Pilgrim Path

This blog is the work of a seeker and poet. Walking stick in hand, I head out into the world, not of the world, but in the world. My words and my friends carry me along and light the pilgrim path of spiritual journeys.

Thursday, May 31, 2007


Way up on the side of the cliff,
next to the tree where God lives,
stands a cairn of stones half its height.
Living stones,
holding dreams
for those He hopes
will dare to ask.

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Wednesday, May 30, 2007


I go to the desert to pray,
traveling on clay roads deeply rutted
by pilgrims seeking silence and rest
so to still their hearts enough to listen.

To hear the sounds of wind-whipped trees,
born of random seeds deeply rooted
near the banks of a wildly running river
fed by silt-filled mountain streams.

To hear the voice of the Beloved,
in these songs of God’s rich creation
takes a heart attuned to Beauty
and eyes that see all things as new.

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Monday, May 28, 2007


Q: Why do I go to a monastery in the desert?

A: To still my heart, my breath, my soul so that I can listen for the voice of God speaking to me through the Holy Spirit.

Q: How was this retreat?



Friday, May 18, 2007


You've no doubt noticed a recent dearth of new poetry.
Perhaps it's a symptom of the batteries running low. However,
the angels of care have gifted me with a retreat. Beginning on
Monday, I'll be staying at Christ in the Desert monastery in
Abiquiu, New Mexico for a week. Deep in the Chama River
Valley, this holy place will fill my heart with songs and
Psalms and prayers and silence. Even if I don't speak your
name aloud in prayer while there, know that God reads our
hearts and that you'll be lifted up in my intentions. Please
pray for me as I pray for you.


Monday, May 14, 2007


When did the music stop playing?
When did our children cease dancing
under blooming spring trees of pink
and white blossoms of dreamy scent?

Innocence so fragile and true
has been burned at the stake of war,
along with honor and justice,
pride’s head can be lifted no more

Tears from stone heroes flow swiftly
into the river of life, carried away
to some other land where they’ll nourish
the sleep of those still able to dream.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007


On this morning of a day with great potential,
these are the gifts God has given us.

Hearing the throaty, croaky "good morning" of your love

before they turn to hide their dark night's breath.
Sharing silence in a spring time bed
as the first whiffs of lilac tickle our winter noses.

Seeing the unopened yellow buds of dandelions
in a child’s pre-breakfast bouquet.
Feeling the warmth of the stretched-out belly
of your well-loved pet up against your side.
Finding love in the whispered words
of a prayer repeated to a hoped-for God

On this morning of a day with great potential,
God dares us to stay in bed.

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Friday, May 04, 2007


There are times I can’t bear the thought of more words.
Seems the world is full of conflict and pain
induced by the thoughtless rantings of mean hearts,
whose sharp-edged bullets lodge in our weakest spots.

Often times when we walk on our journey
unguarded and carefree among lovers and friends;
those who carry a piece of our pierced souls inside them,
will unleash a loose word, bring staggering pain.

Sudden sounds spoken quickly as a cheap balm
to simply assure ourselves we’re still alive
can become irretrievable, inflict deeper wounds
than the conscious mind can fathom.

To suffer gladly such offense would make of it
a victim’s stew, rich in guilt and poisonous intent
ladled thickly, eaten hot. No, let us bind our open sores
with generously slathered forgiveness.

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Thursday, May 03, 2007


I’m jealous of those who possess
the grace to love slowly;
taking the time
to thoughtfully consider
each movement and moment.

Perhaps singing would give me
the structure I crave,
to follow the notes on a page
to logical end

with tempo and consonance
flowing in passionate waves.

But words are my refuge
and so I will hide
intentions behind double quatrains
of secretive rhythms,

hidden messages
for the Lover

who already knows my name.