God is not dead, nor doth He sleep
Enough. Fall down!
Please, bring some tidings.
In case you need some ideas to freshen your list and/or want inside my holiday brain.
a lone voice asking its questions innocently, plaintively, into the void.
let connections define gaps
Look at all those holes…
overnight rain is ~ thoroughly thrumming ~ without meter ~ or rhyme
a symphony of sight – no sound –
as silent fires above abound
Is there room for classical expectations and contemporary frontiers?
good for your brain like music.
God made poetry instead of just adjectives
A plan was hatched. A true “chicken or the egg?” scenario, if you think about it.
Mary Oliver is my girl. always my muse.
complex chromaticity compels me
How can I not “wax poetic”
when dispassionate prattle fails to ignite
the flame of a candle worth holding?
The music made my heart begin to beat
I thought I knew music, but none like this
I make no claim of being more correct than another in theology or orthodoxy, and in no way will I intend to belittle or judge anyone else’s theology, orthodoxy, or lack thereof.
Who I am today is still a work in progress. I think I’ve finally realized I will always be in progress, and accepting that is freeing me to sit at my laptop and tell you (and myself) where I’ve been and where I am, even if that means admitting I DON’T HAVE IT ALL FIGURED OUT.