial killers mass murdering the ant, the nat, the mosquito on which they feed, saving us from a … Continue reading →

Sometimes, the too beneficent Father spoils the child with a gift to many. There is one I might have done without. That, the freedom to turn my back. Without liberty, I would not know I was bound, but safe, eternally … Continue reading →

Shades drawn against a brightening, intrusive sun, we, wrapped in our quilted cacoon, warm, musty from last nights lusty passion, and deep aftermath sleep and this mornings dozing awakening. Were this all heaven is, it would be enough. An eternity … Continue reading →

So, alright, it’s metaphoric or literal. Or, if it’s both, we are mired in the boggy ground of biblical interpretation, trying to find bed rock while stuck in the sucking ooze. This time, I’m claiming “literal” for the fun or … Continue reading →

The strident cadence of the hissing syntax of the slithering serpent. The mini god’s constant re-reference to His near divine worthiness. The repeated “I”. The ever inflated adjetives of self, promising what He Thinks He Knows we need. These predict … Continue reading →

Pardon, Poppa, but I cannot surrender to la Nada. That I live in a clean, well lighted place, with a warm woman and a full larder has no baring on acquiescence to a hopeful “despues”. It is neither easier nor … Continue reading →