Suffer the Night

The cauldron comes to boil
laden with the wounded flesh and broken bones
of ten score generations.
Witches of belief mind the iron kettle
while grim ogres without repentance
circle the fire with hungry eyes.
What was done to the least of these
rises in the lurid stew
while the air fills with the dark smoke
of what might have been.
These are the hours of prophetic night.
Encamped in the shadows
beyond the breaking flames
and cries of the unforgiving
two lonely angels camp in darkness
keeping watch on the infernal.
The hour of sacrifice draws near;
there must be witness.
The fires will burn out, they always have.
When dawn comes upon the encampment
of blackened ash and ill-cast dreams
another voice will speak the dream of the future.
Animals will gather as to a running stream
and wilderness will return bright and untarnished.
Suffer this night and welcome the day.
The time has come for revelation.



Left Hand Watercolor by Eilish Hynes

Watercolor by Eilish Hynes


Guess Who Stopped By

Death came by,
rang the doorbell,
shot me a text.
No one home
I wanted to say
but if I said it,
well, someone’s home.
He waited around,
smoked a cigarette,
checked his iPhone
with the next-to-go app.
He hollered up,
I know you’re there,
let’s get a coffee.
What’s with the ignoring?
I wouldn’t answer,
held the silence
like ice along a frozen coast,
desert dry, unrelenting.
His phone rang..
I’ve got to take this one,
I’ll be back, buh-bye
and he was gone.
I’ll get some counseling,
change my phone number,
unfriend him on Facebook..
but he’s got my address.
I’ll think of something,
the air so cold
and darkness falling.





Morning Circle

In first light, moist air
before day’s heat,
the fresh smell of innocence.
Birds call in the distance,
geese stir and feed;
otter slowly curves
to dive in a shining C
as Earth readies
for the next strain
of the machine.
Tree quiet,
sun upon the sea
breathed in and returned,
we lend ourselves
to the mercy prayer.



Version 3


Simple Stories

Simple stories
rise from the grist
of water washed gravel,
desire revealed
shining and desperate.
We’ve loved, then not,
then loved again.
Nothing complex
but the heartache,
searching for what we lost
along the rock strewn shore
while the river carries on.
Song in the searching,
melody in the water,
simple stories told and retold
while the river carries on.



Simple Stories