Photo credit: Joan Stickles

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Photo credit: @CutterStreeby

Photo credit: @CutterStreeby

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!

Going under

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.

Oratorio

His return was 

not an Ode to Joy,

*

But a quiet oratorio 

publically unannounced.

*

She, a devoted fan, 

was his first listener

*

Reacting, at first, as one does 

to the loss of an old friend.

*

But his voice makes this new tune 

old for her again, resurrecting

lessons at his feet &

works of wonder & mercy.

*

His solo proclaims another hope 

implied in apologues & private revelations.

*

A pre-release track, so to speak,

promoting the real thing.

*

& she carries with her 

this comeback song

*

Ready to be heard by those

with ears to hear.