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Blue-grey expanse tipped with white

Risings and fallings

Patterned in unpatterned array

Is that not the wave before me

That I set my gaze upon yesterday?

Not so unique as one might suppose

A companion lingering –

Unwilling to allow me to move too far away?

To think so of a wave

Is that a sign of madness coming on?

Or is it just that I’ve been too long at sea

As the voyage drags on and on?




dVerse – Come sail


Garden (ABP 6)

Pathway, Path, Pink Tulips, Tulips


A space enclosed – attended

Tamed – yet in its essence wild

Impression of a wilderness

But loving cared for like a child*

These realms of green haven

Illusions designed by our own intent

Of something long lost primeval

A perfection from which we were sent**




*Genesis 2:15

**Genesis 3:23-24


August Bible Poem 6





Spurned As Dirt


Brick and terracotta

Formed from earthy clay

Work of artisans and artists

Their ingenuity to display


From such a substance – simple

Spurned by most as dirt

It becomes things of beauty

As a master’s hands convert


Brick and terracotta

And Earth-born pottery

Ancient expressions

Of utility and artistry




While this poem is meant to sing the praises of the simple forms associated with mere clay, it is also an allegory on human worth.  If we can have such accomplishments with something “spurned as dirt,” how much more can we look forward to seeing in human potential – even the from those seen as other or less?










Summer House

No photo description available.

image: Copyright Padre’s Rambling

Sitting in the summer house –

Taking in the view

Of the Garden

Homeward towards

Pleasant memories renewed

This vision of tranquility

From the garden haven bright

Like that in Eden’s prime

A time of Adam’s delight

Why do we love our gardens so?

Why do they – we attend?

I think if you view this window scene

You will our pleasure comprehend




Poetics: Looking out the window





Lesson Of Friendship

Landscape, Mountains, Lake, Sailing Boat, Nature


My nineteenth birthday was spent as part of the volunteer work staff at a Christian camp in Upstate New York.  My primary duty was washing dishes in the kitchens, and in particular the pots and pans.  It was a hot and time consuming job.

Not wanting to make a fuss, and to do my duty, I allowed my birthday to pass away virtually unnoticed.  As I was finishing my shift, one of the supervisors asked if I had had a good day.  I responded by saying it had been busy, but not bad; though it was kind of strange for a birthday.

He said that I should have said something, and they would have done something special.  He then asked if I had ever been sailing.  When I replied that I hadn’t, he took me down to the lake and gave me a private lesson.

A sailing lesson
On a birthday nearly missed
Friendship on a lake




dVerse Birthday Haibun


Revolution, Protest, Insurrection, Marching, Parade


Americans have Independence Day

For the French it is Bastille

Revolutions and the change they bring

Can turn the world on its head or heel


In England,  Revolution – was Glorious

Not so much on the Celtic Fringe

Glencoe, and the Boyne did show

How on life – changes impinge


Even in France with all the talk

Of things like “Fraternity”

Heads did roll beneath guillotines

In a terror-filled tyranny


And what of Revolution Industrial?

Smokey factories and clearance of lands

Grown men’s employment lost

In favour of cheap children with little hands


Revolutions are tricky things

Oft times mere actions of the mobs

The ideals that inspired them

Are forgotten and end in sobs




dVerse – Poetics-Revolution


Moan Like An Autumn Wind

Still, Camp, Fire, Flames, Hot, Burning, Wood, Charred


“Was that a wolf?” Elroy asked.

“No.  Too shrill,” Dillon replied. “Coyote, maybe.”

Both men cocked an ear to catch the sound again.  It was a moan, like an autumn wind high in the lonesome treetops.

“No.  It’s not a c’yote either.”

“Well, whatever the hell it is, it’s spooking the horses,” Dillon observed. “Maybe, you should go calm them a tad bit.”

“I reckon, I might could, but why don’t you do it?” Elroy responded.

The whining moan again echoed in the night.

“Well, Elroy, it’s on account of you being better with critters than me.  Besides, I’m the better shot,” he said holding up his rifle, which he was gripping white-knuckled.

As the two lawmen debated on who should step out from the light of the fire, their quarry – the notorious Travis Jackson, lay in a nearby gully blowing over a bottle.




dVerse – Prosery Inspired by: “Moan like an autumn wind high in the lonesome treetops”  Carl Sandburg’s Jazz Fantasia.