Tuesday, May 24, 2016


Photo by Linzi Anderson

Fear is afraid of everyone and
everything, including itself,
ever shrinking into a smaller box,
but pretending to loom large,
with ferocious bark
and inflated posturing.

   The small minded and hearted
   seek to divide the world
   into "us" and "them",
   never quite convinced
   that you or I or anyone else
   fully belong to "us";

      ever ready to banish us all
      to permanent Themville.
      But somewhere beneath
      the fearful veneer lies

a lonely, hungry soul,
never willing to admit it,
but desperately longing
to be invited into sacred "we"
and even holy "one".

© 2016 Todd Jenkins

Tuesday, May 17, 2016


The chasm between human and divine
is largely dug by perspective.
Beyond the realization
of the limits of our own,
God approaches with our
recognition of someone else's.

   The holy is infused when
   our reality is secure enough
   to avoid the dizziness
   of multiple focal points.

Anchored in the self of God,
we can see, hear, smell, touch,
and even taste the universe's complexity
without needing to validate
one perspective over others.

© 2016 Todd Jenkins

Tuesday, May 10, 2016


Privatization is the power charging
the flashlight of capitalism.

  When its acid leeches into the switch
  of connection, there’s an inability
  to distinguish between good and evil,
  a failure to distinguish on from off.

    When it corrodes the chamber
    of community, cooperation is voided
    in favor of competition and victory.

  When it interferes with the bulb of hope,
  more heat than light is generated,
  more hoarding than loving.

Despite the individuation
of our own economies,
the universe holds all in God’s trust.

© 2016 Todd Jenkins

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Ode to Phenomenal Women

“A good woman is hard to find,
    and worth far more than diamonds.
Her husband trusts her without reserve,
    and never has reason to regret it.”
(Proverbs 31:10-11 MSG)

You do not need an ode from which
   to draw your power, for the light
      in your eyes emanates from a fire
         centered deep in your being;
            a burning placed there
             by the Spirit of the great I Am.
Your worth was determined
   before your birth, calculated
      on spiritual DNA; a value made richer
         by your unabashed living into it.

Biological motherhood, as many of you
   have learned, is neither a right
      nor something completely
         within your control.

Some with offspring never quite
   make it to “mom”, and many
      have mothered without benefit
         of labor and delivery,
            walking the tightrope between
               quiet strength and gentle nurturing.

In a culture and economy that largely ignore
   the strength of matriarchal bonds,
      you blend a powerful mixture
         of rebar and rose petals,
            holding families and communities together
               with the power of resurrection
                  planted in your soul
                     from the foundation of the universe.

Praise be to Yahweh
   for the gift of life you bring!

© 2016 Todd Jenkins

Tuesday, April 26, 2016


Painters and drawers and sculptors and countless other visual artists are able to combine and manipulate various physical substances into objects that pique our imagination and show us a peek at the universe and ourselves that we have yet to comprehend. Once we have seen these creative vistas and ourselves reflected through them, we cannot forget or go back to the way things used to be without tremendous expenditure of costly personal energy. 

Writers are visual artists of a different sort. Authors paint word pictures that hang in the passageway running between head and heart. Narrative/prose is a medium in the realm of realism, often hanging closer to the brain's end of the hall. Once a good story seeps into your marrow, the door at the coronary end of the hallway usually swings open a bit wider as a particular vocabulary and its precise ordering provide a view of what's been right in front of your face for years and yet may still have eluded your perception.

Poetry tends toward impressionism, just outside the heart's door. It often makes you want to race back and forth between the cerebral and the emotive, between fading distant memories and the possibility of what lies around the next bend, anchoring the here-and-now in a sense of hope, if not peace. Story's and poetry's art galleries are for the curious; those who're willing to peruse stacks of beauty with only a handful of syllables scratched on the surface, daring aficionados to crack a spine. Welcome to a visceral gallery of words, brushed on life’s ever-flowing canvas.

© 2016 Todd Jenkins

Monday, April 25, 2016


Photo by Jennie R. Jenkins

Keep a dragon's egg
in your pocket long enough,
pulling it out to marvel,
turning it over
in your sweaty little palms,

   shaking it at the folks
   who stir you from
   the laziness of your
   inherited perch of status quo,

      and sooner or later
      you'll be the unwitting
      (Or is it dim-witted?)
      owner of an uncontrollable,
      fire-breathing maniac.

         It's getting hot up in here!

© 2016 Todd Jenkins

Wednesday, April 20, 2016


Photo by Holly Jenkins

Life is easier when your enemies
are all external, identifiable,
and you get to completely define them.

Yes, easier, smoother, shallower.
Give me the deeps anyway,
where ruts and ridges

surprise and challenge my assumptions;
where mirrors reject
my narrow, retouched imaginings.

© 2016 Todd Jenkins