from the Seattle Transit Blotter

2014.09.20 17:35 Route #13 Third & Bell, Northbound

A couple in their mid to late 40s board the bus. Both are slender, fit, well dressed and in reasonably good spirits. Not at all down and out. He says, “for both of us,” and tries to feed a five dollar bill into the fare box, which the fare box refuses to accept.

Looking on, she says, “Must be one of them bills you got at the strip club!”

The bill is in fact the color of boiled spinach, a fairly sodden greenback that has lost any stiffness it once had, even as he pushes it forward.

“Yeah, right, when I was picking you up at work.”

“Phhh!” she says, rolling her eyes. “I wish!”

Paging Dr. Percy


Anybody got a name for the experience of being in one very pleasant place away from home and seeing an image of another very pleasant place away from home that you have in fact visited? There’s a recognition and a thrill. I think maybe it helped also that it was a painting and not a photograph, but I can’t be sure, as I’d been celebrating at the time and this was in the loo.

Furniture Clearance Sale

These items won’t last long! Act now or spend the rest of your life fighting regret with booze, pills and cheap sex.

Here, here, and here.

Seattle Metro Bus Blotter 2014.9.18 2:25PM

Me, to a kid who just ran a block to catch my bus, “You know, if you pulled up your pants, you might be able to run a little faster.”

Kid, to me after he gets off the bus, “You know, if your mouth was a little bigger, you might be able to suck my dick.”

Oath and Abundance

visitationFor Elizabeth, on her birthday

Elisheba, young Aaron’s wife, saw
The scorching sun and torrid sand
On Israel’s treck avow no shadow
Nor soothe the azure sky – such land
Where all the colors drained from Eden
And drowns a rainbow’s hope for heaven…
The voided desert shades refuse,
In justice, spectrum’s seven hues.

Elizabeth, though, aging wife to
Old Zachariah, sits and rests
And waits to see her promised guests
Descend the everlasting hills now
From heaven’s blue – her mantled earth,
An advocate for mercy’s birth.

Cinematic Sacerdotes

Steven D. Greydanus is compiling a list of priest movies


Thanks for doing our work for us, SDG!

Details from the Early Hours of Mara Naomi

mara house poem

It’s dawn. Awake? Yes, awake. And each time
I marvel at your timing – arbitrary
As cloud’s deconstruction – inchoate shape
To form, animal to goblin, toy to dream;
Certain as logic’s tumble-grind of gears;
Quiet as mountain air before a storm.
Half-awake I detect your ramble down the hall,
As capricious as a dancing dust mote
That climbs its way down a staircase of sunlight
Pouring in through a generous window.
You pad into our room on monkey feet.
Suddenly beside our bed, blooming, spring’s first,
You cling to dawn’s hour like autumn’s last leaf.
Your touching face that no one sees is set
Against the dying darkness, encouraging it
To other hemispheres now that you are here.
With chill air and flailing sheets, you announce
The world is not as you left it last night.
Then turn your head away, because, after all, [Read more...]

Revision of a revision

Y’all and Me

You, Webb, are a warm front
that moved in from the north (by way of California),
a blind spot bearing beautiful gifts; and
Quinn, you’re a garden in the air for sure,
Seattle Sub specie aeternitatis with tendrils dangling down.
Angelico, O.P., would you deny you are a golden L.A. filament
inscribed with the name of God’s hunting dog?
Southern Expat, ye be, unmistakably,
a magic Georgia heirloom mistaken for a Texas feather duster;
JOB, obviously: a fountain in a Wisconsin cow pasture
is what you are, spouting Wisconsin poetry constantly;
and Lickona the anachronistic anagram
annoyed by anonymity, the dollar in the pocket
of a New England winter coat in San Diego summer.

And me? I am the discoverer of y’all.

Apple Releases New U2 Album Pro Bono

“Apple says there’s going to be a new U2 album every day until you buy their stinking watch.”

More details here.

Flora and Fauna

flora fauna

The air is as still as deep water in a creek.
The sense of summer is regret for something spent.
As we walk along, silence is snapping quick
Beneath the weight of a fallen twig or branch.
A whisper scurries beneath the carpet
Of dead leaves, brown, chthonic, grossly vegetative
Coated with something that seems to waver
Between the substance of soil and dust –
Indecisive about how to carve immortality’s
Signature in the forest floor, the ground decays
Like a voice left out in a night of hard rain sogged
With the same choking intensity of rain itself.

While looking at the asymmetrical arabesque
Of sunlight among hectic treetops, this late
Summer day, I hear the concentration
Of animal suffering in that same voice, yours,
Sobbing softly in my garden plot, not departing
Not arriving, but saying something in between,
In that time all creatures were there to name,
Before we knew each other enough to know
A bear and her cub are not so soon parted
As human beings and their paradise.