Posted by: John | November 4, 2015

This Body

Just woke up in a body bag, a body bag, a body bag.
I just woke up in a body,
maybe now I’ll understand things.

Posted by: John | October 30, 2015

The End

Competing, always competing….
But then go to a morgue.
Who knew anything?
Who had any power?

Posted by: John | October 24, 2015

Today’s Questions

How did we take a crap before we had an app?
How can we have heroes with only Ones and Zeroes?
Is it too late to decide our own fate?

Posted by: John | September 29, 2015

A New Mindset

If the Beatitudes were attitudes
for the multitudes,
there’d be less need for Quaaludes.

Posted by: John | September 27, 2015

Mountain & Valley

For a mountain top
experience to mean anything
you have to have spent
some time down in the valleys.

Posted by: Lisa | September 22, 2015

September Haiku

Autumn breeze
billows flags at harbor’s edge:
Dreams take flight


Heavy gray clouds
float in, threatening rain —
Yet Sun’s above


Blue awnings
flanked by red and yellow leaves:
Good morning!


Posted by: Lisa | September 21, 2015


God says:
Don’t make this life
too complicated… just
get through all the stupidity
and silly stuff — then
you get to be with Me.
It’s simple. Just trust.

Posted by: Lisa | September 21, 2015


You know, God, this world
is crazy — You made it so…
While waiting for You,
we do stupid shit. See?
This life drags on and on
to us, while to You
a thousand years are
as a day. Right?
Pardon our stupidity.
We are lonely, depressed —
tired of waiting. We want
You — but you seem
to delay, O Lord….
We do stupid shit
because we’re tired
of waiting — but You know,
we only want YOU!

Posted by: Lisa | September 20, 2015


Born on Ash Wednesday,
the pattern’s set:
celebration is mourning
and mourning is celebration.
The hermitess journeys far
without leaving her cell —
burning within and without.

Perhaps a bit of eye make-up
to brighten the day,
but the nearest color is gray.
Perhaps roasted S’mores tonight,
but the merry flames blacken
amid the fight — ah,

She remembers this joy:
a pleasant life-long task,
a most uncommon vocation —
to suffer, to lose, to cry,
as treasures turn to ash.

Nuns in their monasteries are
never called to such poverty
or distress as the ashen
hermitess within
the embers of her heart aglow —
poised to flash.

Posted by: Lisa | September 19, 2015


Fog hovering over the cemetery.
Very mystical.

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