Friday, June 8, 2012


She is bent now
like a tree that leans
paying homage to the earth.

She spins yarns of days
on Colorado plains.
She rode fierce on a horse
putting cattle in their place.

She loved a preacher
in a time when a woman,
stood by her man
like a dress in the door.

She was the stronger,
of that he was sure
and we, too.

She doesn't say 
but we know she is ready. 
Her body betrays her, 
and hurts.

She'll leave us adrift
and we'll wonder
if there's life
beyond the leaning tree.
Tree photo by Luke Andrew Scowen Creative Commons via flickr

"She" was my grandmother, a towering tree till she died.

In response to an Every Day Poems prompt to write a poem using
the phrase "beyond the leaning tree"

Monday, June 4, 2012

The Gravity of Redemption

I'm a firm believer that the Event in the garden back in the beginning could've ended another way. That the dice weren't loaded in the Snake's direction. But the girl eats the apple and Eden is lost. 

From where we sit, it looks like the Snake wins. We are bent, we are fractured, we are crushed in this life. But Love finds a way.

in the place where light began
the Event was not inevitable
horizon was birth,
not a final death 

a black hole bends all light
around an event horizon
a final luminous ellipse
mocks all light and life

gravity crushes
and swallows whole
angles of radiance
from infinite distances
on the other side of darkness
the un-real faces Real
darkness cannot extinguish the light
and Love will not be mocked

Love bends the light
and gathers strands
fractured by the
weight of us

all that has gone before
all traces of the former
are crushed and
swallowed whole

variegated threads
of shimmering light
converge into a brilliant

angels of radiance 
from infinite distances
are redeemed