Creative Writing

Writing in the dust

I stumble across writing in the dust,

And in my foolishness I wish it was a message from You.

You know my heart, and know my sin

Of looking for a sign in emptiness,

So I am humbled, but still wish most of all

That You’d speak to me, and tell me

That You are near.

You inscribed on stone and people strayed,

You traced words in the dust, and drove men away.

I want to be engraved on your palms,

For us to walk by each other’s side,

Bound more than a body to soul.

Creative Writing Poetry

At the birth of autumn, the moon and Jupiter and the porch light

Pierce the night, uncovering the thievery of raccoons in the grapevines.

I, too have been given my daily bread and been given what is good –

In these things, I know that I am loved, and feel that I am home.

Creative Writing

I dreamed I held a wounded swan,

And it fell asleep in my arms.

I awoke to find blood

Still fresh from its wing

Staining my soft white shirt.

Creative Writing


Glass cogs in an iron machine

Are all my efforts could ever be.

All the things I need

I grieve –

The cycle goes on without me.

Swinging low from a high-strung tree,

I know this won’t go easily.

Nowhere to go from here

But down,

As far as I can see.

No ignorance nor naivety,

Innocence, nor novelty

Can bring any lasting reprieve –

I’d somehow rather bleed

Than do the right thing.

Creative Writing Poetry

I’ve got an uncomfortable feeling,

Like a toddler’s heels digging into my thighs,

Or like a dream where all of me is moving through molasses.

I just want to close my eyes and sleep, since nothing calms me.

I wonder what it’d be like to have agnosia,

Or aphasia, to see brightness and not call it anything,

To just listen to someone’s voice for the beauty of it.

It’s terrible of me to say, but it oddly sounds nicer than anything.

Creative Writing

In the garden

Lord, shed light on what is keeping me apart from you –

No, I know, I know how I’ve sinned against you.

I’m hiding,

I am hiding in the garden.

Forgive me.

Creative Writing


Today is one of those rare days

Where the clock hands aren’t running away from me, and time takes its time.

Where I actually try

Something that I’ve tried before, and I just pray that it leads to something good.

So, it didn’t feel real, walking on the side of the road

Bordered by dogwood and bittersweet nightshade

Softly battered by the sun, floating downhill.

And it doesn’t feel real, waiting for my bus and hearing the twang of a country music festival float under the underpass to where I’m sitting on my suitcase

And I feel like I’ll never be at the core of things,

Skirting on the edge of the space between places

An electron being traded from outskirt to orbit.


Spring mosquito

There’s a mosquito in my basement

And I wish it would get out –

It’s buzzing round my bitten neck,

The dreadful demon lout.

Thoughts and Entries

Beyond absolute

I think that we will never fully and completely understand everything about God. Perhaps eternity will not be a time where we will suddenly know everything, but a time in which every moment will be spent discovering something new and wonderful about Him and his infinite love, boundless grace, limitless beauty, and unfathomable goodness and strength.

That sounds so sweet to me, to spend eternity learning.

Creative Writing

When I’m not in denial,

I am dirty, the world is ugly,

And every little thing in it.

Life is selfish and love is crude –

I never want a thing to do with it.

Is it because of people I feel like this,

Because of a horrid humanness?

It’s because of a spitting on sacredness

And scoffing at things that are good.

It makes me want nothing, either good, or bad.

It makes me not want this body, or anything in it.

Anything I will have, or have had, or said –

I can only pray for peace with a smidge of it.

There, I would like to have peace with a bit of it –

I usually believe I do.

I’m elated the birds are singing again.

My happiest moments are the occasions

Where I can study the things around me in detail, undisrupted

(A highlight of the month was gazing at the ceiling of a bus,

which is more beautiful than some people).

I really don’t want to be bitter

Toward me or you or the world.

When I’m not thinking about it,

I want to make the most of it – what I have, and what I am.