God Sighting
I’m sure it happens daily
And I just now became aware
Our sight too often blurred,
Yet surely, God comes
And we see him, though
We may not know
Even then if vaguely
I see the minister before me
Holding out himself must be
The Lord himself in other form
And when I take the host
Consume the transformed bread
Perhaps I realize that in his stead
Stands you,
Or in the grocery line
The…..
Reacting, reflecting on the world around me is part of the poetic urge. If I look at the hillside, burning with autumn hues, words form in my mind, then take shape on paper (or more likely, the screen). Seeing a full moon, anticipating an eclipse shrouded by rain clouds on an October night––what comes to mind? Perhaps hobgoblins, perhaps black cats, (who knows?) for a poem often shapes itself independent of the initial thought.
The crisp air of autumn,…..