“Words Can Sting Like Anything”*
Cool clean cut lines
of cold hearted slashes
gashes of color
drawn blood
sweat beads of fear
you didn’t mean
you didn’t know
how far your words
would go
to hurt.
* Title from the poem by Phyllis McGinley on silence.
Violet Reflections
Today the sky reflects violet on the marsh
as statues stand shrouded purple in Catholic Churches.
Today my eyes weep blue tears, mirroring the sky,
at the slights, the fights, the cruelty of human nature.
Mine but pinpricks by comparison
to the persecution, execution and death
of innocents, of earth, of nature
and of He who was known as Jesus.
MOONSIDE 