• poetry

    chairs

    by  • January 9, 2013 • poetry • 1 Comment

    “the chairs no one sits in”:* as soon as I saw the lines, I thought, “I was going to write that poem” — once again, I’m reminded what’s new to me is not new most of my thoughts are about as original as sin perhaps it’s not about who got there first, but getting...

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    resolutionary

    by  • December 31, 2012 • poetry • 4 Comments

    no matter what page we turn what ball drops or what calendar we follow when tomorrow dawns on us we will still hold the sorrow that slept here last night the hopes and fears of all last year might sit silently for a few hours while we dance and remember the promises we hoped...

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    advent journal: incarnation

    by  • December 17, 2012 • advent journal, incarnation, poetry • 1 Comment

    I saw Joy dressed as a postal worker tenaciously attempting to infect everyone in line up against Impatience in the form of a woman still in her workout clothes complete with jewelry and then I stood behind Clumsy or so she seemed — dressed in faux fur and  fumbling at the self-serve machine I...

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    advent journal: gratitude

    by  • December 12, 2012 • advent journal, poetry • 5 Comments

    I love telling stories. I also love repeating them — just ask Ginger. I do, however, come by it honestly: it’s a family trait. One of my favorite repeatables is one I have heard my brother tell many times and comes from his days living in Akron, Ohio. His barber there was a man...

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    advent journal: snap shot

    by  • December 7, 2012 • hope, poetry • 0 Comments

    the rain has fallen all day like tears or whispers leaving outlines of parked cars and umbrellas the clouds cut the day short and darkness snuck in almost like an old friend who knows all the stories of promise and sadness and who knows how to sit next to you in silence ‘cause that’s...

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    the bible says

    by  • November 14, 2012 • poetry • 5 Comments

    we are made of dust but I’m not so sure — our bones, perhaps but our spirits . . . our spirits are made of the stuff of sautéed garlic the hope of rising dough the laughter of bacon frying the tenacity of friendship every morsel of mortality a reminder to remember from love...

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    sometimes late at night

    by  • October 9, 2012 • English, poetry • 2 Comments

    I find myself wishingthere were no passive voice(an odd wish, I know) but I don’t care muchfor a world wherethings were said mistakes were madedamage was donelives were lost as though the mistakesmade themselvesor the violence happens withoutperpetrators,death without killers too many yearsteaching Englishto sleep well Peace,Milton

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