Welcome, 2015. 

May you bring laughter and much dancing; rain in the spring and harvest in the fall.
May each sunrise shout the glory of the King.
May we taste and see, every day, that the Lord is good. 
May our movements and breaths remind the world of Hope.
May our words be salty and generous.
May we always offer peace.
May we build strong walls against fear, and strong bridges into places where Love is needed.
May we have eyes to see the desperation, and may the Lord give us the grace to answer it.
May we remember to seek out the beautiful.

May the uncreated One be glorified through our fragility and weakness.

Welcome.

They tell us

They tell us the war is over.
What does that mean?
They fold up the flag
and shake hands,
they tell us the country is stronger,
but still dangerous,
What does that mean?
They tell us the war is over.
What does that mean?

a spontaneous poem, december 28

Hibernation.

back to basics,

breathing softly,

taking in the smell of snow

and growing strong from my bones

to my lungs,

reflecting on a year’s worth of dancing

a year’s worth of sounds,

which have grown old in the ground

they rest in like roots

taking heart in the spring

an oasis from fools and the folks who inspire sadness-

can you imagine,

to take a break from the cold

only to step into a bog of old papers

and ideas sour to taste,

worst we speak in haste

we speak in pain

we speak in graceless sentences

and break hearts we did not know existed.

For this, I hibernate.

Wait for the snow to teach my soles to dance
again, renewed.

I love this old house with its couch cushions rumpled and the newspaper scattered, baby toys all across the floor, and books, books everywhere.

As I walk towards home from feeding the neighbor's dog, large windows reveal cozy warmth.

This old house, I love.

Peshawar, my heart grieves for you.

Good Old Clive

oh how things have shifted.