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Fortune Telling

(x = space)

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Fortune Telling

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Do people really

Run away

To join the circus?

Did they?

What did they do?

Pull on tent ropes?

Feel elephants

Or other animals?

Sweep and sweep

While learning

A circus trade?

Trapeze?

Clowning?

Firing a cannon or

Getting shot out of

One?

It’s Monday

And in my culture

This is the kind of thought

That people have

On Monday

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Photo by Alex Gagareen on Unsplash

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my heart to give

(x = space)

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my heart to give

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my heart to give

lord Jesus

my worn heart

broken, stitched

machined

hardly new

why should Jesus

want it

but he’ll take it

I think

not because

of its condition

or because

he can renew

but because

he is all love

and will not refuse

love given

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after reading “In the Bleak Midwinter” by Christina Rossetti

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Photo by Marija Zaric on Unsplash x

Dream Over

(x = over)

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Dream Over

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I dreamed

About my brother

Last night

Then my sister

And my mother

Who was sick

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I tried to get ready

Asked my sibs to help

They would

(they did)

I tried to fix things up

As best I could

Then went to work

Where I was testy

With the people

There

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Dream over

I woke up

And feel tense

Old long since

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Photo by thamara prada on Unsplash

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A Sun, a Chariot, a Rocket

(x = space)

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A Sun, a Chariot, a Rocket

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Gee, the myths are done

For a while

New Year’s

Twelfth Night

Imbolc/

Brigid’s Day

Lunar year

The groundhog’s day

I’m going to miss them

Because they

Render truth more interesting

I mean, every day’s a

Saint’s day

Some stories so old they

Might fall apart

Under laser scrutiny

Christopher is one story of those

(and Brigid)

But myths aren’t false,

I mean

That’s conversation

They are stories

To explain

What we don’t know

What is beyond

Us

And our words

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Why does weather

Change?

What is at the center

Of the universe?

What is on the other side

Of life?

Maybe we know more of the

Answers

Now

Maybe we don’t need to give

Gods names

Except where we do give names

Or use the old ones

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The names

And reasons

Myths are still our seasons

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Photo by Cristofer Maximilian on Unsplash

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We Climb the Stairs

(x = space)

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We Climb the Stairs

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Groundhog Day should

Be fun, I guess

Fun is good

We need fun

But then there are these

Shootings from last night

(the news I got

last night)

In schools

With at least

One child dead

A teen

Someone’s child

I don’t mean to say

Forget the goofy

Or excess

I guess

I’m searching for perspective

Phil saw his shadow,

By the way

And by the way

He’s typically wrong

I think on purpose

For being yanked out of

His burrow

In midwinter

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Photo by Bernard Hermant on Unsplash

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https://news.yahoo.com/milwaukee-police-search-suspect-quintuple-161626587.html

https://www.freep.com/story/news/nation/2022/02/02/richfield-minnesota-school-shooting-suspects-custody/9312308002/

https://kidsongs.com/song/me-and-my-shadow/

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Days of Ice and Fire

(x = space)

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Days of Ice and Fire

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My goodness, there are days

And days

So many days in winter

Solstice, Christmas, Saint Stephen’s

New Year’s,

Epiphany

Saint Brigid’s (Imbolc)

Groundhog Day

(Candlemas

more so in the world)

Lunar New Year

All the other new years

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We hope for weather

Hope for seeds

Hope for good crops in spring

Hope for spring itself

A good one,

Only wet enough

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For these hopes,

Having days

And nights

Lighting bonfires

Singing against the cold

Even white madness

In some parts

While in the south,

It’s summer

(we’d only have to look

there

for our hopes)

There are other days

At other times

But winter draws in many,

And they overlap

As cultures,

Folklores

(these days conveniences)

Decide

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We need the hope

We call it SADS to treat

(and must)

But in the old

Of old

It was the awful gathering

(full of awe)

To light the fire

Sing

And hope for more

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To sacrifice, perhaps

Or otherwise negotiate

Life on the season’s

Other side

Bargained fearfully

With god

And god

So many gods

Before we thought

We knew

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photo by Miroslav Škopek on Unsplash

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Boiling Springs Fire

(x = space)

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Boiling Springs Fire

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I caught some

Of the story

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A fire burned

Inside

Above

(fourth floor)

Smoke and water through

All the floors

Of the apartment building

A converted mill

In the town of Boiling Springs

One town away

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I hear details of the fire

Nothing yet about the people

I’m sure I missed

That part

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I used to drive by the building

Hoped about living there,

Each time

Now it’s gone

Or at least

Forever changed

Now sorrow for

All displaced

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The town is small

An unincorporated village

It will be affected

Me, too

And you, too,

As you know about

Such things

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(after reading)

Everyone got out

One cat

The headlines say

Eleven displaced,

Which includes ten people

And the cat

The Red Cross has been

At the scene

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There was a fire

In the village

Two years ago

One person was killed

Welcome that person

To another home

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God bless the town

And all the towns

That gather loss

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https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/us/11-displaced-by-cumberland-county-fire/ar-AATiBcL?ocid=uxbndlbing

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Photo by Daniel Tausis on Unsplash

“Fighting Fire”

Sundsvall, Sweden

not the Boiling Springs fire (the photos of that fire are copyrighted, sigh) but a fire

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Mud-Healing

(x = space)

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Mud-Healing

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Jesus didn’t need

Things

He didn’t need mud

To heal,

To draw in the dirt

To make a point

He didn’t need a drove

Of pigs

(poor pigs)

He didn’t need a feast

He didn’t need

The perfumed oil,

Though he adored

The one who gave it

I am sure

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He didn’t need Martha’s

Food

He didn’t need Mary

At his feet to learn

Though I imagine

He was happy for

Her devotion

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Jesus didn’t need

The Earth

Though he came

To save it

And to give

Too much

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This was

And is

A God of love

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When we love,

So many things

Don’t matter,

Anymore

And what does

We’re willing

If not ready

To give up the world for

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Sacrifice

For service

For devotion

Life for another life,

To dive or run into

Dangerous waters

For rescue

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(the sermon started in John 9, mud-healing)

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Photo by Piotr Hamryszczak on Unsplash

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Below the Salt

(x = space)

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Below the Salt

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I imagine in the Northeast

There is pounding

We are on the western edge

And so did all right

Is there a cyclone bomb

And what is that?

How many are hurt

Because of nature?

How many are hurt

Because of us?

Nature adds and takes away

So do we

We could provide for everyone

All the time

We have the means

Materials

Gathered in by many

Gathered by a few

It’s simply allowance,

A pyramid, a tomb of resources

For the populace

If we drew a line above sufficiency

Safe water, food, good places to live,

The chance to learn,

Security

(none of this is new)

Then profiting above the line

Wouldn’t that make societies

And nations?

Keep reading

And keep living

Keep trying

The pyramid of plenty

Is ready

For you

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C L Couch

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Below the Salt is the title of a novel by Thomas B. Costain.  The title is a reference to social ranking and allowance.

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Photo by Simon Berger on Unsplash

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