The uncertainty of her motor skills makes her lean,
step after wobbly step,
smiling as she walks along the edge of all things reachable,

oblivious to danger. She has twisted her chunky thighs
and roll-cushioned knees into impossible angles, and her head,
apparently hard, has bumped and clunked innumerable surfaces.

She’s got her diaper on, bare belly protruding dangerously
as onward she stumbles across the carpet of the future,
and attempts, free from worry, to walk unaided.


Poem: My Greenhouse Bubble

My Greenhouse Bubble

From the polution of my heart
a bubble forms around my life;
like the greenhouse effect,
it diverts divine grace,
constantly sent sunbeams,
from reflecting from me
away from my gravity
as they were made to.

Instead, those untold graces
on their way out turn back to me.
I kneel to pray, but my prayers
constantly return in subject matter to their sender.
Naturally, I take the grace to pray
and use it to bless myself,
praying for my needs,
as if the earth, a tiny pebble,
need pray to the behemoth sun to receive his sunlight.

And, then, I intend
to praise him in prayer,
to pray for others,
yet constantly, like faithful dogs,
the words and thoughts
return to my needs, my day,
my desire to pray with pretty words.

“I will make your name great,
and you will be a blessing.”

Here is grace for grace,
to be given the unsearchable riches
of the gift of prayer,
and then the gift of actually seeking them.


On whom to blame?

Satan, sin, and death:

Our choice,

our hearts,

our prize.

–Dave Stuart Jr.

A couplet inspired by Crystal

Form: nature hath none fairer than this:
my sweet bride, whom I crave to kiss.