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Thumbnail for version as of 14:05, 11 March 2006

O, passionflower,

growing in Mary’s Garden—
your lavender flowers prophetic in unction:

your tendrils showing forth Christ’s scourging,
the three top stigma the nails,

the five lower anthers the wounds,
the radial filaments the crown of thorns

placed on the head of the one
called “King of the Jews.”

O, teach us, teach us, little reminder—
for red stains are His blood, shed,

the style to mock, to offer Him vinegar:
your fragrance spices to anoint,

and like the dogwood,
your taller neighbor

with each flower Calvary’s cross,
your blossoms focus on the sadness:

for, while gladly we walk in the garden,
the joy of heaven is yet to come.

first published in Flutter as “Ode To the Passionflower”

American Flag Icon Royalty Free Stock Vector Art Illustration

Similes about fountains
and just who bought the fireworks
don’t really matter. But I refuse
to rename our parents
with names we didn’t use
or to pretend patriotism was our goal,
above family.

Mummy’s potato salad—
always requested & always made
in Paw’s old Tom & Jerry bowl—
became an important part of our Family 4th.
We all gathered at Michael’s about three,
so our kids could get in the pool.
The pool was a stock tank bought by our parents.

Of course, we had a cookout:
hamburgers, hot dogs, watermelon,
the works.  Someone always prayed before
we ate. And we were silently thankful
we were a family together.
No one mentioned independence,

but sometimes we relived family memories
like wearing Indian shoes, while pounding
crazy hammers overloaded with caps
& having to wait for Daddy to retrieve
multi-colored feather-tops from the roof,
after work.

Often there was a rain delay.
We waited forever for dark every year—
chatting & laughing—
before we decided which kids
were old enough to be trusted
with matches and punk.

published in The Broad River Review

Thanks to Nic Sebastian for my Kreativ Blogger award, i. e., this:


I have to list seven things I love, which would be the following:

1. the smell of cedar trees – the pink-purple seeds, the wood, the memories

2.  my family

3.  Jane Mead’s poem, “Bach, Winter”

4.  railroad flowers.  They grow by the tracks in the oil and the grime and the balast, showing that nature and huge man-made engines belomg together.

5.  mushrooms.  I love to see them grow in the woods and eat them, cooked or raw.

6.  the feel of a book in my hand

7.  God: the Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

Seven bloggers I hereby award the Kreativ Blogger award – you know what you have to do, people:








November 2022