Jars of Clay


Those words
branded you
as soon as they left your lips
and all manner of chaos
flew about our heads.

Unlike Pandora
you left the jar empty.

Cursing the groom,
you stormed away from the feast
and missed the finest wine
this side of heaven.



Notes on Clay Jars

Pandora’s “box” was actually a large jar (poor translation made it a “box”)
which was generally used for storing wine, oil, water or grain.

These same type of jars were used for water in Israel.  At a family wedding Mary confided to Jesus that the wine was finished long before the party was.  She told the servants to do everything Jesus instructed them to do.  He had them fill the large jars with water, dip some out and take it to the master of the banquet.  When he tasted the wine the servants brought him, he called the bridegroom aside and said, “Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now.”

And Paul, in 2 Corinthians, says “we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure. This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.”



still small voice.
two small words.

and the thunderous storm
that batters and bruises me


dazzling dawn




Once again I was inspired by Whimsygizmo’s Blog and the invitation to come play with words at Play Online – Magnetic Poetry.

It is actually quite a soothing exercise.
Try it!  🙂




Nearly a quarter,
but not quite yet,
I waited,

A mystery,
a gift,
a blessing
which we’d only know,
really know,
as the years wove intricate patterns
of colour and rhythm.

On this side of time
I celebrate with joy
the woman who sings the Maker’s song
and like her Father
creates beauty
with her hands,
her grace


i think you’re beautiful


Little miss(understood) spider
no bigger than a crumb
dancing with the curser
across the monitor,

stealthy cat patience
hunting your prey,
bulldog ferocity
in your tenacious pounce,

I think you’re beautiful,
little miss(understood) spider.

I think you’re beautiful.

Wide of the Mark


The more we learn, the more we find
so many things are left behind.
Diverted energy, wasted time,
unused reasons, unfinished rhymes.
The brilliant piece I meant to write
defies the paper and takes flight.
Everything I try to do
measures half of what is true.

And yet in nature, perfectly,
grows dandy flower and tall pine tree.
Every blade of emerald grass,
Cobalt sky where sun does pass.
A craggy canyon, tadpole’s tail,
A tiny ant, humpbacked whale.
The stars, a snowflake made of frost —
Once created, nothing lost.

Like Father, I would awe(some) be —
To write and paint in harmony.

Retiring Day


Hot and humid,
trails of sweat running down noon,
pesky fruit flies circling her head,
mosquitoes whining in her ears,
weary Day
inhales deeply and terms a gust.

Slowly she pulls her dress
over her head,
tosses her gauze garment into the sky
(where it puddles as blushing cloud)
and wades into the sea.


blogging u

Today’s assignment was a fun one:

Write a post that builds on one of the comments you left yesterday.
Don’t forget to link to the other blog! Your blog is shaped by both your own thinking and by your interactions with others.  If you thought the original post was worth commenting on, that means it struck a nerve.

Yesterday I read and fell in love with Whimsygizmo’s Blog.  I adore her personification, and especially how she clothes the world.  Check out Persephone Puts on Pants and Paper Doll Moon.  Those poems and ideas inspired the above Retiring Day.




Steadily pulling,
you drag us to our graves.

What delight springs forth at birth:
a hope,
a dare,
a laugh in the face of newton.

But each skinned knee
is a reminder
of mortality.

With time
(which you also bend to your whim)
we learn to stay aright
and even use attraction to suit our wiles.

As I go
I will sing a song
of invincible grace.
And by that grace
I will thank you very kindly
for recycling these bones.

For the more you claim
the more love
will create.

Chorus of Dawn


The cry of the hadedah
slices the morning air
and reverberates in the forest
(bouncing from tree to tree like a pinball)
then slowly fades into the distance.

The hands of the small red clock
dutifully march around the ring
announcing every step:
dee dah dee dah dee dah dee dah

The small feline tuxedo
pushes her way from beneath the duvet,
stretches her back legs
(first the right: then the left)
and after a back arch
she dutifully begins her morning groom
rocking the bed with each assault of the tongue.

The rumbling hum of her little engine
brings a smile to my face
and I, too, stretch
to start the day.


The Rich Man


A heart is required.
You gave a stone.
Sons are called.
You chose to be judge.

With the witness of Pharisees
and by the Word you call divine,
(of your own making)
you are thoroughly screwed,

Here they are before you:
each man you ran down,
every woman you molested.
And the children cry out:

How surprised you look.
Not genuine, I’m sure.
“But,” you cry,
“I washed many times.”
And you point at the first
glue-sniffing thief
“Not like him! I’m not like him!”

Exactly.” pronounces the Father.

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