• grief


    by  • August 14, 2013 • family, grief, poetry • 7 Comments

    the first poem I learned was for my father and was the first poem he ever learned: missing has anybody seen my mouse? I opened his box for just a minute just to make sure he was really in it and while I was looking he jumped outside I tried to catch him, I...

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    a word for today

    by  • May 21, 2013 • grief, hope • 3 Comments

    Somewhere I have pictures. During the summer of 2011, a group of young people and adults from our church went to Birmingham, Alabama to help clean up after the devastating tornado that had dredged a path of destruction a mile wide from Tuscaloosa through the Magic City. We drove up to the north side...

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    landing gear

    by  • April 30, 2013 • grief, poetry • 3 Comments

    I realize I have been silent here for a couple of weeks. For a number of reasons, I have found it hard to get here. I could not let National Poetry Month pass without one more poem, however. I have been moved by this image and the story of the discovery of the landing...

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    hymn for boston (and everyone else)

    by  • April 15, 2013 • grief, hope • 3 Comments

    You say you see no hope, you say you see no reason We should dream that the world would ever change You’re saying love is foolish to believe ‘Cause there’ll always be some crazy with an Army or a Knife To wake you from your day dream, put the fear back in your life…...

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    rite of spring

    by  • April 13, 2013 • change, grief, hope, poetry • 2 Comments

    these are days littered with losses the absences seem more present perhaps because we marked eighteen months since my father-in-law died now the news comes of others — one who made me laugh and one who reminded me God laughs, too hard to navigate life without hitting these pot-holes of the heart even the...

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    easter message

    by  • April 5, 2013 • grief, hope, poetry • 6 Comments

    only steps away from the empty tomb and already we’re walking back to the cemetery alongside a friend who must bury his father most of our footsteps it seems are aimed toward the grave rather than away from it — lazarus could tell you that we are like sheep headed for slaughter we sat...

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