blessed are we, made a little lower than angels gifted minds that soar and form each thought into the truths that hold us to the earth. blessed are we, made of little more than dust, freighted with bodies that groan and minds that strain and confuse ideas too...
A poem.
tribe noun \ ˈˈtrīb \ a people to be together who we cannot be alone. Tribe is the place we live breathe and have our very (human) being together. We were born to ///be very whole, ///be very loved ///be very known. We long to feel the sweet serenade of love...
Hog Butcher for the World, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler; Stormy, husky, brawling, City of the Big Shoulders: They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps...
My father’s been dead for thirty years but when he appears behind my shoulder offering advice, or condemnation, or a quiet pride in something I’ve done that isn’t even thistledown or tiny shavings of balsa wood in the eyes of the world —“Albie, grip in the middle and...
So come home along the dusty hickory-shaded ruts with scotch broom ablaze and orchards rising behind the sharp green of berry fields. Come on ahead if you can, with your fractures and played out luck, your shoes that have forgotten and had to be carried. Come with...
If you have ever owned a tortoise, you already know how difficult paper training can be for some pets. Even if you get so far as to instill in your tortoise the the value of achieving the paper there remains one obstacle— your tortoise’s intrinsic sloth. Even a...
All afternoon my brothers and I have worked in the orchard, Digging this hole, laying you into it, carefully packing the soil. Rain blackened the horizon, but cold winds kept it over the Pacific, And the sky above us stayed the dull gray Of an old year coming to an...
For God's sake, be done with this jabber of "a better world." What blasphemy! No "futuristic" twit or child thereof ever in embodied light will see a better world than this, though they foretell inevitably a worse. Do something! Go cut the weeds beside the oblivious...
God speaks to each of us as he makes us, then walks with us silently out of the night. These are the words we dimly hear: You, sent out beyond your recall, go to the limits of your longing. Embody me. Flare up like a flame and make big shadows I...
SITE DESIGN AND DEVELOPMENT BY POLYMATH