Collected Writing: in History, Philosophy and Theology; Poetry, Politics and Commentary, Given in Prose and Verse
The air is warm this morning
Unseasonably warm for October
My windows are open
And Kitty is talking about rabbits
In the quiet morning
Beneath the cool blue sky
The sun still below the horizon
As Venus fades quickly in the light
It is a bright morning
There is a plane flying overhead, though the city is quiet
There is a robin chirping in the tree outside my window
My lady is working at loom, weaving on a hoop
Kitty is begging for butter
Seventy thousand Americans will have died
From complications due to COVID-19
By the end of today
The news is increasingly grim
There are politicians telling us to prepare
Be ready to lose more
Americans must be ready to sacrifice
Like they did in World War II
This time we march into the jaws of a faceless beast
To feed an economy, that is hungry for our lives
As valuable as kibble, scattered on the floor
The world makes no sense, its shadows melting into greater darkness
Welcome the sun to the stage, pale in the morning when it rises
Crashing waves of light, expose what is hidden, pierced on bright hooks
The sun is just another player drawn-up from the dark, to dance the final act
The locus of light, magnified on the spot, like a brilliant deception
How can I express the certainty in my heart, as it catches fire
Every single nerve burning along its branches, the body electric
The heat of the spirit, freed through the long crawl over the horizon
Lifted to another plane, beyond banality and all dichotomy
A lucid Caravaggio at the canvass, in the dawn
Washed in morning light
Sparrows in flight spread their wings
Their flock fluttering
The wind bites my cheek
It’s cold-bright lash whipping me
I walk in the sun
The furies watch me
Crawl into the broken shell
Hollow, as the heart
There is no shelter
From their chiding barbs
The Erinyes
My misconceptions
Empty as the barren womb
As the empty tomb
Promises of life
Bathed in spring rain, streaming cold
By the garden, greening
Murmurs of laughter
Bubble, burst in the light
Nonsensical, trite
The creative will
Burning for the deity
In the morning sun
It is cool in the morning, and sunny
People walking by the lakeside, dogs alongside them
The air is still
The face of the water is smooth and glassy
Millfoil breaking the surface near the fishing dock, by the shore
Listen to the walleye jumping
The sound of running shoes thumping
It is slow on the street
The sky is gray and cloudy in the big city
New York, the air is filled with a fine mist
People fill the streets early and traffic is humming
Going to and from their jobs early in the morning
A fireman stands in traffic and shouts
His booming voice bellowing for the taxi to STOP!
As he guides the big-rig into the garage
Beneath a tall building a half a block away
On 13th and 4th
Observation
My lady tells me about her dreams
Playing string with Kitty, pouncing
The smell of coffee fills the house
It is dark morning, dressing, typing
I am listening, chatting with them
In the hour before sunrise
Observation
It is 3:45 am, there are lights flashing outside my window
They are cherry and berry blue, spinning fast on the bar
Of an ambulance and a firetruck, chirping in the night
Small bursts of noise blurting from their sirens
It is a normal morning on Bryant, across from the home
Kitty jumps down from the window where she had been
Perched on the lookout for creatures moving of the night
The rabbits and fox, and the bushy raccoon
Sunrise in pastels
The pale melody of Dawn
Pink-violet fire
The lake, un-rippled
Capturing the softest shades
A silver mirror
In still life portrays
Beauty surpassing knowledge
A goddess of light
Goddess, beyond time
Seizing the divine, rapture
Grace, in the pure-land
Soft now, she rises
Prismatic-brilliance, light
Across the still plane
Radiant vision
Pale gold in the morning, bright
Rising to her touch
Ecstatic moment
The sorcery of desire
Love’s inspiration
An angel en-fleshed
Sweet as the rose in morning
Quiet and lonely
The Earth-bound goddess
Daughter of Hope, beloved Dawn
Sister to the Sun
Observation
Spring came and it is warm in the house
The hum of the fan mutes the sound of the TV
Of traffic, of Kitty purring, of my lady sleeping
Breathing, in the early morning, minutes from rising
The dark is just beginning to break outside the window
The faintest blue line is stretching across the horizon
Tree bud are popping, the Earth is respiring
Beneath a soft blanket of dew
