(This poem was written for Three Word Wednesday – in it, I use the last three weeks’ worth of word triads, and I’ve put the words in bold.)
Oh Teacher! My teacher!
Humble thou art:
thine art be humble
when spun from the heart.
Dancing in spirals
high above fear,
soars wisdom of ages
from sages and seers.
Sages will flower
with parsley and thyme,
unfolding seers
hear life as a rhyme.
Oh Teacher! My teacher!
Spiritus sanctus:
flow through me gently,
weightless, my aegis.
Fingers of dread –
ignore, they’re but phantoms –
grasp only that which
we offer as bedlam.
Phantoms transmute
to imagination,
bedlam becomes
a verdant vacation.
Oh Teacher! My teacher!
Ground, grass, and faerie:
pacify saplings
and red-tailed hawk aeries.
Abandon no hopes
all ye who enter
the blessings of now
and well-strengthened center,
which gradually move in
free-flowing precision
to grand sea of mystery
and peace – timeless fusion.
















