N1

Poetry

This road runs as if charted by drunken hands,

Winding across lands shapeshifting from flat crop fields

Fused into horizon’s edge, highlands curving ’round

God’s foggy ankle to jaded settler towns

& native villages that defied time’s advance.

I watch all this behind a back seat window as 

Pat Matheny’s guitar transforms the landscape to

Nabraskan prairie & Colorado Rockie;

Helps me dull exile’s longing & celebrate

A world that is shrinking before my very eyes.

Note: I have decided to use a new format for posts using segments of poetry over images. Let me know what you think!

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Going under

Faith, Life, Poetry

Watch her drift beyond shore’s edge

Body half risen, half submerged

Observed by faithfuls on the bank

Robed white as if for rapture.

Watch preacher dunk her under

The cool, murky shallow & up

Into searing midday sunlight.

Watch sisters receive her with

A towel & embraces 

like a newborn damp & alive.

Watch her take to the road alone

At service end, returning

To her own sacred ground that 

Heals scars water alone cannot

Cleanse, that full immersion cannnot

                                                                  Undo.