A WHITE BUSH WITH BEES

A plane is rushing across the sky,
parents are shouting in Westerly,

interstates are screaming with cars,

nations are dashing closer to cliffs,

while here on Shannock Street

a thousand bees 
are happy

with what they have. 

PRAISE

Let the pencil praise

the paper it writes on.

Let the paper praise 

the desk it rests on

as the pencil sets out 

its sturdy words.

Let the table present 

its praises to the floor

that prays to be solid and steady

for the trustworthy table 

and its paper

with the substantial house of words 

being built upon it. 

MORNING

Be good and true, the table said.

The computer in the corner

showed words just waking up.

A chair chose me to sit in it

and helped my heart

have a wonderful few minutes.

I saw hours opening their doors

for me, and, far away,

peacefulness standing on a hill to see me.