If my blog is a testament to anything, it's to the fact of my own verbosity. (And "verbosity" is a testament to the fact that, when I run out of words, I'm not shy about inventing my own.) But a while back, I heard a fun, fascinating little story on…
58 Posts
All posts tagged Poetry
Grow Old Along With Me - Happy Birthday, Jonathan Peter Camp!
My Jonathan turns 30 today. I have thought of a thousand gooey, sticky, lovey-dovey things I could write here, but he's 30 now. He's entered a new era of his life. While I can (and will) continue to be his silly, sugar-sweet "wifey" at home, in public and in print…
struggle for stillness
control yourself. stop. loose your hair. open your palms. alone. sit. think. be free.…
Lyrical Faith
Often I find myself in concert in my car. Air microphone. Head dance choreography. I do it all. On the freeway. In the parking lot. Pulling into my garage. I do it everywhere. For Christmas, my friend Amy gave me two gifts. One was a charitable donation in my name,…
Storm
I blink and in that instant, God is gone. I've never known Him. My sins are cold and wet as seaweed around me. Gulls squeal in the half light of a morning which will never dawn. I am suspended from the prow of a sunken ship and the dead weight…
season's greeting
a cluster of dark leaves and white berries floats like a host of tiny angels in my open doorway, suspended above a face i've memorized, presenting chilly lips now revitalized by the hope of a rendezvous with my own. heart to heart we embrace and tug, grasp, pull-- stretching myself…
Twilight and Mist
As evening fell, a maiden stood At the edge of a wood. In her hands lay the reins Of a stallion. And ne'er I'd seen a girl as fair, Heard a gentler voice anywhere. Whispered, "Alas..." She belonged, belonged to another-- Another forever. Yes, she belonged to the…
A Runner's Bout With Rest
The muscles in my lower back are clenched, clinging to my spinal column like vines to a trellis, but less lovely and more concerning in their gravitational goals. There are no roses on these vines, viciously climbing the ladder of my ribs. I fear a mutiny. You see, I'd grown…