and.

This is how it will always be.

COVID-Head

It’s real.

Sick Day Tanka

I am so, so, sick

Enlarged Heart

Last night, my adopted son who bears my name met his paternal biological grandparents for the first time.

Sonnet XLI – Christmastide

It’s “Boxing Day” which means the season’s o’er? In ‘Murica, again, we have it wrong.

Don’t Yuck Someone Else’s Yum – #SoCS

You don’t have to like it; you don’t have to eat it. I will.

Inexplicable Incarnation

Who would do /
This / On purpose?

Then What?

In general, I find a great deal of peace and predictability in the turning of the liturgical seasons. In other ways, it’s tremendously troublesome.

Always waiting. Always looking for what’s next. “OK, that one’s done, and I guess it didn’t ‘work’ either. What do we wait for next?”

Punt.

More sleep means haiku

Unwrapping the Gift of Wenceslas

I have to be honest; I’ve never liked this carol much.

Sonnet XL: Refocusing

The bad’s still there – I’ll let the best abound.

There Are No Rules – #SoCS

Opposites attract, Except, of course, when they Don’t.

The Gambler

He took the news while looking bold;
He chose to bet instead of fold.

Time Flies?

My son is thirteen.

2 Buds Sit

One eschews the Liquid Courage that brought them together.

Brightening

I swear I’ve been here
before

On Advent – VIII: Nope. Not Done.

I think maybe this is getting closer to the root of my malaise…

On Advent – VII: Wait With Me

Life cycles.

Sonnet XXXIX: On Advent – VI

I wait for joy. Again, this year, I wait.

On Advent – V: Artificial Perfection

They thought / They were / Making / Memories