Posted in Memoir, Photography, Poetry


A favorite past time is beach combing for sea glass and perfect pebbles. This concrete beam caught my eye. Probably because of my faith, I saw a cross.

My cross
buried in pain
denying me the focus
harboring confusion
blinding my vision.

Washed ashore

It is grace that lets me see again despite the occasional tear. It is the monotonous chore of examining each moment of my life, throwing the defective stones to the “sea” for refinement and forgiveness. These same stones will was ashore  and another person’s worries will be released and soon the worry will vanish. The stone will have been weathered gone.

in a pile of stones
thrown to an inland sea
left alone.


a pocket
of stones
trousers belted on.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s