meeting love

In the quiet.

In the quiet

I hear your voice

That still

Small voice

That speaks of love.

In the quiet

In the quiet

I praise Your name



Creator of all

In the quiet

In the quiet.

you ask

I come

In the silence of my everyday.


Once a guy said, “Make it good,

I have needs, fix it.”

He was referring to me.


Once a guy said, “It is good,

for a comedian to laugh at self.”

He was referring to me.


Once a guy said, “That was good,

eloquent, honest and true.”

He was referring to me.


I live in this paradox of old and new

Of old feelings invading new thoughts

Of ancient beliefs violating new ways

Of senile emotions plundering new freedom

Of decrepit perceptions pillaging new life


At a time when society is dumbed by media-ocrity

At a time when bureaucracy is short-sightedly obtuse

At this time, in this paradox, I am asked for more.


I, cast as Limbkins, more is not forthcoming.

With icicles running through

Arterioles and the deep palmar arch,

I say no, in my head.

But my heart and hands:

They are doing and being

Something completely different.

Chordae tendineae tugging

As only heart strings can.

Pulling me on

Striving for more.


Can this paradox be something new

Vibrantly creative

Inventive without

Regurgitating yet another wheel

Leave unproductive ways

Fruitless and impotent

On the side of this new path.

It’s in the timing

How do I express the passion within?

How do I let go of the long held defence?

If I show my inside, the yearning, longing…

For more and more of you.

Will they scoff as so many have before?


Saturday of Easter week seems the perfect time,

To think of waiting

Of timing

Of chronos and kairos

The seconds of the day I waste

Thinking of more waiting.


The emptiness of this Saturday

Begs to be explored

The waiting of the disciples

Unsure now, of what they were waiting for


They had left their good jobs and homes

To follow their leader and now…

Well he was dead

The ministry finished.

How did that feel?


Later there would be disbelief, doubt, rejoicing

Barbequed fish and running to tell

But now on this day

Emptiness reigns

How long can a day actually be?

As each second feels like a minute

And the hours take forever to come.


Going back is not an option

Matt cannot collect tax any more

Taking this hollow Saturday

To reflect and pray

And ask what do you want from me, next?

red spot

the spot on the carpet

focused my eyes

a red smudge… lipstick, blood, Heinz tomato soup?

on beige shagpile.

Pressure. Pressure. Pressure

Pressure on my head

force on my heart…

apostolic intrepidity coursing through my veins

before, prevenient, pre anything.

{look up, look up, look up}

resolute missionary

dauntless explorer

one nerve hitting another

in domino effect.

Red spot on beige, the name of an art piece

{look up, look up, look up}

eyes lifted

hand raised

heart weirdly warmed

mind transformed

Soul forever His

Tim or Ruby or Tina

Who will I meet today?

Who in my small world?

I prayerfully consider:

Who is my Tim, my Ruby?

I have my Tina girl.

{look up, look up, look up}

Father, Father,

Help me please


an intrepid explorer

in my own back yard

Give me strength, give me courage

Fill me with that enduring love

and most of all

abide with me this day.

{look up, look up, look up}