Meditations on Sand
irritating.
between my toes,
you are
the bane of my
existence.
you are
a curse in my sandals.
you itch
......
The Sea Inside
When the earth was formless and void,
what did You see?
What shimmered in that hush
before the first word?
What stirred in You,
to utter light
into the silence?
When the Spirit hovered over the waters,
did it tremble?
......
In the heart of winter, I stand,
Surrounded by a landscape of white silence.
The snow blankets the earth,
Each flake a delicate touch,
Soft, yet unyielding in its cold embrace.
The trees are skeletal fingers,
Reaching up to a sky of muted gray,
Their limbs bare, stripped of life,
Yet beautiful in their stark simplicity.
......
{ Quest : “ We have set out on a quest for true humanity and somewhere on the distant horizon we can see the glittering prize”- Steve Biko }
EXISTENTIALISM
And there pigeon lay
blood dripping from feathers
glazed eyes wounded
a passerby filed passed
an angry little boy kicked
......
With my hand to the sun
I count them from left to right
Oh, how they scream
this murder of crows.
They dance and clamor
encouraging the sun to set faster
craving the arrival of shade
to offer rest for their tired talons.
......
how does the ocean sculpt the sand
like Michelangelo?
a braided rug
hugs my
soul(z)
like–
precision
(breath)
......
The Sea Inside
When the earth was formless and void,
what did You see?
What shimmered in that hush
before the first word?
What stirred in You,
to utter light
into the silence?
When the Spirit hovered over the waters,
did it tremble?
......
Meditations on Sand
irritating.
between my toes,
you are
the bane of my
existence.
you are
a curse in my sandals.
you itch
......
The Desk
The Desk.
Seasoned, weathered, worn–
the smell of old wood and new finish.
Stains betray the depth of his grace,
how long he has lived, how wise is his brow!
The Desk is a solid rock with space inside–
for broken hearts and thriving minds,
......
{ Quest : “ We have set out on a quest for true humanity and somewhere on the distant horizon we can see the glittering prize”- Steve Biko }
EXISTENTIALISM
And there pigeon lay
blood dripping from feathers
glazed eyes wounded
a passerby filed passed
an angry little boy kicked
......