Author Archives: Timothy P. Schilling
Show me, please
What love can do
Of ugly buildings and despairing souls within
Yes, you
with jelly dried
on your table.
See the jelly.
See the grape
the vine
the shine and the wine
it would’ve become
if not sent to you
to grace your toast
and table.
O Lord, take this wine.
O Lord, am I able?
Where it was shallow the grass poked through
Muddy furrows thoroughly filled –
the yard’s a lake.
You came across,
you in your boots
and green wax coat.
You had the mail,
the first in weeks.
The sun was shining then,
except for the clouds,
and where it was shallow
the grass poked through.
Ducks in Langbroek
Langbroek 1
Glory in a block of wood, glory in a dream
You ran rings around yourself
every year until you were
full grown – dominant and
petulant. Then down you went.
Their job was to cut off everything
that stuck out. Which they did.
They limbed and bucked and sanded you smooth.
Slicked you tight and stood you up,
and now you’re dead alive, a lonesome beam.
But I know, I know:
those rings inside are circling still.
There’s glory in a block of wood.
There’s glory in a dream.
Dutch hipsters
In which minds where
Do you live
and what do you do there
far afield, a pair?
I’ve got people in me,
they don’t even know.
And somewhere, too, I’m gone from myself.
I’m doing things I never will guess.
Wonders of a sugar glaze
I was trying
to get back to that
huckleberry muffin
at the Blackbird Café
on Bainbridge Island
till my wife came a day later
with a blueberry muffin.
She said, “It’s not huckleberry but”
Utrecht Journal 