Friday, October 10, 2014


As the Earth
orbits in lazy silence,
we are mostly helpless
but to do the same.

I am ever amazed by
the orchestration
of falling leaves,
ripples awakened
by the pebble,
roses proclaiming
ecstasy in the breeze
not just for their mystery,
but because they were
put here for me.

Dear Jesus,
your followers
want to put you in a box
of containable contradiction
to carry around
and show to their friends
and possibly make a sale or two.

I don’t need to know.

I just want to
feed your sheep
with humility and gratitude,

even when all I have to offer
are crummy little poems
like this one.


  1. nothing crummy about this little poem of yours. there something about the first obvious and yet not...that probably makes no sense, but still...

  2. You're way too humble, Mosk. This is beautiful in a Zen kind of way.

  3. you know...even crummy little poems that reflect the magnificence and glory of god...
    no matter how imperfect we are....

  4. Amazing. And they are not crummy poems. They are simply beautiful reminders. Hugs.