Thursday, February 28, 2013

Teeth of God

I clipped daffodils,
those little teeth of God,
the day your grandson died.

The rain bent them low
yellow bells heavy
face down.

Like spears in a vase
the cut stems still
take water.

The window light,
filtered by glass,
frames life.

Two weeks on the planet,
we're too weak, to stand

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Mud Pi

Thrill my eyes with mud fresh path,
tree fallen,
daffodil known to slug banana
and branch light golden.

Spear my ears with surf pound, new
creek gargle and cormorant squawk.

Let my feet find mint folds
and flat beach when the rocks spill.

Lungs suck spray gulls play shadow wheels
between fish gulps.

My desk abandoned,
phone face dark,
nearer my God to Thee
not more possible

but still, 
the effort to love, 
easier, with breeze.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Celestial Sandbox

     A stand alone God,
     not alone,
     caws us to sing.

     Music in orbit, 
     heart beats
     the point pounded home.

     Life in light years,
     closer than stars apart.

     Celestial tryouts boom
     behind planets,
     a child in the sand box,