-
Continue reading →: Foot Fall
I’m growing into old. Settle into chairs with a plop. Rise out of them two-handed, thankful for forethought of choosing one with armrests. * There are creaks in the coming and going now. Sometimes it’s the cracks in the wood—loose bolts. Mostly it’s me, groaning. * In the effort of…
-
Continue reading →: Sinking Words
Words fall flat like stones Across the water. A few skips, then sink Into the silence. * It should be a good thing, Words gaining depth Of meaning beyond The undertow. * At rest in the sand Like oysters, Words absorb, quell, Gather the quiet. * All souls like a…
-
Continue reading →: Dipping a TOE (Theory of Everything) in the Lake
Originally posted on Gerald the Writer: Big trees fell into Lake Michigan over and upon each other like pickup sticks. The beach became a trimmed path to wend down more than to lay on. What happened when I was so busy inland mowing my lawn? So much for long walks…
-
Continue reading →: Sunday Psalm
Day broke me open, Birds telegraph each other. I hear. The three day headache gone. The prevention was a vile Of virus. A second poke became a prod of vulnerability. A fever. My swelling arm an evidence Of the world getting under My skin. I kneel with open face And…
-
Continue reading →: Without Birthdays There’d Be No Mother’s Day
Originally posted on Gerald the Writer: I don’t remember the day I was born, do you? But ask any mother about the day her child was born and she will be glad to fill you in. (Imagine a New York accent.) “Little Johnny came on a rainy Wednesday. Oh yah,…
-
Continue reading →: Sunrise on Lake Michigan
Blood orange peering, Cresting the liquid horizon. Rolling out a crimson Carpet on the water. Red bouncing on wave, Burning and snuffed, Curling in the sand, Rapt into every grain. Concierge of a new day. Resurrection.
-
Continue reading →: Sunday Psalm
Lord of the dance, roll out the sun and its shine. Light up the scape with nervous pastels furrowing spring breezes. Let the arias raise like winged praise above the seams. Take our hand, glide us, lead us, light on our feet. Till our dormant hearts. Water us down to…
-
Continue reading →: Carry-ons and Stiff-arms. A Rambling.
Recently, a friend who was slogging through a deep grief, shared some sermons with me. It caught me off guard, because our conversations during walks or coffee doesn’t usually come to specific points. We usually wander around ideas of faith and philosophy with with subtle ambiguity, and a spritz of…
-
Continue reading →: Department of the Interior
Interiority. Huh. That is actually a word. There is a base camp. Tucked in the foothills. Nestled, as it were, in sight of the mountain peaks, frosted and ominous above the tree line. Cleft in view of the valleys where shadows are as much of the landscape as those protrusions…
Gerald the Writer 