Bio Note: I'm a regional VP of the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets. I'm retired from a career in manufacturing, union activism, and workforce development. For almost 8 years I have been in love with V-V contributor, Sylvia Cavanaugh. My first poem was published in 2009 at the age of 60.
Dust Thou Art...: An Ash Wednesday Poem
I admit I’m not as diligent with a mop as I could be. But still, you wouldn’t think in the space of ten (or twelve) days, a graveyard of dust could gather under the bed. And the back of the closet? Jeezus! There must be at least three dead back there, and Jesus ain’t raising them anytime soon. If it’s true that dust thou art, then I have evidence of sex in the afterlife. It’s no wonder they’re called dust bunnies.
Don’t Hide Your Light
Neither does one light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it gives light to all that are in the house. -Matthew, 5:15 The temperature of the bed is neutral, neither warm nor cold. It’s cold, if either, no warmth unless you bring it. Life is that way. The Earth, the Universe operate on the same principle owing nothing to anyone. The bed doesn’t warm you you warm the bed you light the world. Why are you here, but to add your heat?
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