Archive for Spiritual Poetry – Page 2

The Forest Primeval

I am five years old. It is a lamentable
week—or two weeks—after Christmas in Anaheim.
All the way around the block there are
Christmas trees at mute attention on the curb.

Read More

Piano

The summer you were seven
you could hardly sleep
that night before your first recital.
“I’d rather break my arm,” you said.

Read More

What We Have

There are still fall colors here, even in Santa Barbara:
the bright crimson of toyon berries, clustered
against the paling sky, the chartreuse mottling
of sycamore leaves and yellowing rust of bay …

Read More

Listen

A lake lies all alone in its own shape.
It’s not going anywhere.
A lake can wait a long time
for a hiker to come
and camp on its shore.

Read More