Category Archives: Writing

Nobody Wants Jesus

I wrote this at Easter time a couple of years ago.  I still like some of it, but I now wish to rewrite it.

Nobody wants Jesus

Nobody wants Jesus to come.

Oh, we all say we do.

But we mean the Jesus

who looks like us,

who talks like us,

who carries our very own prejudices

in his heart.


We don’t want the Jesus

Who, like His brother Thomas,

plunges His finger

into gaping wounds,

the ones in our sides.

That Jesus

asks too much.


We don’t want the Jesus

Who has looked

into the eyes

of the wild God,

The Holy Mystery,

Who screams,” Love!”

from every rooftop.


We don’t want the Jesus

Who didn’t care for empty piety,

Who desired more than sacrifice,

Who commanded mercy,

Who prayed for enemies,

Who loved the outcast–

The Beloved, enfleshed.


With followers

like us,

it’s a wonder

He ever had to flee to the desert

for solitude.



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Filed under Poetry, Spirit, Writing

The Things that People Shared

This is the final poem in my series of found poems created from the July 20, 2011 edition of The Stranger.

The Things People Shared


Things that people shared:

      grilled goat testicles,

grilled pheasant,

                    balsamic bing cherries,

and the miracle

           of shit.



quibbled sweetly.

            The skies

partly cleared.

There was dancing.

Casa de la Música, Trinidad, Cuba. Octubre de 2016. Fotos. Yoel Díaz 09

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Filed under Poetry, Writing

Burning Beast

This is the second of the three found poems, made from articles in Seattle’s weekly, The Stranger (July 20, 2011 edition), that I mentioned in my last post.

Burning Beast


It was a downright nonsummer,

a wet one,

pretty much ensoddening

all flesh

or trying.


Someone said

the drifting smoke

was somewhat apt.


It was raining hard.

The Beast’s spirit

seemed to

shower rain.

Original by Coconino National Forest

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Filed under Poetry, Writing

Doomed Houses

Here is the first of three found poems that I put together in July of 2011 while sitting at the bar in the Elysian Brewing Company in Seattle, Washington.  The poems came from the July 20, 2011 edition of the Seattle weekly newspaper, The Stranger.  I used to know the page numbers involved, but, alas, that information has been lost.  The Stranger proved to be a fantastic source for found poems.  I really recommend it, if you’re into that sort of thing.  And Elysian isn’t a bad place to throw back a pint or two.

Doomed Houses 

I. Bang through the wall,

    filthy and happy,

of an emptied-out,


  maze of

         bank vaults.

Thousands of

     metal doors fight –

held open, pulled closed –

  trying to show

        a freer, wilder

landscape, morphing

into a mechanical

roadside attraction.


II. A raven glows

            and spins

outside the house,

      burned, meticulously,

with the limbs

        of the tree,

burned with

playful patterns

visceral, violent,

     indented in the skin,

dirt and grime


into the skin,

 a perfect deathbed partner,

 a sagging soul.


III. Something of a

            wakelike awareness

will make

   the coming


    take on

       the imagery of

             economic darkness.


   in plastic,

you see its dirt.

20131203 Istanbul 251

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Filed under Poetry, Writing

Another poem for Poetry Month

Here’s another of my mini fridge magnet poems, again in honor of Poetry Month.fridge_magnet_poem_2

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Poetry Month

Since April is poetry month, Shambhala Press is sending out a poem a day from books they have published. Poets will include Rumi, Chogyam Trungpa, Jane Kenyon, Emily Dickinson and more. You can sign up to get them in your inbox here:  You know you want to.

In anticipation of poetry month, here is one of my mini fridge magnet poems that I make on my filing cabinet in my office.  It’s not Shakespeare, but I’ve seen worse, I suppose.


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Filed under Art of Living, Poetry, Writing

Found Poem #1

I sometimes like to dabble in found poetry.  If you are unfamiliar with this particular form of poetry, this is a good definition from

“Found poems take existing texts and refashion them, reorder them, and present them as poems. The literary equivalent of a collage, found poetry is often made from newspaper articles, street signs, graffiti, speeches, letters, or even other poems.”
I will post these experiments whether good or bad (probably mostly bad) here on this blog.  Without further ado, here is my first one on Uncertain Pilgrim.
The inevitability of Progress
        prepared us
to be frightened,
     to smell violence and
the bodies of dead animals and
            human pleasure
oblivious to the savageries
          of history.
-from Sketches from Life: the Autobiography of Lewis Mumford, p. 250

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Filed under Poetry, Writing