Reaching Life is not possible without an opening toward the transcendent. – Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane Threatened by boot-quake, a pill bug curls into itself and quickens its demise. Threatened by a world unhinged, a monk curls… Continue Reading →
Backward Hawaiian Vacation Waikiki, oasis of sand and skin, promises peaceful paradise, never ending blue skies under which to dream of manufactured utopias meant for tourists. Luaus and macadamia farms founded on beds of lava keep us safe from truth…. Continue Reading →
death Returning home to God in peace, undone from these bones in sweet release. Into embrace of the supreme, the most for which we can dream when at last body’s breath does cease. Like the northerly flight of geese… Continue Reading →
Note to self on the failures of my life Too slow. Too fast. Wrong notes plucked on out of tune guitar. Is failing simply practicing to succeed? Or maybe you just suck. Is this poem really about learning to play… Continue Reading →
3:45 pm, April 27, 2021 Then the Divine Energy formed a creature from the dirt of the earth and breathed into its nostrils the breath of life and the creature became a living being. (Genesis 2:7) The call had come… Continue Reading →
Sestina for an Afternoon Dalliance Piercing ominous clouds, a shaft of sunlight frames two young men on the knob overlooking sweaty, shirtless football players – “A tool,” the red-haired youth claims, “a lightning rod to channel violence.” “No, a buffet… Continue Reading →
To see with the heart shake off your bonds enter the shaman’s cave where no modern convenience illuminates the way follow the dim glow of candle’s flame descend barefoot into the bowels where bushes burn unconsumed converse with spirits who… Continue Reading →
I want my poems to slap you in the face and shake you by the shoulders and shout Wake Up! and if they refuse to be so violent and so valiant and so woke, and decide instead to speak… Continue Reading →
Riding a bicycle in a war zone The photo only shows a muddied hand extended from jacket’s blue sleeve palm up in the rubble strewn street fingers curled, nails polished bright red. It was enough. Seeing the image, her… Continue Reading →
That’ll teach ‘m Oh, look, the near-sighted spider must have said there’s a bit of inviting ground, a cozy patch so nice and round. Thought he found a quaint plat to call his own, but, alas, a cup of coffee… Continue Reading →
© 2024 The Timid Poet — Powered by WordPress
Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑