The Old Wall
The old wall stands proud, unbroken by many assaults. But the soft green ivy with fragile roots seeking cracks to grow in, assure the wall will crumble and break. So it is with love.
Creative Writing
“The Universe Bends Toward Justice” by Martin Luther King, Jr. / “The Peace of Wild Things” by Wendell Berry
Interlaced by Lucy Bell When our days become dreary with low-hovering clouds of despair, When despair for the world grows in me And when our nights become darker than a thousand midnights, and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, let us
Breaking Free
Greg (not his real name) appeared at my door hurting and shattered. I ushered him inside and gave him a hug, perhaps the first he’d had in months that wasn’t from his kids. “How are you?” I asked. “I’ve been better,” he said, tearing up. I took him into the kitchen and poured two cups
the matchstick girl
the matchstick girl is of no use in a time like this, when it is such a transient flame she carries in those mitten-wrapped hands, shivering. she shakes upon striking, and it’s not helpful to the cause. no, a fire for this task must cement in her hand, holding more steady than that which will
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Voila!
Five A.M. Sunday morning. I’m happy that it’s still dark. With the extended heat wave, every bit of coolness added to the day helps. I let the dogs out into the back yard. Cody, a muscular 56 pounds, looks like a lab, but the one-quarter terrier in him rules when it comes to behavior. He
Poetry Addict
I’m pheening for words Wringing shaking hands Touching tapping fingers to glands Wondering if I’m getting sick Needing the fix Worse than nicotine Worse than anything I’ve ever dreamed I am an addict Addicted to poetry Seriously It’s better at disseminating pain Than a couple of oxy’s Poetry gets deep Excises emotional puss