September 18, 2013



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September 11, 2013

Bible verses about work. 1095.

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September 10, 2013

Not sure these are my thoughts. 1094.

(I found this in my computer "Notes" but do not know if it is mine. The tone and content fit other writings of mine, but this? I cannot confirm to have typed it July 26, 2013. Having copied it to paste here on my blog, the date has changed to today, September 10, 9:51 AM, and the time continues like a clock on that Note, now copied here. Bizarre arrangement this seems:)

Words confirm himself
weapons maker, privacy welding;

Doubts confirm myself
flimsy. I am not knowledge or memory,

Making itself changeable,
adapting to whatever private pursuit

a loved friends does.
Neglecting the minutes God is giving

me this moment, while prizing
them, these quiet solitary spaces my

mind continues to prefer,
its steel a trap without feet for love.

I do not enjoy flimsy days;
Any more I would blunt myself into You.

Posted by nancy at 09:46 AM | Comments (0)

September 02, 2013

1093. day, light night, time

The presence of insects is

faint as hearing through many machines

rhythm as ring town

restarting the closed compact, wired

through years of study resets, twice, as a beetle adjusting

its balance may sound like nothing I've ever

heart, Darling; when you were near, was that your computer I heard

or an insect present, twice, then once in our kitchen,

where I set a timer an hour and a half ago: a beep, unlike insects

reminds me there is not a song or presence

in nature here; only set ways resume

day, light night,


(A minor "light" poem, the first attempt at writing three different "light" poems with my daughter, Chelsea. Her three poems are complete, last month, consecutive days, gorgeous thoughts in poetry. Mine minor, yet begun, and two more to raise brighter, higher in purpose, not merely reactive, interpretive of sound around me. Light is larger than this.)

Posted by nancy at 11:44 AM | Comments (0)

1092. temperatures of glass

Researching online is like researching

in a library of books that are all the same

flip, pages blurring speed by, then end papers.

Shelve the book to touch the windows, come

paring temperatures of glass,

every word cold.







Posted by nancy at 11:29 AM | Comments (0)