Giver of cares. Author of “Red Stuff” and “The Shepherd of Princes” (Solum Literary Press).
Melancthon, Ontario
Joined February 2016
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A dozen years or so I wrote a story. Then I gave up on it until some friends got a hold of it and made me write it again, and again, and again, until it became a novel. Last summer some more friends, at Solum Literary Press, decided they want to help it become a book. Here it is:
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'The Odyssey' Seizes $124M Opening in Box Office Triumph hollywoodreporter.com/movies…
If you knew, if you actually spent time with people with developmental disabilities, you would not speak the way you do.
Tell the story again
Though you tell it with swollen tongue.
Through split lips and shattered teeth.
Tell the story again
Though the sky outside grows dark
And the hour comes when no one can work.
The buried and the drowned
The scattered and the burnt.
That he will come again
To sift our ashes from the burn-pit
Sort our bones from the ossuary
Our bits from the bellies of the worms.
Let us return to ash again,
Who burn like incense all day long.
Smoke that smells of all we’re made of
Rising up as an offering
Of childbirth and hospice care
Fresh-baked bread and barium
Of new-tilled earth and the graves beneath
Of all we’ve made, and done, and been.
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Fall silent in a shouting age.
Do not be afraid
To take the colour of the earth,
And be joined with the hidden ones.
Go unseen among the glories.
Do not be afraid
To let yourself be made a sign,
For only those with eyes to see.
Die unknown among the famous.
Do not be afraid
To leave no trace behind you,
Except the shape your living made.
Let them find the paths you made,
Strange and uninterpreted.