Twitter haikus

August 13, 2014

The afternoon sun
Sings a song and I hear it.
I long to just be.

The world is rushing.
Busyness and rushing and...
Why can't we just be?

+++

Brevity is nice.
Sugar and spice and concise.
It's the soul of wit...

I like the haiku
Because it forces me to
Decide what to say.

+++

Anonymity:
It is driving us apart,
Even in a crowd.

I am guilty too,
But I strive to be better.
Love those around you.

August 16, 2014

Ting of the banjo
My world, it seems new today
Fall breeze on my mind

Your warmth, refreshing
I think about your smile
Peaceful, I wonder

August 24, 2014

Pondering her life,
She dreams of new adventures
Which have yet to be.

A chance to be new...
Opportunity awaits
Just beyond her fears.

+++

Feeling somehow new,
God is real guiding me.
He dares me to move.

August 25, 2014

O hey, Twitterverse
I'd like to write you a verse
Facebook fasts are fun.

Old heartaches made new.
History rhymes, doesn't it?
A funny ol' world.

I yell needtobreathe.
I breathe smiles and drive fast.
Interstate of mind.

My eyes on the goal,
God, my face is set like flint.
Feet, don't fail me now.

Praise God for good friends
And a place to run home to
Over the big bay.

Summer rain, rain, rain
Eases pain and washes clean
My saltwater heart.

Watching the lightning,
Clouds racing across the sky.
Porch-sitting rainstorm.

+++

Late night Tim Hortons,
Sweatpants in the library,
Jazzman's paninis

St. Pete's on Sunday
Yogurt-covered pretzel snacks
Pittsburgh adventures

Robinson for Moe's
Wand'ring around IKEA
Swedish fish for Trey

Elen's for my breaks,
Holy professors and snow,
God is present there

I hated the snow
Yet I kinda still miss it.
K, maybe I don't.

Off and on my own,
Homesick but becoming me.
Learning some lessons.

What a strange feeling.
Nostalgia isn't quite it.
I want to go back.

August 26, 2014

Friendship is funny.
Love, dear, is stranger than that.
Not feeling but choice.

+++

Go go run run run.
My adrenaline pumping.
Make me who I am.

Transformation Tues.
That's what's happening today.
Dormant grace wakes up.


August 28, 2014

Your eyes were so blue.
I hadn't noticed before.
They matched your blue shirt.

September 1, 2014

The future is bright!
A mystery, adventure!
Will you be there too?

September 6, 2014

Fried shrimp and sushi,
Moonlight walks down by the bay,
Caribe jazz and home.

September 7, 2014

The weekend flies fast,
But I need more time to think,
More time to just be.

Vanity, O vanity!
Everything is vanity!
O God, you teach me.

September 24, 2014

A classy black dress
"Cultural experience"
Let's discuss the art

Symphonies and books,
Paintings and plays and a drink.
Smiling and lovely.

I was wearing pearls.
The building was beautiful.
You told me I was.

Let's go exploring.
Churches built when art was real
Stand tall and pointing.

One day you'll be here,
And all the past will be gone
The world will be new

October 2, 2014

Waltzing and waltzing
Round and round the spinning room.
No one here but you.

October 4, 2014

Wind chimes are chiming,
Cool breeze blows across blue skies.
Those Roman Street jams.

A breath of fresh air,
Fall is finally here on
Saturday morning.

October 5, 2014

Some days you wake up,
And the sky is clear and blue;
The world is alright.

The station is Swing.
A smile and kick in my step;
The world on a string.

October 8, 2014

Why is the bed soft
And why are the blankets warm
At 6:22?

Surely it should be
Crimes against humanity
To rise this early.

December 19, 2014

Rain and the heartbreak
Come 'round every now and then.
Jon Foreman tunes help.

December 25, 2014

Human and divine,
He's not a God of boxes.
Oh the irony.

January 26, 2015

Praise God, my Mem'ry.
I so often forget You.
So, You remind me.

February 2, 2015

Rising 'fore the sun
Feels like we're jumping the gun.
Unnatural, no?

November 21, 2018

Oh, twitter exists.
I had almost forgotten.
So here's a haiku.

January 31, 2019

St. John Bosco says,
"Reason, religion, kindness."
Would that we'd listen.

Truth and Love cannot
Be separated because
God's not divided.

February 2, 2019

Sunshine and blue skies,
Coffee and podcasts galore:
Saturday morning.

+++

God is Truth and Light.
There is no darkness in Him.
Superstition, cease!

True faith seeks the Truth
Because love seeks to know
The belov'd's nature.

Never stop learning.
Truth for Truth's sake is the way.
Learn because you love.

(Inspired by the Clerically Speaking podcast)

February 3, 2019

Super bowl was dumb.
O idols, fall down quickly!
Yes, we don't need you.

America dies
In strange ways looking for joy;
The Saints have more fun.

February 9, 2019

I'm not owed a thing.
What I'm given is a gift.
Praise then, soul! And love!

+++

Heaven, so hidden,
but I have seen You before
in glimpses of Fire.

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Love never slumbers.
Upon his terrible face,
A secret smile.

February 10, 2019

Grey skies in winter,
Rife with anticipation:
Spring is coming soon.

Difficult waiting,
But Hope, she knows the promise.
He'll make good on it.

February 26, 2019

Lo! The joyous cry!
Brass... and beads and moonpies fly.
Behold! Lent is nigh.

May 5, 2019

Big, billowy clouds
Sailing in the summer sky.
Turn up the sunshine!

May 16, 2019

Safety in wombs, boats.
But earth's thy ship, says Therese.
Heaven's arrival.

May 26, 2019

Evergreen branches,
Misty mountaintops great us.
Seattle, hello.

June 23, 2019

Redwood cathedrals,
Aspen chapels stretch skyward,
All singing Your Name.

+++

Your heart spoke to mine.
Humility is beauty
I cannot forget.

August 4, 2019

Broken hearts and souls
need the tender gaze of God,
broken for their sake.

Unless I know mine,
I cannot see nor be salve.
Come, Holy Spirit.

In Fairhope

It was hard not to be happy on a day like that.

The wind was making music in the trees and white-caps in the bay.
And I was making eggs in the kitchen.
And God was making moves in the silence.

It was a paradoxical day-- a day of peace and stillness but a day of movement and growth.

I had been sitting alone down on the end of the little neighborhood pier looking out over the bay sparkling in the late-morning sun. I had the intention of reading a book, but the wind and the sun and the water romanced me into simply sitting with them for awhile like an old couple in the twilight of life prefers to sit silently in each other's company. All their words, necessary and unnecessary, have already been spoken. Now, their hearts speak much louder than their mouths.

Sitting there, suspended a few feet above the bay by the old, wooden planks, I thought of romance. The thought was all at once familiar and foreign-- an earthly delight that had, thus far, eluded me. There is something about the horizon over the water that causes me to think of it-- hope for it. The thought is always the same yet somehow always new. The water touches some deep part of who I am, and I suppose I want that part of me to be known, cherished even, by someone who I know and cherish, and so I think of romance.

I imagined a friend of mine walking down the pier behind me, sitting down beside me, feet dangling, sunglasses filled with reflections of the bright blue bay and sky. He entered into my reality, looked out at the horizon nonchalantly, and grabbed my hand as if it wasn't even a surprise that he was there, and then he smiled. He might have made a joke, and I may have laughed. I don't remember. Mostly, he just sat there holding my hand like a promise, letting the wind and the waves do all the talking. We didn't say much else. We didn't need to.

Suddenly, I felt footsteps behind me on the pier, and he vanished. A little girl in a pink shirt peered curiously over the edge into the water. I looked around, but I saw no parents. She looked at me and then back at the water for a few more moments and then scampered happily back up the steps toward the beach. After awhile, I saw her mother walking beside her on the beach toward the neighboring pier.

I began to read my book.

A few minutes later, I heard the chatter of a small boy with a shaggy, nineties haircut and his father who, because of his hipster glasses and snarky attitude, looked somewhat out of place on a Fairhope pier with a little boy and his fishing pole. When he saw me, he made an introductory announcement that he was about to ruin my peace with a chatty three-year-old. I laughed and told him it was a delight to be interrupted. He was skeptical and asked if I was sure I didn't mind them fishing there. I said, "absolutely not." He didn't seem to believe the words, but my smile must have convinced him.

"What book are you reading?" he asked, to be friendly.

"The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene," I answered merrily as I dodged the boy's first attempt at a cast.

"Never heard of it," he said, almost apologetically. "I'm not very smart. I just spend my time trying to keep a three-year-old alive."

"That's a feat!" I chuckled.

He laughed in agreement. I was certain he was a local.

"Are you a professional?" I heard him say. I thought it was an odd question until I realized he was talking to his son. The boy was grinning from ear to ear, wide-eyed, fishing pole in one fist, and pointing with the other hand at seaweed in the water. The father began to teach him about something or another.

I went on reading.

The story was good. I had read it before long ago. A whiskey priest, a persecution, a dying country, an internal struggle between humility and pride...

The story, though, didn't match the atmosphere around me, so after I finished the chapter, I put it down again and looked out at the horizon. The boy and his father had left quietly and unexpectedly to take a walk down the narrow beach. I watched them playing with sticks in the sand as I walked back up toward the road.


Fairhope is another world... idyllic, like childhood. Was it a memory or a dream? I couldn't tell. Whatever it was, though, it was real. That's what's so astonishing about Fairhope. It's real. The beauty-- sun, wind, waves, Spanish moss in the oaks blowing gently in the wind, pink flowers on the street corners, American flags on the porches of architecturally diverse houses, white picket fences surrounding happy cottages, and little children learning to fish with their fathers on piers. It's like a storybook come to life.

The blue sky made me understand reality. I am not alone and never was. Even sitting here in solitude in my mother's house while she is away, I don't feel alone.

Hope is the fruit of days like these.

And I am grateful.

A night at the wedding feast

I thought that heaven must be like a never-ending dinner party.
I imagined my dearest friends smiling and laughing and
knowing each other,
huddled together over an old wooden table
and an assortment of craft beer.
There was the lively chatter
of other huddles all around us,
And even though they were not in our huddle,
we knew them all, too.
And loved them.
And wished them well,
as well-wishers do.
There was a low light throughout the place,
a bright one over the table where we sat.
And everyone's eyes sparkled with starlight
And everyone's smile was authentic and warm.
And we laughed and laughed
and laughed
some more.
We talked of God and grace and gumption,
the salt and light of saints.
And when we had thoroughly delighted,
they came and joined us in that place.
We felt like they were celebrities,
and indeed, in truth, they were.
But there we all were in the same tavern,
approving and approved.

Letter to a friend on a stormy morning in Fairhope...

Your heart spoke to mine;

Humility is beauty

I cannot forget.

The one place the clouds don't bother me...
the threat of rain seems exciting because of all the movement--
the beach, the bay, the breeze, the waves, the flags flying, fluttering,
like a girl with her face set like flint,
breathing easier than she ever has before for the wind in her face, in her hair.
The world seems beautiful and right,
even with the chaos surrounding.
The gulls and pelicans glide and dive.
The waves splash like little geysers on the old, wooden sea walls
and tree roots laid bare like underground castles revealed by the eroded banks.

I wonder what you would think of all this.
I wonder if you have experienced what I did.

Did your grandmother bring you to the bay like mine did,
those magical Mobile summers when everything seemed whole and right
before the gathering clouds taught you to fear, and falsely?
Can the endless breaking, falling, crashing be a strong, unbroken rhythm of existence that gives us hope and allows us to "try, try again" at something our families couldn't hold to?
Have we been given what they had not?
Can we push beyond the feelings and glimmers of pleasure that masquerade as love?
Can we plumb its depths and know its true character?
Can we discover a deeper delight in the midst of chaos and mystery and pain?
Can we discover the order set from the beginning by the maker whose Name is Love?

You may think it odd and startling that I should suggest such things to a boy I only just met.
But, your heart spoke to mine like few others have.
And humility is beauty I cannot forget.

Your life has been very different than mine, but your heart seems rather akin.
The outward appearances revealed something real... much, much deeper within.
And I want to discover what that is.

But here I am on a small, sleepy beach in the deep, deep South where the days are lazy and hot.
And there you are, thousands of miles away
by the big, deep, and frightening blue ocean in a bustling metropolis under a cloud.
And I'm unsure how to bridge that distance-- to enter into your quiet inner world free from the fetters of technology that claims to unite when, really, it keeps us separated.
And yet...

I will probably read this in a few weeks and think myself insane for writing to you like this,
but here on this cloudy, breezy morning by the other bay that I think we both know, it seems appropriate.

You saw the ocean and were compelled enough to follow it-- to move your whole life to be beside it.
In this moment, I feel compelled to move my whole life to discover who you are-- but how?
Even as I write these words, I feel crazy.
But everything has changed.
Three and a half days by your bay, and I feel like everything has changed.
You are not what I expected, and yet everything in me changed.

What a beautiful, humble, nervous, fearless soul.
I wonder how like Francis you are.
I wonder what you would do if you wanted to know me too.

Even if these words come to nothing in the way of connection, I desire that love for you as I desire it for myself...
to know and experience what our parents could not.
To live out the promises of the Creator set firm for us.
To discover their depths-- their meaning, even as we are swept about on the seemingly angry seas.

The ocean is beautiful, dark, and deep,
and I pray that our promises we could keep,
leaning into that ocean of grace that sweeps ever under us and beckons us to let go...
to dance upon the waves with reckless abandon,
knowing deeply and passionately that we are not in control...
but that Love is.


(July 3, 2019 | Feast of St. Thomas, apostle | Fairhope, AL, on the beach...)