God is not dead,
nor does he cause
the trials and losses
of this life.
He does not stand aside
at the time of suffering,
but enters in
with us.

He is not the froth
of waves thundering
after the storm.
He cannot be controlled
by ritual or demands,
nor does he gloat
over the hurt
of sinners.

He is not in the spilt blood
of our children
or the thunder of bombs,
God cannot be defined
by our desires,
nor is he in the burning slag
of hatred and greed.

God is…

© Maureen Sudlow

For the DVerse poets them ‘via negativa’


This is a haibun for Dverse Poets – today the theme is water…

I stand on the corner, waiting for the bus, rain or shine.  Today it has been raining all night and I have to skip around the puddles as I cross the road.  The trucks rumble past, wipers flashing, and hissing of tires as they go.  Without warning, one takes a sudden swerve towards the kerb where a large pool of water has gathered.  Suddenly I am inundated, soaked from head to toe.  The driver flashes me a triumphant smile before I squelch back home to change…

always a joker
in the pack

Photo by Wayne Ray – Own work, Public Domain, Wikimedia


A response to D’verse poets to write something that ignores the rules of grammar – so freeing…

out leaving full stops
over easy but commonly needing
mixed metaphors on
a coloured background
gives words summer sun
and mills winds
on blown hills
there rabbits run fastly
in blue ocean deep
and sucked in wind
where climbing is steep
so grows the corn

(Van Gogh’s View From the Wheat field)


for dVerse Poets

We have a smaller garden now that is far from perfect.  Gardening here is fraught with peril.  We plant seedlings, only to have them immediately dug up by the neighbourhood cats.  We have tried everything – cat repellent, cayenne pepper, bark chips, rocks – you name it!  Unfortunately it seems that many of our cat-owning neighbours are not much into gardens, so ours becomes a magnet for cats seeking easy digging.  Consequently there seem to be more rocks than plants in our garden.

We also have an old, rusted corrugated iron fence that most would call ugly, but the textures on it fascinate me.  And the plainest of plants have a beauty of their own, casting green shadows in the evening.

not always in the eye
of the beholder