I talk you talk we'll talk


September 2016

The Lesson of Saint Francis

The Lesson of Saint Francis


We are all animals in

Beauty, here:


And we need guide each

Other to

A pilgrim path

In walking with the saints

Who would eschew

The capital s


Service is ennobled

(As are all better things)

When we love

To give away

What we have


To share with

All other creatures of

The Earth—


The sky, what’s

Under the water,

And what dances upon

The surface


In the measures and the


Of creation

Saint Francis and the Animals

Saint Francis and the Animals

(4 October)


Eight hundred years

Ago in the

Middle part of Italy,


A person walked and others

Walked with him


But when he tried to preach

No one would hear;

So he spoke his message

Unto the birds

The raccoons (in my telling)

And all things that crept

Or flew through the air


He would return to people:

He visited the pope

He met with the sultan of

The Muslim warriors who

Fought in Jerusalem,


Because he hoped

That peace as a cause

Might overwhelm

The rest

That keeps

Getting in our way

A Birthday Imbiber

A Birthday Imbiber

(in blogosphere cyber)


A year and not brighter

No vision of lighter

A groan in a rhymer

Who needs a pun-timer

The ducks who are eider

And eight-sided spider

A sugar- and spice-r

A little enticer

Each one is a-finer

Than my poor one-liner

Say ee-ther or aye-ther

And make me a scythe-r

So stop, exerciser

The next year be wiser

Monday Duo

Monday Duo


What shall I write about?

What shall we talk about?


It is Monday

Though any day is fine


Monday morning, of course,

Lends itself

Toward silence and slow



Maybe coffee later today

And conversation

Would be just right


Will you join me?  I know I’d

Like that


The privilege of your company,

Quieter delight in your


Cyrillic Alphabet

Cyrillic Alphabet


Here’s what I know, which

Isn’t all that much:


Cyril and Methodius travel

To Russia

To send a unifying story

Into tribal affiliations that

Have been


Sibling-folk murdering each


For their difference


Here’s what the pilgrims


In talking,

That no one knew the word


Each one uttering only

What each knew

And deadly ignorance


Who could hear?—there

Was no way;


Placing sectarian evangelism

Aside (though not

Unloading their first


What the saints gave first

Was language


In a unifying word

All could

Listen to at last


When the target is no longer

Blank, rather filled

With shapes

And hues

Of understanding,


Denial in killing becomes

A challenge

In Impossibility


All stories were told,

Fables had new morals;


All the letters are now legacy,

Spoken with

Living breath each day


The saints are capitalized

I don’t know how

Much they care


And people are

Still talking, if

Through veils sometimes

Fall into Night

Fall into Night


Having slept late,


To my condition


It’s too soon

Now, the three-o’clock

Time when

The day turns

As it must

Toward autumnal



And we notice,

If subcutaneous,

The knowing

Sense of



Inside autumn leaves

We face



To go dry-wilting

Into brown days

Or to


Flame like novae


In glory of

Expiring red,

Yellow tears or


Last bright orange



Dwindling into

Joyful or stressed


Of our

Distinctive seasons



*reader’s choice

My Try

My Try

(exercise for ears and eyes)


Like a dog

Keep a blog

Keep the faith

Like a wraith

Like the sun

When it’s done

With a nod

Turn to God

Need help

Like a yelp

Break hate

Like a plate

To the guv’

Give love

Be tired

When we’re mired

When we’re bent

Like a scent

Holy dent

Let’s repent

As we meant

And relent

Science News

Science News


I write in quiet, almost

in secret, based

on a news story about

our arctic ice


we have less of it now

because the Earth

is warmed


in response,

there will be cloud cover

widening to blanket

all our works and



which will then be

colder, the frigid air

of a new ice age

that, in

fact, we will

have ushered  in


front seats to

a winter’s theatre;


is nature vengeful, we

might ask—and

we may not live

to know,


which is why I like to

keep it silent,

as it really shouldn’t

know our


plans consorting newly


the cosmos;


nature there and


am certain they send

messages to

each other,


while we float on


inside the heavens


Hobbit’s Birthday Note

Hobbit’s Birthday Note

(from in the trunk-folds of an ancient tree)


For all friends of dwarves and elves

Of your esteemed and genial selves,

Tomorrow we’ll hold mirth at bay

To celebrate our Baggins Day!


As antique as this parchment found,

Tradition of who’ll buy the round:


Mechanics, lords, and love-you-all

To join us on first day of fall,

To watch and wary by the end—

He’ll disappear, our Bilbo-friend!

Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑