When I lay here with you 
like this
I feel as if we’re boulders
touching in a mountain stream,
and time rushes onward 
all around us,
fast with a Spingtime thaw
or slow with slushy frost—
now choked with leaves 
and broken sticks
now thundering by 
in seething foam.
The seasons blur before us
and wash the world
around us,
but here we are
like boulders:
and timeless.


Too often my search for meaning
discourages rather than fuels me.
I’m too focused on theme to enjoy novels
and too focused on purpose to enjoy life –
but for those rare moments when the world shrinks
and exists only in my arms or the walls of my home,
babbling, exploring, and grinning up at me.
Then I’m no longer searching,
either because I’m distracted or
because I am reminded.

It Does Not Matter

It does not matter what I write
of blood-soaked bathroom floors and notes
or bloody birthing tables;
of bodies huddled in the dark;
of children laughing on the grass;
of lovers cuddling tenderly
beneath a knitted blanket
a chilly Autumn day –
it doesn’t matter what I say
or in what way I say it.
I ignite thoughts for bushels,
little candles glimmering
in bowls on weathered windowsills
that no one ever sees.
It does not matter what I write
because I write for me.


Do you remember
When we sat together?
It seems so long ago. 

You planted your head in my lap.
And spread your hair like petals all about you

I was storm clouds, full of rain and
My fingers were drops that ceaselessly fell
Over you,
Rejuvenating and invigorating,
Nurturing you
(And blocking the sun, if only I knew).

My fingers fell like water droplets and traced
Every line, every subtle contour of your face –
And pooled in the places that made you smile –
Memorizing them for a later date.

For now I guess.
For when you had outgrown the need for water,
The need for rain, 
And me.
For when my raindrops, falling down,
But held you down
And blocked the sun.

Then you spread your leaves wider,
And pushed taller than my clouds.

You grew without me,
Past me,
Toward the sun
And toward eternity.


I’ll never find another friend
That I can trust like you,
Though I search this earth until it’s end,
Not one who’s half as true.
When I founder in life’s tossing waves
You give me reason to exist;
And stay myself against the grave
That seems a refuge to this ship.
Like a compass when I’ve lost my route
You’ve led me through rough storms.
In your safety when night’s winds are out
You’ve kept me dry and warm.
I have trusted your word that said “sail on”
When I had nothing to sail on to.
The promise or the hope of dawn –
But in darkness I’ve had you.
You are, my best friend, honestly
The truest harbor I’ve sailed to.
You have become a part of me.
I’d never be here without you.

Clearing Up—Coast of Sicily, By Andreas Achenbach. Courtesy of Wikipedia.org


I’ve often admired their burning gaze,
With my head tipped back on the darkest nights:
Their beauty never ceases to amaze –

And yet, I’m much more taken by the sight
Of those from which thy pure love shines –
Much fairer, dear, and far more bright

Than any fleeting fancy of mine.
More beautiful than all the heavn’ly lights,
A mirror of the world divine;

The embodiment of peace and right;
And more accessibly set to admire
Than those lofty points in their great height –

Besides, my love, yours carry me higher.
They’re easily seen both day and night,
And, truly they’re much brighter

Than any light in any sky.
And all heavens to me are within sight
When I stargaze into your eyes.

© Samuel Bartholomew and A Writer’s Blog, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Samuel Bartholomew and A Writer’s Blog with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.