Eagle Trimming


He still does it
The old bird
Leaves the lake
And good fishing
Watches his reflection
Black and white
Distancing itself
From happy blue
Up and up
Those aerials helping.
Trees passed
In the ascent
Barren rocks the target
And fasting
And scraping of the beak
Fresh and new and sharp
And thinking oft
Of clouds and airways
Way overhead
Seemingly unreachable
Without Creator’s uplift.
How much time there
In the refining
Not the bird’s call certainly
But the waiting
And the watching
Both good.



The second huge upheaval
May come after salvation
Mountaintops have been shared
But the Valley has come
Stinging at first
Rebuked like some wasp
Staying and staying
Though oft the supplications
Mocking and shoving
Demons truly are leering
And damn surely
No one understands
Can offer a scintilla
Of wise comfort.
Alone and scarcely breathing
Panic unimagined
Is the Lord not big enough?
Not able enough?
Not filled with enough Love?
You are in the whale’s belly
Deep down
But some whisper
Suggests the shoreline
Happy hissing waves
Camaraderie of gulls
Heaven’s smile returned.
Death’s grinning clutches
Reversed and running.
Now a wind from somewhere
Kindly sets the sails

In Conversation

Navigating shorelines
by visual aides,
landmarks and dead reckonings
losing sight of the WAY
“deep calls to deep”
in my sleep,
i hear you beckoning,
in silence, wide awake, asleep

Rushing of wind
rustling of palms
i meet you there
the same place
as in prayer
or in David’s psalms
without thinking
in this place…
where my own thoughts
are my very own worst enemies

When i awaken
i don’t remember a thing
but after morning prayers
and the day’s activities begin,
while driving…
i’m walking through waking dreams
and it all comes pouring back in

Navigating shorelines anew
scanning for stranded survivors
looking for tell-tale signs, flares, bonfires

Making some progress
growth is painful
A Truth so evident
in Truth…
i cannot claim to understand
in attempting to
can only under-mind,
the tasks assigned
that i should be more mind-full of

Does the oyster know
the agitation is causing
something new and beautiful to form?
Can sand be held in hands?
and if so,
for how long?
An hour at a time perhaps…
in a measured amount, in a glass?
sand, fire and air, pristine sparkling vessels

In complete immersion,
through no efforts of it’s own,
sculpted by sun, sand, salt, water and tide,
is not the driftwood bobbing aimlessly in the sea,
washed ashore…
Sun dried…unique, transformed, beautiful?

Created in His image,
how can we be anything less than?
but we are, aren’t we?
In our own eyes…
if only we could see,
what you see in us,
And how You love us unconditionally.

We Rise…

To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary. To one without faith, no explanation is possible.”
– Thomas Aquinas

God Bless