Hello, Friends! I am pleased and thrilled to announce the publication of my book, One Desire: A Book of Collects. It is available from your favorite independent bookstore or online in hardcopy/book format or in digital form on your preferred reader. Click on the below link to order from Morgenstern Booksellers, an indie bookstore opening in June in Bloomington, Indiana. https://bookshop.org/books/one-desire-a-book-of-collects/9780578904504
Every Sunday I post to this blog a Collect that I have written. The book is a collection of Collects written in 2020.
What is a Collect? A Collect is a unique blend of scriptural commentary, poetry and prayer written/spoken with the intention of bringing about change in the speaker and the speaker’s world. The Collect has five parts. The speaker addresses G*d. The speaker shares the aspect of G*d that relates to the expressed desire. The speaker names their desire. The speaker gives a reason for the desire. The speaker finishes with a word of praise or conclusion.Your support is welcome. Enjoy!
I have seen balls turn uphill,
neither rolled nor thrown,
when the world went upside down.
And the streets grew wider
making a way for thousands
to walk abreast holding hands.
Sheets removed themselves
from lion-clawed chairs. Food
and drink appeared on tables.
Warnings turned into eyes
wakening, dressing for time
captured during the day.
And the mudball needed
just a light rub or two
to become golden.
I said, "The flower must die
for the sake of the fruit."
She asked, "Are you purposely
being morbid to make a point
or seeking to pollinate conflict?"
I answered, "Just passing along
the latest report from the stars."
She said, "Without the first stars
exploding into dust there would
be no flower."
Satisfied, I said, "I was hoping to land
ourselves into the midst of an infinite
She said, "If that is the case then let
us dance in the vastness of all that
comes before us."
“I am used to
making ink from my own blood.” - Abdulla Pashew
I sighed with relief when evil passed by
unaware of its existence while mechanisms
for bringing goodness began to turn with the
first bird call of the morning to raise the sun.
Remaining anonymous carries ferocity yet
dancing unknown steps for something
calls the poets to liberate pens and letters
onto pages stained with the marks of history.
Yesterday unbinds the conscience of today
twisting happiness free from the pressed grip.
Gripping hands wrench happiness away,
claiming some divine birthright over all others.
My right to birth claimed nothing and everything
when I arrived from nowhere into expanse.
Arriving, somewhere rather than nowhere,
I learn how to be sadly dangerous.
Danger and sadness merge silently
when blood threatens to appear on white pages.
No blood found on pages, black and white,
means demands have not yet crossed borders.
Borders demand to be crossed so as to
unbind the conscience of tomorrow.
We need differences in order to be most fully human,
Say the wise, articulate theologians of the one g*d.
I spend my morning walking the same path carefully
Placed by the laboring hands of cement workers,
Thinking beyond the advertisements inserted inside
Mailboxes in countless ways by the systems of the world.
A mourning dove coos for no apparent reason other
Than to hear the sound of its own peculiar song.
And the amaryllis sends two blooms colored with blood
into the morning air to ask, What difference do I need?
To be released from the search for constant bedazzlement
into a rest area along the road I have been walking for years.
To cease contriving false romances with those things
I do not own and will never have in my back pocket.
To get out from under the bright lights of the big city
and move, slowly, into a dusk where I can stretch.
"But smaller bundles - Cram" - Emily Dickinson
I said, "On the way to loosening up,
stumbling blocks appear at random
encountering my understanding."
She asked, "Do you want your days
to be as easy as a bird of prey riding
the air, upheld by nothing?"
I answered, "I am looking for a way
to share my joy of living so others
may recognize what makes me smile."
She said, "In this time, the difference
between recognition and figuring out
what matters lasts only as long as the time
it takes for a tear to slide down a cheek."
I asked, "Tell me, did yesterday's peculiar
ending shape the melancholic words
you speak today?"
She answered, "Halfway endings and
unfinished finales and hazy outcomes
always, in the words of the poet, 'Cram.'"