My Poetry and Prose Blogology
Deserts of Our Hearts
“…who can we turn to now
to find our calmer sanctuaries
of tranquil deliverance and hope”
Photos Courtesy of Carma Evans
What’s In a Name
“lakes paint living beauty
from soft palettes of peace
they reflect abundant life
embraced within circles
they nourish or preserve”
Photo Courtesy of Rod Sorenson— rcoakley.com
Reflections Upon Our Galilee
“These patterns in Galilee
reflect our sacred responsibilities
as Mother Nature labors
to mend the misdeeds of “progress”
with the slower passions of fresh life.”
She Has a Perfect Role Model
“like Jesus counting each one of his tiny lambs
she will not rest until they are all accounted
and her everlasting quilt of kindness is spread”
My Tattered Fleece
“I was reared amid the highlands
as a disheveled mountain goat…”
Photo Courtesy of Rod Sorenson— rcoakley.com
Infinite Tears
electrified in trembling
voltages of the night
I roll myself over
to gaze into your eyes…
Water and Us
This poem may possess another
abstract or far deeper meaning
beyond the first obvious impressions…
My Albion Basin Paradise
“High in the towering sanctitude of the Wasatch Mountains, overlooking my innocent childhood home, lies a hallowed cirque of life known as Albion Basin…”
Loftier Trails
trails render our escape
they trap our darkness
upon outcrops of repose
and soothe our anxieties
in meadows of wildflower…
Finding Poetry in My Depression
“and now—after many long—scribbled out years
stumbling over words with my heavenly creator
I have finally learned to humbly deal with it—
even through all its unexpected ebbs and flows”
The Digital Drain
“While effective in small unremitting measures, social media can quickly spread its hellish wreak into selfish indulgence, clothed in unbridled egocentric shadows of xenophobia, racism, misogyny, and narcissism. And after a daub of digital numbing—you will never seem to have enough virtual friends and followers.”
Friends In Rivers
“when these hands of friendly earth open wide
rivers of meditation will reflect your soft heart”
Dreams That Become Us
“trapped in places—we dared not venture
fixed in shapes—we risked not touch
arrayed in colors—we often ignored
traveling in lifestyles—we did not understand
and speaking in voices—we failed to hear”
My Mother’s Hand
…she learned to write with her left hand—words barely legible and shaky, like prose penned in earthly tremors…
The Hope of Sunflowers
“…the powers of our blossoming sun
will always defeat powers of dark rage”