Art – JChristianLawrence

Life as Motion

I heard many cries. But I couldn’t a single person see. Though the cries were so close. Before I could ask about this, Dante stopped, and bent his ear East. Then we heard a sound, not groan but melody, as of a Japanese flute – piping from so very far away.

Anger’s Slough

Now our boat’s journey across the slough, or swamp, had become very bumpy, and I thought that perhaps some rocks our path obstructed. But looking down taught the truth: Our boat bounced along shields, swords, bullets, wings, bursting flak, fishhooks, beartraps, all the weapons of man, and worst of all, men and women, of all kinds, warring in the water.

Sonnet III

In aspen woods there is a sacred space,

Which by the Bones I think the Crow had roost,

And there I took my craft: needle, thread, and lace,

And sewed Love’s idol. But not Cupid I’produced,

A Game of Change

As soon as he took it, I was in real trouble. As soon as he took it, there appeared in my hand a large and heavy bag of change – quarters, nickels, pennies, dimes, and other ancient coins – so heavy my shoulders slumped forward, and strained I was to keep my head up.

Nativity

This trough, or manger, was itself the grave…

Adam’s Story

For you see, we used to love to play hide and seek! It was like… like when I first fell in love with my Creator.

The Time Travelling Poet

I think the author a rather heart-broken Time Traveler, who intentionally scatters his/her verses among the timeline, as Orlando upon the Arden trees, with an object of wooing not a rosy Paramour, but rather, that rarest of all things, an Audience.

A Hermit Crab Gave Me a Pen

He held it tight in his pinchers, crawling homeward across sand, dragging the end along behind. He was making quite slow time, so I asked what he intended to do with his new treasure. He said he meant to decorate his shell nest with it and some half-rotted sea grape leaves.

Limbo Philosophers

We moved up through the ward of the castle and into the keep. There was a fine and shady garden in its midst. Where men and women were arranged about, lounging on the green, with faces somber and voices quiet – sad and longing in soft cold light.

The Phantom Train of Marshall Pass

An Amerikan Ghost Story – All Amerika is a haunted ground. Said that Miner man that sat alone in the corner of the open-air car. Why did he sit out there in the cold of the October night? His breath, steaming in lantern light, showed me he was there, told me he was talking. IContinue reading “The Phantom Train of Marshall Pass”