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aftermath I didn’t watch the debate last night on purpose. I went to bed and woke this morning to screens strewn with the debris of comments and video clips like empty beer cups and hot dog wrappers left after a WWF cage match. Orange is the new angry. No.
sermon
This is the manuscript of the sermon I preached yesterday at First Congregational Church of Guilford UCC. The text was Genesis 37 and the sermon was the beginning of a series on Joseph that Ginger and Sarah will be continuing. I titled it, "Further Along". Family: it'
poetry
It’s a little after sunrise, an early autumn morning— a chill of hope in the air; the sunrise is the color of stories. Today is your birthday. I’m still keeping count though you are no longer celebrating: eighty-eight. I live in a house you never visited, in a
poetry
I have been quiet for a long time, I know. One of these things I learned about myself is I grew weary of feeling I needed to respond to the issues of the day—and by “needed” I mean allowing myself the luxury of thinking I had something that had
poetry
I spent the day in the yard installing the arbor and planting the climbing roses I got Ginger for her birthday. As I sat in the back yard, resting before finishing dinner, I thought of a poem I wrote as we settled into the house on Trinity, preparing for Ginger&
poetry
the end of poetry month also marks the end of a poet a protester a prophet a priest those are not often captured in one person he was already in his forties when I learned who he was a pastor asking questions that didn’t come up in most baptist
poetry
muscle memory dishwashing always needs a soundtrack so I let my phone play deejay and the next thing I knew I was chewing on a piece of grass walking down the road even though we ain’t go money there’s a place in the world for a gambler so
poetry
nature walk a few days ago we started our twenty-seventh year following the path among the stones along the shore until stopped by the barrier set to protect the nesting plovers today we spent a sunny afternoon walking down to our little harbor and then back down unfamiliar streets past
poetry
penultimate it was the night before though I suppose I could say it was the last night but that is not how I’ve ever thought of it nothing was ending everything was beginning we gathered everyone we could think of in the fellowship hall to tell stories eat barbecue
poetry
discovery the longer I live the more I find I have yet to walk where there are no footprints columbus didn’t discover anything he only became aware of what he did not know Peace, Milton
poetry
practice I spent the evening singing harmony with a pick-up gospel choir— songs I didn’t know parts I didn’t know offering me the gentle reminder that listening comes first, then you sing. Peace, Milton
poetry
zacchaeus when I think of the tiny tax collector clinging to the tree waiting for Jesus to pass by I imagine my father there a short man with low self-esteem willing to go out on a limb hoping love would call him by name somehow my mother is there too