there is no such
thing as silence
in the calm
of any quiet
you can hear
hearts breaking
dreams dying
thanks giving
sadness singing
hope harmonizing
losses mounting
faith enduring
grace pervading
love crashing in
listen closely
listen . . .
for your name
your name
mine, too
Peace,
Milton
I don’t know why the thought crossed my mind the other day, other than I had given myself time to do nothing and let my thoughts run unleashed for a bit. What struck me is not original, I’m sure, but it felt significant; it was this: any technological advance carries with it a corresponding dehumanization….
Maybe it’s because I went into the family business. My grandfather, Milton I, was a preacher. My father, Milton II, was a preacher. I am Milton III. In the spring of my first year at Baylor, I walked down the aisle at Columbus Avenue Baptist Church one Sunday night and told Marshall Edwards that I…
running out of daylight it’s not that the night bothers me I find comfort in the way the dark wraps itself around lamps and light bulbs like a custom fit suit I love the deep expanse of the night sky reminding me that there will always be more than I can see or comprehend it’s…
unsustainable the first restaurant where I worked was a disaster from the start the owner had dreamed of a tea house but had no idea how to run one we closed on a Tuesday without any warning we should have seen it since the dining room never filled with people but we kept cooking after…
My dear friend David Gentiles died on December 18 nine years ago. I am still conscious of both his absence and his presence. Going through some old poems tonight I found this one that I wrote after he sent me a note to say he was listening to his John Denver records, a musical love…
I started last night by saying I had seen an article in The Atlantic titled “We Have To Grieve Our Lost Good Days” and the title sent me into poetry writing mode before I even read the article. I also said I was going to read the article when I finished, and I did. Twice….
i’m listening
Thanks.
Milton, you are firing on all pins, my friend…
(As I tell my mom–who is an incredible artist at 80–You know? If you keep practicing…)
Thanks, Nathan. Here’s to practicing.
Peace
Milton