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pullout quotes,
acronyms galore –
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A poem from 2002…


My heart beats

For the exotic


The rhythm

Coursing inside me—

To look in someone’s eyes,

And feel them beaming true,

But now there’s You.

My hands wait

For a beckoning

Gentle touch,

My fingers

Entwined with his—

To see, not just believe,

And senses come to life,

But I’m Your wife.

My feet stay

As I sit still.

Sun sets;

Its constance

Echoes Your love—

More than a moment’s song.

You hold a tenderness

I cannot possess.

You hold though


Lets go.

Your faithfulness

Is better than our best—

You save us at our worst.

You shine bright, but I see him.

He must grow dim.

My prayers climb

To Your throne


Their fragrance

You improve with faith—

It must become more

To let go what is past,

Cherish what will last.


Heaven is perfect rhythm
(God doesn’t miss a beat) –
beyond the bounce of runners’
bouyant feet,
a swimmer’s breathing
as the arm descends,
the heartbeat of lovers
(not just friends),

complexity of sunflowers,
hair dripping with the rain,
the clapping of close thunder,
the wild dance of a flame.

Here’s harpsicord and organ;
here’s jazz and rock n’ roll,
each creation – unique motion,
volume, interval.

How heaven must be if sounds and sights
like these exist here, now –
more perfect, yet more varied,
more exciting, and more – wow!

The Deplorable Word

A sonnet for The Magician’s Nephew


I spoke the deplorable word. Now all is still.

My enemies and servants are no more.

And from an utterance formed with power to kill

all opposition, I have won the war,

but single-handed, single-mouthed to deal

destruction on all sides—the armies fall

like ashes, into stone, no more to feel.

Only a word, my magic, ruined all.

The blood is drained to leave their stiff shapes pale.

Only the half-dead sun retains its red.

My masterpiece of winter cries out, “Hail!”

I sleep. You come too curious for the dead.

Children, be careful lest you strike the bell

that wakes the deplorable word you know too well.

The Hammock

Here’s a sonnet from August 2005.


That hammock still haunts me, the way I heard your name

after the breathing, aching prayer and swing,

the answer I did not expect that came

as I, enmeshed, cocooned, swayed in the sling,

that quiet, happy peace, my heart at rest,

believing that its future was secure,

that I would marry you, and we’d be blessed.

My hope for you – of all my hopes most pure.

You have been cold to me since I returned

from Mexico. You never say hello.

You’re all but engaged, for all my heart has yearned.

It casts about, finds nowhere else to go,

nowhere to rest. Why haven’t things worked out?

What of that deepest peace that lulled all doubt?

Reading the Bible in Spanish

From around 2002…


A lightning flash illuminates this cave.

The burning bush sheds light, but now I see

more of those untouched alcoves which I crave.

I now delve deeper into mystery,

the mystery of God. He wants to show

to all His glorious greatness but cannot.

And here, revealed in Spanish, I can know

that God is Verb made meat, astounding thought!

Lightning of language, double-bladed sword,

lays bare to me more of Love’s height and depth.

The rocks burst emeralds, knowledge my reward

in this cave, heart of God, unmarked of breadth.

The Word of God is Verb; His flesh is meat.

His heart to me is opened, now more sweet.

For Boromir

Here’s another Lord of the Rings sonnet.


Too late I cry, “Forgiveness!” and repent.

Too late—I hear the leaves crunch as he flees.

I stumbled on the hillside, madness spent.

I could not see the danger that he sees.

All for a ring I coveted too long,

but for my own good purposes—to save

my people, make our weary army strong

and sure of victory. My cause was brave.

Too bold, I wrestled with him, would have killed,

but he escaped invisible, and I

lie seeing what an evil had me willed.

I’ll prove an honest man before I die,

and shield his friends from poison arrows’ sting,

more pure, though death to me, than that mad ring.