Musings and Reflections

We’ve been watching the TV show, Rivals. Basically, it’s about two competing groups seeking to control what viewers watch on television, and the machinations behind the scenes. This show is not for the morally upright; there are plenty of sexual liaisons complete with nudity, but the underlying premise is about control. People, especially women, are not there to be loved; they are a means to an…

you can tell your story, you have the ability to write it, as long as your writing conveys emotional feelings—those deeply human and visceral elements—beyond just the sexual. It should express the raw emotions that drive our lives as we strive to understand the world around us. Music, poetry, or stories can resonate with something profound within me, sometimes bringing tears to my eyes or a…

Running through fresh cut lawns, Feet baptized with morning dew, Free now to roam with green clippings clinging to our feet. No more clocks to watch, No more bound to desks. Freed from shackles of leather and cloth we head to the lake, Washing away the night’s debris, Holding hands as we dive headfirst Into the cool depths, Racing out to our special place Where magic happens with a…

I stand before my bedroom wall Paintbrush in hand. I’m not a painter, I tell Mom She insists, You need to feather it. Feather what? The paint, use the brush, feather the paint. Your grandfather was a painter, Not just of walls, But of landscapes and people. He’d paint scenes, He did one of Gallipoli, A doctor came by, saw his brother Took the painting as payment. But I’m no…

It’s impossible, they say, Watching a bumblebee, Tiny legs heavy with pollen So thick I can see it beneath his wings. This fat little bee With those small wings Shouldn’t be able to fly However, somebody never told her, This humble, bumble of a bee Going from flower to flower, Teaching that nothing is impossible That all can take flight Even when the world says, It’s impossible.

I stand overlooking ancient stones Weathered and worn by time There on this plain they stand Sunk deep into their earthen graves If you listen Beneath the waves and the wind You just might hear your own voice Speaking in the tongues of the lost

Thin places, where the veil is lifted, where one feels the divine is just a breath away, that presence of the Holy One. Some take great pilgrimages seeking out thin places, while others kneel in ancient and grand cathedrals or in the ruins of once-sacred places. Sometimes, if we’re quiet, if we sit with ourselves and listen, we might find ourselves close to that thin place in the midst of our…

Started an online poetry class. Every couple of days, there is a prompt, and yesterday it was about a found poem. So, taking some of today’s Facebook postings, I found this poem. Pepper-sprayedpressured to leave,Death lies behind the walls.Sickness,DiseaseCreep out into the streets.Worm-infested food,Served cold.Miscarriage of bodyand justice.Her cries go unheeded,All cries silenced.In the…

In a darkened room, I reach out to touch, to feel her warmth, even as she grieves the deepest loss. The room is quiet; death has visited, leaving its trace on the walls of her heart. I’m a child, these memories push through the veil, speaking through the years, never lost, just carefully packed away. There is so much to say, so many words I failed to speak. Today, I remember, today I sit here…

Pentecost: the Holy Spirit comes upon the wind bearing fire; it unleashes the tongues as it unblocks the ears; it creates a new world, a new people. This untamed wind, this wildfire of hope, this invisible one, alights on these Galileans, opening them up to God’s vision. This Spirit is not so much a Holy Comforter as it is a Holy Disrupter, a Spirit breaking through into a world of strife and…

I look to you Jesus A tiny leaf buffeted by the winds Hanging by a mere thread As branches sway above and below The branch I cling to holds fast Yet, I am so small, insecure Dangling out here on the edge Trusting in that thin thread of faith Even as the storms rage

So, we bought a new camera, a Canon EOS Rebel T7, and I’ve been playing around with images. Basically, I’ve been trying out the various modes and methods available with this camera. This one is a Petunia that Jane planted in her flower box out on the deck of our house. I downloaded the Snapseed app to help me edit my photos, adding life, color, and depth. I think that photography and poetry are…

Opened A Poet’s Glossary to page 190, I come to the early modern period Where I’m told to see, Renaissance poetry So I go to Renaissance poetry, page 516 Now I’m in a rebirth The meaning of Renaissance A rebirth of learning Sort of like myself today A rebirth as I look through this glossary Trying to understand what poetry means As poets cross between the ages As I look out upon the…

I’m surrounded by books, novels, and poetry books, history, and fantasy, books of theology, books about people, thieves, kings, queens who lord over the peasants, the peasants lording over the kings, worlds colliding in space, in time, horses as heroes, winter as a beginning, a lion roars, a child cries, I can hear their voices, cracking through the pages, voices breaking the silence, telling…

Imagine you’re a windchime No matter which way the wind blows You still make beautiful music

Was it a dream or an apparition? How does one know the difference when sleeping deeply, where dreams break through our cleverly constructed walls? She was there, my mom, walking into the room, not the older woman, lying sick in bed, but the mom of my childhood. She was young, smiling as she walked through that unknown portal. In my smallness, I tried so hard to call out to her, but in dreams,…