Who Is The Least Among You?

“Whatever you do to the least of these –

(And lists of least will rarely please for

looking close you'll likely see

you

alongside bumblebees.)

“Whatever you do to the least of these,

You’ve done it unto me.”

Said Jesus and the bumblebees.

Holy Mole!

This here is garlic from China;
it's just like the stuff we grow here -
kinda.

Wordless Wednesday: I'm Brilliant

Psalm 139:12

Last night I slept on my porch,
I did!
In a lawn chair,
in the rain,
I was there;
a raccoon came!

The fireflies twinkled beneath
the leaves
of the Walnut
and the Ash -
small, green huts -
as raindrops splashed,

and I was not afraid
at all,
for in darkness
and with rain,
the heavens kiss
our world, reclaim!

Wordless Thursday: Cat In A Bowl

Wordless Wednesday: Raindrops

Regular People

She looks like Geena Davis
after a year of eating normal,
and she smiles an oversized smile
at the red-headed girl at her table,

while the women at the next table
talk Harry Potter and politics
and take a reasoned approach
to the Bible and the deficit .

Hunting

I am raven; I am dove.
Fly to and fro
in search of Earth.

[                ]

World moves; dead sway.
Pale-skinned, wide-eyed
'neath weight of gray

Water.

Soup broth makes dead fish,
dead men, dead hen,
dead chicks one dish.

Wish

For one green leaf.
Grief across thief
without belief.

Tree

Dead. Rock alive.
Olive branch -
I see, I dive.

Twist

I call Indigo the world’s most luxurious, most mysterious color – and even more so when riding on texture.  I call textured Indigo Isaiah’s waters covering the sea.  And she walked in on twin suede shoes cut from the cloth of night; even the fabric twist across the toe was but the demise of a star - its last breath exhaled like stardust wings beating in space.  Does she know that she wears the foreshadowing of the Author?  I am reminded that I breathe in the universe.  Twist.  I breathe out.

7:55 PM

I try to drive home by seven fifty-five
to keep all the fireflies
and moths and nightbugs
alive.

Dark

Dark is the morning,
the morning I wake
wrapped with wet roses
that hold and then break.
They water my feet
and plant by the lake
my toes and my soul;
tie my heart to this stake!

And voices in tongues inner darkness denies
approve on the dark rolling plains in the sky.

Why I Write

Life is potatoes, and I like it spicy;
Words are like herbs,
Creative and dicey.

You say potato, and I say dill.
I'm making meaning
By words and by will,

But that doesn't mean I just do whatever
'Cause chocolate and 'taters
Is a hopeless endeavor.