Sonnet on Matthew 11:16-19

[A work in progress. I like parts of it but not yet the whole of it.]

A willful child, I scorned our Mother
She played Her flute but I danced not
She played Her dirge but I mourned not
Unhappy, I looked for another.

In church I found liturgy and incense
Holy men who always demanded more
Priests who sinfully abused God’s poor
Religious pomp offering only nonsense.

In Christ I found a man of blood and tears
Anointed crucified contorted
Love twisted, discarded, distorted
First on the cross then through two thousand years.

Jesus, divinely human prophet man
Calls me to God, Holy Wisdom Woman.

My Dear Mrs. Bennett

[Just having a bit of fun here with a writing prompt to write a letter to a fictional character.]

My dear Mrs. Bennett,

It is a truth
though not yet universally acknowledged
that not every young man
whether of good fortune or no
Is necessarily
in want of a wife.

Nor, for that matter,
is every young woman
in want of a husband.

To speak of people as property
rightful or otherwise
must now make every person
of any sense and sensibility

It is a matter of pride
to eschew such prejudice.

I hope it needs but little persuasion
to help you see the error of your ways.

Though I should not wish to imperil
the humor of your absurdities.

Your faithful friend,


I escape with my life
and sanity, but barely
from the CNN talking heads
too loud, too long
drill through my bedrock skull
melt my permafrost brain
infanticide of all thought.

I seek refuge and repair
among nuts and bolts
down Lowe’s long aisles
but the noise we once called
elevator music
plunges me down
into something like grief
for murdered thought.

I am redeemed, rescued briefly
by an unlikely savior:
a cashier with a lilting Jamaican accent
more music than the alien chords
that invade my mind control
cleave thought from self
more sword than chord.

Right down the road
the library, shiny new
surely offers quiet
thought resurrection.

I sit among others
so many others
in blissful blessed quiet
reading, working, sleeping even
in the quiet cool.

Available comfortable seats are few
but I find one of an empty pair
in front of a large window
no CNN, no shared noise
pretending to be music.

There my mind births thoughts
without contortions or labor pains
with surprising ease
a quiet birth
in a quiet place