Author: Tim

• Aaron’s Lament

  Both fire and water rear erect to hail the march of God. They quiver like Egyptian horses in a sudden rein and prance like circus lions, balanced by a biting whip. Plumb line stretched and sighting down the string, Yahweh trims the extra sea and piles it by our aisle. The desert, steamed and pressed,…

• Auld Lang Syne

  Traditional lyric adapted for my siblings We six have run about the hills and pulled the daisies fine, but slowed to grey and weary foot since days of auld lang syne. Though we have waded in the creek from morning sun till nine, the seas between us swelled and cried since days of auld lang…

• Beatitudes

  Blessed are the poor who work hard to avoid the riches which pursue the frugal. Blessed are those who are silent while knowing the precise words to get their way. Blessed are those who, while languishing in God’s desert, refuse to cross one dune to find their own oasis

• Elizabeth

  Elizabeth, your ears were far from dull for in the first word Mary spoke you heard her silent child. (and so did John.) Elizabeth, your eyes were far from dim; you saw young Mary ripe with news and witnessed to the fullness of her womb before she told her secret. (so did John.) Elizabeth, your…

• Inner Voice

  Every son ends up alone impounded with an inner voice which is the echo of the virtues that his father loved. Or nothing.

• Orgies With The Wind

  This meadow clambers up the hill toward the sun: it marries, gives in marriage, praises marriage — until it joins in orgies with the wind.

• The Sparrows Seldom Peek

  The sparrows seldom peek inside the curtains for my mood nor sunbeams wait to dapple at the dogwood’s foot till I should smile.

• Man, Come Of Age

  My sins are mine, my mea culpa tolls alone for me, it does not toll for thee. And what is sin? We’ve come to know that blood is cells and plasma. Call me, sure, when cameras click a sinner in a frame. Until that time a sinner’s just a name. My mea culpa tolls alone…

• The Blackbirds of April

  From every post and stalk the blackbirds flash their epaulets and play commander, play inspector of the Spring like Washington, his hair still dark, surveyed the upstart nation. The redbud swells and they peruse it. Edges of the field they mark and split-rail fences stand them vantage when the sweet vermilion sweeps the berries and…

• A Bluebird For Barbara

  You asked me why I’d chosen you.You hate to give or get a hollow gift,you said.  You asked me how I knew the girl as gift who parked her truck to stalkthe raptors on the wires.   It was my test.(We two still park to watch the red-tailed hawk.) And I remember how you wept…