Friday, August 31, 2018


God help us
it were better to have drowned

than to come before your throne
and be found
wearing chains that we hammered

hammered and bound
around our hearts and our children's

nailed to our doorposts
nailed to our gates
nailed to our foreheads
nailed to our feet

You told us good news:
we made dead gold copies
of the gospel
and wore it like crowns

Made chains out of grace
help us--
it were better to have drowned


First ever guest post. Original poetry by Geneva Pritzel. To be performed with dramatic hand motions.


Tootie is the most cutest creature I have ever seen.
I love her very much.
Even when she kicked me
Under the piano
So I had to hold up a Star Wars box lid to shield myself
From her kicks.
I wish she was kinder.
Like Mom said in her poem,
She is really agile.
When she scoots the piano bench
To the piano
She climbs up onto the piano bench
And then up onto the keys
To get up to the top of the piano.

I am ready
And set
To read
But too excited
Since my Grandma Vivi
And Aunt Helen
Are coming to visit!
I can't wait!

Mom says it's time
To turn off the poem.
So bye bye
Until she lets me write another poem!

Monday, July 23, 2018

How To Write A Poem

Ignore the baby screaming.

Ignore her little sharp and feral teeth
sunk in your neck
behind you in the seat
year old and agile:

ignore her screams
and nod to Jar Jar Binks
propped up and earless
by the screen--

Nod to Jar Jar Binks
search for the file--
it's been a week, two weeks--
it's been a while.
Type a line. Delete.

Type a line. Delete.
Ignore the baby's screams,
her urgent teeth.
Move Jar Jar Binks.
Adjudicate a squabble.

Ignore the baby dancing in the chair,
Felix pulling out Geneva's hair.
Spank everyone.
Throw Goldfish into bowls.

The baby's typing now,
with Jar Jar's feet.
The baby's dancing Jar Jar on the keys.
Delete. Delete. Delete.

Peel the baby from your chair.
The big kids, too.
Spank everyone again.
Cry. Type a line. 
Save changes, if you dare.
Close out the file.
Come back tomorrow,

next week--

It could be a while.

Saturday, June 23, 2018

found an old poem from baby felix

Don't ask me to string together syllables
abstractions or analyses--like beads
my brain congeals--these days
are thick: concrete, real
with rosetender skin
soured milk smell
squawks and squabbles, babbles
whys and wipes
stepped-on rice grains gluing themselves to socks
my body and my heart on call
to be poured out or spread
for hungry mouths and minds--

Dear god, make me the widow's cup of oil
this drop i have, this last drop
this very last drop
and still finding the last drop there 
to take
with one last fist of flour
hands falling into the familiar knead and press
to bake, again,
into their daily bread

Thursday, May 24, 2018

economics 2

In God's kingdom we all
make the same trade

can't refuse His demand: All

so we bring our hands full
what we made

of ourselves
What could we have saved?

so many handsful of trash
shredded and stinking

keeping back nothing

not the hate, not the scars
not the sick, not the dark

Come, said the Master
Come as you are

Come with all you have to offer
all you should have been

all the truth you scoffed at
all you're still too sick to see

Come make the trade.

All you need.
Paid in full.
Oh we fools! Clever monkeys
we cherish our reckoning

each with her bank book.
How much thanksgiving

is correct? Is this living:
pay our debts, tally dues

count up who's an honor
to the Kingdom? Do you

hold a list and check it
to watch your sister's credit

is she really repenting
enough to earn her pardon?

He said it was finished
Paid in full

this terrible measure:
for every sin

just recompense
And the Lord has laid on Him

the iniquity
of us ALL

Dear monkeys, little sheep,
let us wash off this filthy reckoning

This sister pitted and deformed by sin
receives more mercy, more cherishing

And you, so tender to the law's demands
are fitter to be treated as a man

The one who's been most crushed, who's been most cruel,
who's toiling out of filthy, monstrous places--

will we deny him one scrap of grace
whom God gave All?

No: let us grant more modesty, more grace
to one who brings more shame

and lays it at the Cross:
God for us

Leave off this reek, this tallying
what I brought and what you bring

and have the mind of Christ

Let us breathe and speak and live this trade:
each ALL receives ENOUGH
we cannot reckon up the way of Love.

Wednesday, May 23, 2018

economics 1


I have a house in God's Kingdom,
a good house
well-built, modest--well
within my means. I pay
on the mortgage monthly: three fifty,
more when I can spare

I keep it nice, too: fresh paint yearly, dusted daily,
every corner clean--

Then she comes knocking, wanting
sugar (who doesn't have sugar?)
for cookies or something
Her kids eat too much sugar anyway, it's not good for them
and watch way too much TV--

It's almost midnight
and she comes with her cup

and she says guess what Jesus--

Oh do you know Him? I say

Oh yes, she says Jesus
gave me a mansion

Oh did he I say
a mansion
How expensive
and how do you keep it clean?
I suppose you want to borrow my vacuum cleaner as well I say

Oh yes, she says, he did--
he said it's free

Thursday, October 26, 2017


not to buried sleep--not
to wait close wrapped
for wings
inside thick skin
beneath warm dirt
here quivering, unskinned
to unfold
heart, belly, bones
unravel grubmouth, to
grow feet
intorn and squashable
this one, these five, these ten
unspin these cells
to spend this self
to, bought and builded, grow
brightwinged, tender, bold--

The world is full of teeth;
its wind is cold