dogtrax

A place to gather words before they get lost.

“Science investigates; religion interprets. Science gives man knowledge, which is power; religion gives man wisdom, which is control. Science deals mainly with facts; religion deals mainly with values. The two are not rivals.” — MLK

Observe the small child bent over the forest trail, a tiny fist protecting the fragile remains of a shattered eggshell, and then gazing up into the clear day sky -

Neither science nor faith can answer all the questions racing through their curious mind, about time and fate and who'll escape, and who won't, and when, and why

for openwrite

Just four lines, you say, on your ninth birthday; four gifts of some words, in the Lu Su way?

If we were in school, I'd teach you the rules, then urge you to break them and then to remix them

and then to find four more thoughts that might carry you forward on this very day; the ninth year of making in the Daily Create way

for DS106

Every day brings another new dawn, another possibility for another new song

— for Greg

The old man stopped me on the path inside the park and said, before I could stop him, Let me tell you something about this bench, this one here, this bench is named for the man who led the school, the one right over there, a man who had a large nose, right there, but who was a fine man at that school when I knew him, a fine man with a big nose, and something else, too, he had the word nose in his name, too, and isn't that just something to think about, and when I replied that I, too, knew the man, and agreed, but hadn't seen this particular bench in the park before, we were both quiet for a minute, strangers thinking together of the man with a large nose who led the school, right there.

  • for open write

Muse, I know you're always listening to this singing on my own

Muse, I lean to the inner quiet the crawl spaces of this home

Muse, where's your whispering when I need it, all alone?

Muse, you're here, burrowed words, the last lines inside a poem

for OpenWrite

Bent arcs may be beautiful, but they're fragile in the center, where the creases always show

  • for MLK Day 2021

I’m burying words - letters in the fertile soil for lightning to strike

for Algot

Yesterday I stood in the place I remember today -

the bend by the bridge where the brook brings ice from beyond

and tomorrow, I'll be remembering how today turned yesterday;

that river never stops flowing

for openwrite

Winter rain is barely listening as I stumble over words of darkness and the dogs, the coyotes we just heard

Though the storm is ever present and even crawling down my ear, Winter rain is barely listening I'm nothing it cares to hear

Still, I'm talking to the falling sky, to leafless trees and slippery ground; I'm gifting rain a piece of mind, my voice, something to be found

  • for Open Write

‘Poems instead of papers’

we don’t live in a world that values verse

instead, to be a poet contains a crazy concept

or worse, a curse

Reclining into recluse of inked words and paper dreams

we’re always digging in, to root the hurt to mine the seams

— inspired by a phrase reference in Late Migrations (A Natural History of Love and loss) by Margaret Renkl