Author: Tim

• Lilies

  One dark night I went out alone and found myself in the mystical show Gethsemane. On the mystical stone I prayed where the mystical lilies grow. Unseen accusers brushed my brow and also I was cut. Cut somewhere in flesh between my arms, somehow most dolorous but then a mystical repair closed back the skin…

• Haiku 3

  Drip. Drip.Beneath the warming snowthe mole forgets the hawk.

• Father, Want Your Son

  The purpose of today is: want your son.You want him when he feels it, thoughHe may not know he feels it till you’re gone.A father-gift is how to do a thing,so give him, daily, gifts he clinksinside his counting-house when you are gone.By this fidelity the world is healed. Fathers lacking gifts spread toxic seed:all…

• Applebees

  Specked with wet but tawny in the sun; red like lips of children as they run to rummage near the roots of grass where, next to ground, the apple hollows, ringed with brown. Ringed with brown and rotting in the green like Samson’s lion, spawning in the heat both sour bees and gospel sweets. Those…

• The Devil Briefs The Court

  I hate this show of blood and pain and jejune gods all wriggling on their crosses smeared with love. I wanted this? I ‘ll analyze with you your legal reams but not this propoganda of the deed. It’s self-indulgent, don’t you think? I hate this show of blood.

• The Charged and Fathered World

  So let the father want, and like, and cry, and laugh, and trim, tweak, craft, and fix, and be therefore solidified. And let him say aloud “I want” without chagrin, but fully in view of his son. And then the son will be solidified and want with electrified want the charged and fathered world and together they’ll…

• Haiku 2

  Icicles climb down toward the porch from the blue dawn.

• Haiku 4

  Silence, yours, not mine: the noonday demon. What ground I have hated I have hated, said God. But alelluia is the desert’s song, the hermits say.

• A Scene In The Death of Liturgy

  The cedars are a green near black: the green of weathered wreaths, the black of twilit tea. The storm is black. Though usually unseen from here , tonight it’s all we see: each tree just seems a thunderhead, engorged. The black of water on the monuments makes marble-grays seem light, seem day, seem kind behind…

• Hollies And The Concubines Of Hollies

  Advent 2016 Hollies and the concubines of holliesdecked with berried pompadours and berried waistsawait their Christmas casting calls.Another summer slides asleep into a poem,but betrothals start at clock-change.Distant kings are troubled. Starlights jumbleand begin to elbow to the front.Merried, berried, follied flipper-flapperedhollies and the concubines of hollies listen for the bridegroom.