Salvation Creek

Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.

Venture into
that thorny place
a crowd of 10,000
“Glory, hallelujah!”
the preacher’s son
raises a fist of damnation.

A god-like
Holy Ghost happening
he walks the aisles
calls your name
kisses the son of Judas.
——–
In the wilderness
a call to drown
the sin inside, arise
an army, a god-like strength
prepared to battle
you and I.

Earth remains
unknown struggles reside
sordid pain
drowning
knees unable to rise.
——–
God scatters the flock
His sacred hunger satisfied.
You pray
the river surface breaks,
the people floating down
Salvation Creek.

God raises his fist
His thoughts
are not our thoughts
scatters the flock
prepared to battle
you and I.

Waxing Moon

My mind is a jumbled mess. I tripped and fell, on a flat surface, after carousing jagged rocks along the Atlantic shoreline. Now I am without my camera lens. Fortunately, the camera is working. Me, not so much. There is an inner arousal that is not easily calmed.

all my breath
saved in each embrace
-eternity.

I wrote it, so I must have felt it. I desire such peace. And grabbing a few pillows, a quilt and a favored book should do the trick. Replay the waves as they swish through my presence. Recall the gull and heavy-handed wind, carry the landscape home.

Waxing or waning moon?
Should I not spend
two drops of sun oil
on a loyal friend?

img_1495In the brisk
warmth of summer’s kiss
I shouted
towards the hovering freeze.


Oh!! Wake
ocean waves!!
Alive!!
to the violent
and calm.
God crashes into me.
The veil rips
open and through
past and present storm.
The gulls whisper
“Be still!
Believe heart!”
And I let their cry echo the day.

Going on vacation and numerous repercussions.

Santa Fe street art August 2017

Becoming an avid traveler, going places I once only dreamed of, and doing it alone, has taught me many valuable things about myself but one stands out larger than all the others: I do best as a creature of habit.  I am all out-of-sorts and finding it difficult to get back into a writing routine. What to do? Oh! what to do?   

Well, two new excursions are booked. Oh bother! This is one lesson not learned very well but the excitement of driving 1000 miles one way to see my daughter in Boston (Scituate MA) is, well, all worth it.  So I wait diligently for autumn colors and the wind in my hair!  

As for writing, perhaps a few days will warrant something of value. If not, I am cool with that just as long as the view before me keeps on changing.   Next up, U2 in Indianapolis.  

Desert dream, August 2017

Home

A few days
simply not enough hours
our minds
whisked away by time.

Driftless Valley of Wisconsin 7/7-7/9/2017

This past weekend, three days and two nights, was spent at Trillium Farm in LaFarge WI just a short drive from DeSoto WI where I spent childhood summers frolicking in the meadows. It was magical then and even more magical now.  

Sheep meadow.

This momma sheep and lamb greeted me upon entering Hilltop House. The place feels like Mrs. Potter’s residence complete with Peter Rabbit hopping about the 80 acres.  

Vernon County Wisconsin

The trip was picture perfect. Even the weather!  I should mention I left kicking and screaming.  I regret not lying down and refusing to get up.  Luckily I’m still there in my mind and before I head home tomorrow I am living this tonight. 
Illinois State Beach

Americana

“Stop the car!!!!”  I really did not say it that way.  I was much more polite. Here is how it really happened.

“Ooooh! look at that quaint gas station.” I wearing a smile from ear to ear.  Sitting in the back seat (daughter sat up front) I quickly recited a silent prayer he would pull over.  My husband, always so gracious, let off the gas peddle, bringing his hands slight left, asked “Want me to stop?”

“YES!!!!” 

A spur-of-the moment road trip ensued Saturday morning, 7-1-2017.  I packed my camera, a road map (really a GPS but that just sounds unromantic) water and strangely we were off.

It was the perfect way to spend a leisure day, driving along the back roads, where 1300 S intersects with 150 E, on Indiana Hwy 18, a place where life once happened.

May the sound of freedom be heard around the world!  Happy Fourth of July!