Every rare once in a while I write a poem that I don’t despise.  Rarely are they whimsical, but… this one is.  Thanks for stopping by RoP today.

SnowAngels

Lie down and flap,

flailing arms and legs.

Look up into a sunburn.

Hear the girl fly

beside you.

Dreams up in gray cotton

spread into wings.

Because I was feeling all goo-ey from visiting my good friends in Utah, I thought I’d share one morning’s thoughts with you.  I woke up on Saturday needing to need and desiring to desire.  It felt a lot like… being alive; and being alive for just that purpose.  In SLC, Utah you get to sleep in a little because the sun takes a few extra minutes to climb the eastern mountain range.  Or you can wake up early and stand outside stupefied by the sights. I chose the latter.

This one is for my SLC friends who sleep in…  Get up!

Forgotten chunk of paintless sky softening violent peaks

And dreaming of the color-kiss when the sun will rise

An extra half-spin of the clock-face to sleep or to watch

- whichever

Both divine in their own needful right

saying good bye to last night

The Pause.  The Pause.

A demi-hour of deep

Daring me to live in the open

- exposed

And to live for just one blazing day

Until day’s death.

Prediction: Tomorrow’s Ream of Paper post will resume the theme of contentment, featuring a parable.

Easter blooms each morning.

A day does not pass, when it does not try to force its way up.

Up through yesterday’s soot.

Up, just taller than expected.

A medicine to salve the wounds.

“I’ll take one of these

and I’ll call you in the morning.”

Springing up without permission,

Without so much as a query toward my needs.

It recesses in the men given charge

to make sure it doesn’t happen.

It happens and it happens.

Night lights are set as reminders

that Easter blooms each morning.

I happened upon a blog the other day where the author’s theme was, I’ll sum it up, “Lent, and celebrations like it, are the reason for American Christianity’s ineffectiveness.”  I found all sorts of things I wanted to say to the blogger, none of which I will share.  Instead I wrote the briefest story about the man, and am offering it to you today…

So It Goes…

read the story