glasses raised to toast new starts
to friends who've come and gone

smiles shared in trust now earned
through redundant pain released

ball reads, "Definitely"
at the question of removing

deadly demons hidden deep
from this year past contained

lonely weeks she can't relive
but won't forget too soon

fingers laced between her own
lending reassurance gained

seasons wait in promised change
new and different but the same

vows to keep before her God
in purity and freedom given

hearts unite in covenant love
to make their new year


Prompt from A Writer's Book of Days: In anticipation of the night.



I don't have a clue what it means
it's like living in a foreign country
with people I don't know
and signs I can't read

I've driven around this circle
so many times that I've forgotten
which exit I intended to take
or where I'd planned to go

In fact I'm no longer even certain
that the exit's even there
or if I'll ever escape this driving
on the wrong side of the road

I know they're out there cursing
trying to push me back in line
but their words are only nonsense
in my misconceiving ear

Water Color

Hues of grey,
and black and blue
and sepia tainted purples
colored like water
on empty canvas
with evocative presence
as if something below
might somehow escape
and follow through
on symphonies
long ago felt:
a random light
causing shadows
to break in the night


From "A Writer's Book of Days": "a random light"


These are the delicacies of a ruined evening...

Her lips were soft,
alluring, inviting
and beckoned
with every word

She tittered on musically
Barbie curves suggesting
her creamy skin might taste
as beautiful as it seemed

Perfectly polished nails
casually combed
through gold-spun tresses
reminiscent of a goddess

She caught his stray glance
as his focus faltered
and made her eyes flash
settling his gaze on mine


From "A Writer's Book of Days": "These are the delicacies of a ruined evening."


The Sanctity of Business

Be still and know
of the struggle toward holiness
of the being and doing
of the prayer of eternity
of the work of the faith
of the trembling knowledge
of the over-worked saint
of the remaining in stillness
of the solitary communion
of the wrestling for peace
of the working 'til He comes
in multifarious multitask

Prompt from "A Writer's Book of Days": Write about something sacred.


Making Our Fortune

we ate Chinese
as we giggled and teased
clueless to where this would lead
as we both should have known
it didn’t agree
but some things are best forgotten
he pushed his plate back
as he stared and he grinned
I self-consciously brushed it away
the lone noodle stuck to my chin
I knew it was dumb
but he knew we were done
and my rumbling stomach agreed
I’d had more than my fill
now regretfully ill
as he tossed me his cookie
and I finally cracked.
“You’ll find here what you least expect.”
I dropped it in shock as I ran for the door.
I can’t eat Chinese anymore.

Prompt: "We ate Chinese." from The Writer's Book of Days


The Prayer of the Magi

One thing I seek:
this star of hope
for tiny miracles
born of light

in the darkness
casting out
all shadow of doubt

One thing I seek:
this wisdom of old
a journey to love
as a worthy pursuit

with casualties
littered with tests
unsung in the quest

One thing I seek:
this simplicity of faith
in the tiniest truth
laid in simple honesty

Hidden in despair
in the dead of night
in a barn damp and bleak
for all who seek

Read Matthew 2:1-2. Write a prayer of the magi as they (you) search for the Messiah foretold by the stars and prophets.



God with us
in these fleeting moments,
sliding from this one to the next~
like cars on ice;
To live in this moment~
the now that was~
in staggering redundant change.

God with us
in the here and the now
embraced in us
in this moment
before it slides away
To something else
where (S)He holds us still
in divinity dazzling
revealing this sign
the glory born
in this one small moment

God with us
inside our flesh
in this spectacle residing
within this gaze
no longer hidden
by the fear in this moment
which changes our future
into love in the now

God with us



When last year January came around
Displaying enchantment in effortless charm
She smiled and flirted, promising more
So I held onto her tightly when offered her arm

She swore she’d be better
More caring and sweet
Than that awful December
Forced into retreat

She vowed to live fully
Open, honest, and true
She promised love happily
To give hope for what’s new

But she’s a cold-hearted liar
And I won’t chase her again
With a heart lost and broken
Forgotten, condemned


The Great Hunter

When I consider your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you have set in place,
what is man that you are mindful of him,
the son of man that you care for him?
(Psalm 8:3~4)


In the most crucial moments of my life, he's always there. Long before my birth and long after I am finished walking this earth, he will continue to hover over the clouds scanning the earth and seeing beyond the these finite moments in time.

My father first introduced me when I was very young. The great outdoors was my place of worship and even then I was drawn to things above. "You'll always recognize him by the three; notice that together they form the center?" I was barely old enough to understand the significance of this ~ nor even to understand love itself. But that moment began a lifelong love affair.

I was always aware of his presence as I grew older. He spent every night outside my window, not just a hunter, but a guardian of sorts. He chaperoned my first kiss and picked up the pieces of my first broken heart. He sat up all night with me, pleading with friends determined to court death before their time.

He went with me to college, my first time "on my own". He promised me constancy in my changing world. He called me to walk with him after the sun went down, wooing me to relax and enjoy the beauty of the world around me in the midst of the business of papers and exams and maintaining more intense relationships than I'd ever had before.

Even when I ran to the other side of the country, leaving nearly everything I knew behind, he found me. I looked up in one of my saddest moments, lost and alone, thinking I might have lost my faith. Even then, I smiled to see him beaming more brightly than ever at me.

I walked the streets of London hand in hand with the man I loved, feeling the contrasting pain of friendship fading. There, he whispered truths of love, promises of hope, and reminders of the history of his presence.

We spoke many nights while I paced the floor, soothing small cries back to dreams. He, a confidant with guaranteed trust, was someone with whom I could be honest about things I couldn't admit to anyone else.

Like me, Orion is on an eternal quest ~ both of us on this never~ending journey to find that which keeps us alive ~ those things we need to sustain our existence. To reveal that which hides in the darkness of night.


from A Writer's Book of Days: "Write about winter constellations."



I've come to need
this ebb and flow
this ever~changing tide

I'd gotten used
to the relentless drip
and the steadily falling stream
trickling slowly over my skin
and washing everything clean

I've felt the drive
and the desperate rush
of devastating torrential storms

I've captured the draw
of being towed
back under and into the sea
or the whirling twist of inevitable drain
as this pool becomes empty and free

I've sung to the tapping
on these rhythmic panes
from the joy squeezed out of these clouds

But all that's left now
is broken and parched
cracking and itching, it bleeds
dying of thirst in the wake of this dust
and gasping and struggling to breathe


It Falls






Heart Rending


After the Rain

it rushes through violently
pooling on branches in drains
in the wake of this passion
washed up debris
caught in gutters of rage
silent phrases trickle lonely
in the storm cluttered grates
to drown in the stagnant
rainbows below
grown from greased run-off
from things that once mattered

in this path of destruction
a blue sky belies
a clarity of purpose
the brightness of day hiding this fight
as the warmth of this moment
casts shards in the light

it's the yielded resurgence
in the aftermath of despair
in the breaking open of this bottle
of undrinkable repair


“For everything you have missed,
you have gained something else,
and for everything you gain,
you lose something else.”
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson



why do we let these moments define us?
to subtly affect how we see ourselves?
as if no one else messes up
and everyone is stronger than we

so if i peel back the layers
and reveal to you mine,
will you show me yours?

they may be vastly different
but see, they're both beautiful
pictures of mercy
images of grace
a doorway to open
forgiveness and love

it's never that easy
inside our minds
where humanity invades,


the reality that waits
is the simplicity of this:
that we pick ourselves up,
dust ourselves off,
embrace the gift in our failure,
and allow room to change.

we all make our choices
in moments of need
in stupidity or greed,
but this reflection is not
the depths of our character
or ourselves viewed in truth
this failed commentary
is not who we are

if we've fallen in this
the responsibility is ours
to help one another stand
confident and tall
and hand~in~hand walk
in this unashamed grace

it's not an excuse
it's not who you are
but you name your mistake
as the weakness it is
and don't give it the power
to define who you are.