Posts by robertphelps

The fresh and promising morning

By on Dec 17, 2012 in Poetry | 1 comment

  Take my hand. First, tie your shoelaces. Inhale all that can be. Fill your capacious lungs with the breath of every promise. Each is yours. Geraniums wild in flamenco ruffle, teased into some mysterious preen, pastel chins high, arrogantly Andalusian, mesmerized by the collective hum of my workaholic bees, hysterical planters of the sun. They are mine and dance for me. In all the spaces that are empty, know that it is you who stand inchoate. You are my filler of...

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Father John Clermont’s Hands

By on Sep 12, 2011 in Poetry | Comments Off

  His hoary hands hang like fish. Unexpressed, they fall from his wrists like lake pike caught and up strung with lidless staring eyes aft hung. Unaware with his lifeless extremities, of the shook light bursting by degrees of epidermal hemorrhage of bright and shine squinting through pores and life lines;    A miasmal kaleidoscope of forgotten tales; of hands healing and soothing others’ travails; of Christ’s use of John’s hands to bless God’s folk; raised a thousand times to lighten their yoke. His hands, swollen with years and a bit stiff with age, still...

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