Out of Darkness, Light

No hair, no bone, nor mortal flesh,
will ever fill that void,

the aching emptiness
that welts chilblains on the soul,
and fevers burning fingers
with winter’s iciness.

No monument, no accolade
will still the inclination of every artist
to sometimes think to subjugate the will,
to shun the gift and deny the Muse’s tryst.

Something hid’ deep inside demands the dark,
as if but blindered can one truly see inspiration
flicker its tiny spark and in that flicker
find the way to free.

What creation was not born of faith?
Absolved of night we waken to the light.

Shared Bounty


The pond,
its quiet passion lent
with each new rippled song,
so glad for summer sun,
so glad the storm was done.

And I in my vain foolishness
would claim it for my own,
but a fish with a greater truth
splashed me a welcome
to his home.

God’s hand
has wrought such beauty fair
on sky and sea and shore,
What He creates is owned by none
We share this season in the sun.

Broken Promise

I read to you in utero,
whispered lullabies
amidst protest from your dad who said,
“Babies have perfect pitch, don’t ruin it.”

I knew you long before I saw you,
before sonograms and videos, When you
were a mere spike on my metabolic chart,
I promised

to keep you safe forever,
and now I wonder at this acrid taste
as I sink into the dark abyss
of a broken promise.


This patch of ground
all rocks and wildflowers
in those years when grass grew green
on hills untouched by dynamite or dozers,

holds ghosts and dreams
and the sweat of generations.
Here where everything is connected
with an innate respect

we stand toe to toe,
stormy-eyed with distance
that seems impossible to span
until the traffic

from the highway
intrudes into this space
and we remember
that we’ve already lost too much.



This moment
cool and quiet,
late summer evening
in the afternoon

on the edge of a breath
just as it is

We own
this moment;
God takes care
of the will be



Each blade of grass a miracle,
Each autumn leaf
a windblown sigh…

What vision spectacular
is not witness
to its Maker?

Each birth and death
a confirmation
of eternity,

Each new bloom
a continuation,
an evidence undeniable.

Who is so blind
to claim
He is unseen?