tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61572362011-12-27T04:18:46.666-06:00This web log contains little that should interest other readers. It is a place where I store a few things I have written. You might have come upon it accidentally. If so, I hope you will find something to enjoy. Leave a comment if you would like or write me a note. These entries are all to be considered copyrighted. I would appreciate the courtesy of a request before reproducing any entry in print or electronic form.Bloggernoreply@blogger.comBlogger141100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6157236.post-1096858771554562702004-10-03T21:58:00.000-05:002004-10-04T21:46:51.156-05:00

Balanced heftily en pointe at Gulf and Rio Grande— she shleps her load: other states cohere in bond of terror, holding tight to keep from tipping her, crushing Florida or, worse, rolling backward over rounded California coast and falling, tumbling into the libertine chaos of unattached land. Ponderous on her toe, she bears the weight of Rockies and the vast Missouri: civilization and ruin

Lake Jackson Citizennoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6157236.post-1081601328648654452004-04-10T07:45:00.000-05:002004-05-11T17:01:46.780-05:00

The passionflower bursts its bud and blooms so quickly that my inattentive eye looks past the surge of tiny tendril plumes and petals throwing open to the sky. My eye regards the tumult of the bud, expanding like a universe at play (a pulsing heart with passion for its blood) as paltry since it lasts a single day. And yet my heart and eye have felt your thrust into the perfect bloom of passion’s

Bloggernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6157236.post-1072211374966955482003-12-23T14:29:00.000-06:002004-05-11T17:01:31.246-05:00

My father never heard the shepherd’s lute arpeggios lifting over autumn nights the way I’ve heard them, taken song with fruit and drunk their depths and risen to their heights. He never owned the music nor the grace of freedom to explore the fertile lands beyond the fields where labor wrapped its brace around his soul and dulled his splendid hands. He raged with hunger--sought the tender lamb,

Bloggernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6157236.post-1072105434216372632003-12-22T09:03:00.000-06:002004-05-11T17:01:17.580-05:00

On Christmas Eve when I was ten, a sweet explosion raged. My father threw a plum through rusted kitchen screen. He stamped his feet on chocolate squares. We children stood by dumb. The clustered grapes, he gobbed and smashed against the spattered walls. Hard candies hit like shot gun blasts and gave eruption to his angst. He grabbed and squeezed each orange, picked a spot-- unloaded yuletide

Bloggernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6157236.post-1071895555331845122003-12-19T22:43:00.000-06:002004-05-11T17:01:02.403-05:00

With springtime comes recall of autumn's prayer: May harvest nurture while the fields are dead. May grace deflect the foolish things I've said. May winter pass with foodstuffs still to spare. Protect my loved ones; keep them in your care. Now bring the gift of spring in flaming red, a city under siege this flower bed, flaring poppies blaze and paint the air. Their fiery flush compels my prayer in

Bloggernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6157236.post-1071174177030038312003-12-11T14:22:00.000-06:002004-05-11T17:00:50.360-05:00

Oh, lovely Rita, meter maid, was tired of writing parking fines. She wanted something better paid like waiting under billboard signs to watch for folks who break the rules and take them to the local jail. But first there were two training schools and reams of printed forms to mail. Matriculated with success, she took her books and billy club

Bloggernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6157236.post-1071001205760593392003-12-09T14:20:00.000-06:002004-05-11T17:00:37.876-05:00

Dim mirror, counterfeit design to know the vital spirit force of who we are, face out, collect the light where I can’t go; retrieve the brilliance riding waves from stars no longer there but still in evidence of some mysterious force or godly wink whose teasing secret leaves me in suspense and wondering what on earth my sense should think. Good mirror work and mathematics found a faith to move

Bloggernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6157236.post-1070940211428457012003-12-08T21:20:00.000-06:002004-05-11T17:00:26.036-05:00

I. Timothy Martin Phillip parks near the diamond in afternoon sun. Twin boys hop out and run full speed to the field where they straightaway begin throwing strikes and balls past imaginary batters while waiting for the team to arrive. *** Phillip takes Mary’s arm and helps her from the car. She is bent with grief. She asks again why the boy was taken. “Accidents,

Bloggernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6157236.post-1070687207812778902003-12-05T22:56:00.000-06:002004-05-11T17:00:14.006-05:00

She sang and cast the coal black poppy seeds on sterile soil where nothing prime had grown. She risked the spring on ground where only weeds had pushed their roots through cracks in barren stone. A sudden gust cut through the autumn air; the frisking wind brought scent of cooling rain. It whispered in her ear, then touched her hair and turned her windward like the weathervane. She felt his

Bloggernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6157236.post-1070602333462081432003-12-04T23:29:00.000-06:002004-05-11T16:59:37.970-05:00

December’s clouds are pressing down; a howling wind assails the plain. It thunders in from north of town propelling dagger drops of rain. Fall’s lingering blackbirds yield the route and tumble southward plunging fast toward the bands where winter’s doubt persists until December’s past. My apprehension rises higher then strikes a note of measured cheer when hearing on a wind-strummed wire the

Bloggernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6157236.post-1070423964684283172003-12-03T12:45:00.000-06:002004-05-11T16:59:20.666-05:00

Autumn doesn't seem as cool this year. The summer heat outlasts November's length. Threatening rain gives me flash flood fear. The stillness of the air consumes my strength. The pungent haze that filters shade from sun invites its heat which penetrates to bone-- a Houston microwave that gets me done; Thanksgiving birds here seldom cook alone. Some cooler air is carried by a high that pushes

Bloggernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6157236.post-1070387926840910452003-12-02T11:58:00.000-06:002004-05-11T16:59:01.563-05:00

They placed your image high above the chapel floor in stained glass, as if to say that you were wrong, at least in this one thing—some men are angels after all. A few hundred yards from your chapel station stands old Nassau Hall where the Congress met and charged you to help design a constitution. You knew that men, though touched with blessedness, could not control their passions when

Bloggernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6157236.post-1070387875318954472003-12-02T11:57:00.000-06:002004-05-11T16:58:40.810-05:00

Eight inch guns debauched the silent dawn. Their thunder echoed off a distant ridge. The Colorado foothills filled with snow while young men learned the art of cannonade. Correcting elevation, azimuth and wind, a sweep of detonating shells drew dotted lines of ruin across the hills till one projectile crossed the target point and gave concussive proof of marksmanship. The team of boys felt

Bloggernoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6157236.post-1070387722860722272003-12-02T11:55:00.000-06:002004-05-11T16:58:05.153-05:00

Frolic leviathan, dance on the deep. Uncover your face; let us look in your eyes. Reveal to us whether you laugh or you weep. Democracy gives you such clever disguise. We built you from stuff that we found on our shores and trained you to take care of Nature’s best gift. But now in your thrashing you’ve used up our stores. You’ve smashed through our rudder and left us adrift. What else must we

Bloggernoreply@blogger.com3