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Continue reading →: Tight Words Loosen
Two hands open, and spider leg fingers touched down and touched me. She worked on me. She pushed on knots with oiled syllables. Over and over phrases massaged my backbone. Knowledge loosened into understanding. I was etherized on a table long enough to rise without what ails me. Now my…
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Continue reading →: Jelly Beans. Miss you mom.
All the color. All the flavor. I started hiding them, like my mother did every Easter. On dusty ledges high and low. In tin cups and soap dishes. On picture frame edges. Some of these smooth pebbles to be found during the next major cleaning. What would Jesus do…
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Continue reading →: Death Eclipsed
There it hung, like a jelly bean on a string. It was lighter today as it lay down. The moon shadows fled and death is translucent. The Bright and Morning Star rolled it away, rolled it away. “I, Jesus, have sent my angel to testify these things…
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Continue reading →: Untitled
A jaundiced moon sags, magnified, just above the tree line. A mourning light pushes the death of a Savior deeper into separation. It is a day between setting and rising. It has been years since I have been so moved by this season. Death came…
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Continue reading →: Stationary
Waiting at the station, the platform held me at attention. The iron lines lie parallel and secure with rusty spikes. Underneath were white stones large enough to kill someone. Twin rails, identical, dependent like a yoke to carry a burden. Similar tracks would guide into Auschwitz–Birkenau. Underneath were white…
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Continue reading →: Cross Stitched
He was sewn in time, as are we. Strips of cloth upon his reception. Strips of cloth when he left, and stripes in between. Naked he wore lacerations tightly to his soul. Wounds cross stitched . He was clothed so we could be naked without shame.
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Continue reading →: Cruci-fiction?
Would I touch the open wounds of Jesus if he were to stand in the lonely places of my heart? Would I dare thrust my hand into his side like a spear? Would I gently place my fingers in the palms of his hands? There are places where crucifixion wasn’t…
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Continue reading →: The Maker of the Universe, Lyrics. By Phil Keaggy
The maker of the universe, as man for man was made a curse. The claims of law which he had made, unto the uttermost he had paid. His holy fingers made the bow that grew the thorns which crowned his brow. The nails that pierced his hand were mined in…
Gerald the Writer 