A small psalm to something ordinary.
16 responses
The hum of conversation is sprinkled
Amid the lyricless instrumental song
Coffee and tea taken sip by sip, watch
As relationships evolve across stories
Written by studious, read by curious
Glances of potential hang in the air
Waiting to be acted upon and spur
The start of something anew for you
small elm
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 4:02 PM UTC
It's a blessed morning to worship you
And soon it'll be a blessed night
To worship you.
faded meadow
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 11:56 AM UTC
The quiet strength of a father
The gentle smile of a mother
The warm embrace of a sister
The playful punch of a brother
These are blessings
A rare gift
Something I treasure
For some aren't granted this
still heron
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 11:47 AM UTC
cracks and fissures are no ordinary things
some days are shattered past the point of grief
past the point of glue
I was shattered so I invited the wind
to whistle through my gaps
to be touched by the frost of the moon
or a stranger’s accidental shoulder
gentle garden
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 5:08 PM UTC
a small psalm to the chirping birds of the morning
awoken from a slumber
by the sounds of little creatures
right outside your window
living their subconscious life
no worries
no problems
just chirping
and their sweet innocence
gives you hope
that maybe one day
you'll feel as carefree
as the little birds outside your window
restless stoat
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 2:25 PM UTC
a small psalm to the window
keeper of quiet light,
you let the world in
without asking anything back
you hold the sky
even on days
i don’t look up
you witness
passing hours,
soft changes
no one else names
still, you stay—
open to everything
amen to the ordinary
that lets me breathe
faded fern
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 2:06 PM UTC
Two little things.
Rice and Adobo.
Hearty as the radiance
Of freshly baked bingka.
Tell me your day,
If life went your way.
No sorrow is to swallowing.
Neither is it permanent.
Tell me little things.
One, two, or few.
Don’t count each.
Just let them be.
So when darkness befalls.
You always have something.
Two little things.
You, and your little things.
golden field
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 12:16 PM UTC
before the illness
i never considered
the act of waking
and feeling alright
as something that
required thanking
it’s been a year
of getting better
and i sat up today
and looked at my wall
and realised
i felt normal
i often wish
i could tell those around me
to love the small gods
and have them understand
because you think it will last
until it doesn’t
and you think it’s a given
until it isn’t
moonlit ivy
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 10:59 AM UTC
I begins at 7am and carries through the early afternoon. There’s an intermission until the evening choir picks it up again. The radiant and ordinary birdsong
restless elm
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 8:51 AM UTC
i think i speak to the universe as i say this
why was i given the power to build
when i can only make-shift?
and what is the point to all that i do
when there’s nothing i earn from it?
silver fern
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 8:13 AM UTC
Bless the kettle
for its steadfast rising,
its small resurrection
of steam and warmth.
It asks nothing,
yet gives a morning back
to anyone who needs one.
Let its soft hiss
be praise enough.
kindly hollow
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 8:05 AM UTC
Humans find life in the lifeless,
it is a subconscious act.
So when the coffee machine doesn't work well (despite all available facts),
I give her an incredulous look,
head-cocked, raised brow,
expecting her to look back.
Then after some time,
(and no reason why),
she works!
What's more human than that?
faded cedar
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 5:52 AM UTC
A psalm to time, to memory, to attention…
Bless the passing moment
I so often overlook,
still it offers itself—
again,
and again.
windswept kettle
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 5:29 AM UTC
In a world full of people,
I’ll always run to my mom
when something goes wrong,
when everything feels too heavy.
Because she’s the one
who loves me back,
without conditions,
and never judges me.
When the world feels cold,
she feels like warmth.
It will always be
my mom—
my safe place,
no matter what.
gentle stone
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 3:35 AM UTC
When I gaze upon your beauty.
I see the fullness of your love.
The grass so green.
The trees so tall.
And the lily and daffodils, that sway to the breeze.
The sun displays, Your Glory
The moon gives shade by night.
The stars 🌟 reflect your wondrous works.
And the awesomeness.
Of the Master Builder.
Whose mind was set on us.
blue thrush
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 2:10 AM UTC
firstttttttttttttttttt
blue kettle
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 1:37 AM UTC
The hum of conversation is sprinkled
Amid the lyricless instrumental song
Coffee and tea taken sip by sip, watch
As relationships evolve across stories
Written by studious, read by curious
Glances of potential hang in the air
Waiting to be acted upon and spur
The start of something anew for you
small elm
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 4:02 PM UTC
The quiet strength of a father
The gentle smile of a mother
The warm embrace of a sister
The playful punch of a brother
These are blessings
A rare gift
Something I treasure
For some aren't granted this
still heron
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 11:47 AM UTC
a small psalm to the chirping birds of the morning
awoken from a slumber
by the sounds of little creatures
right outside your window
living their subconscious life
no worries
no problems
just chirping
and their sweet innocence
gives you hope
that maybe one day
you'll feel as carefree
as the little birds outside your window
restless stoat
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 2:25 PM UTC
Two little things.
Rice and Adobo.
Hearty as the radiance
Of freshly baked bingka.
Tell me your day,
If life went your way.
No sorrow is to swallowing.
Neither is it permanent.
Tell me little things.
One, two, or few.
Don’t count each.
Just let them be.
So when darkness befalls.
You always have something.
Two little things.
You, and your little things.
golden field
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 12:16 PM UTC
I begins at 7am and carries through the early afternoon. There’s an intermission until the evening choir picks it up again. The radiant and ordinary birdsong
restless elm
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 8:51 AM UTC
Bless the kettle
for its steadfast rising,
its small resurrection
of steam and warmth.
It asks nothing,
yet gives a morning back
to anyone who needs one.
Let its soft hiss
be praise enough.
kindly hollow
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 8:05 AM UTC
A psalm to time, to memory, to attention…
Bless the passing moment
I so often overlook,
still it offers itself—
again,
and again.
windswept kettle
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 5:29 AM UTC
When I gaze upon your beauty.
I see the fullness of your love.
The grass so green.
The trees so tall.
And the lily and daffodils, that sway to the breeze.
The sun displays, Your Glory
The moon gives shade by night.
The stars 🌟 reflect your wondrous works.
And the awesomeness.
Of the Master Builder.
Whose mind was set on us.
blue thrush
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 2:10 AM UTC
It's a blessed morning to worship you
And soon it'll be a blessed night
To worship you.
faded meadow
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 11:56 AM UTC
cracks and fissures are no ordinary things
some days are shattered past the point of grief
past the point of glue
I was shattered so I invited the wind
to whistle through my gaps
to be touched by the frost of the moon
or a stranger’s accidental shoulder
gentle garden
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 5:08 PM UTC
a small psalm to the window
keeper of quiet light,
you let the world in
without asking anything back
you hold the sky
even on days
i don’t look up
you witness
passing hours,
soft changes
no one else names
still, you stay—
open to everything
amen to the ordinary
that lets me breathe
faded fern
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 2:06 PM UTC
before the illness
i never considered
the act of waking
and feeling alright
as something that
required thanking
it’s been a year
of getting better
and i sat up today
and looked at my wall
and realised
i felt normal
i often wish
i could tell those around me
to love the small gods
and have them understand
because you think it will last
until it doesn’t
and you think it’s a given
until it isn’t
moonlit ivy
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 10:59 AM UTC
i think i speak to the universe as i say this
why was i given the power to build
when i can only make-shift?
and what is the point to all that i do
when there’s nothing i earn from it?
silver fern
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 8:13 AM UTC
Humans find life in the lifeless,
it is a subconscious act.
So when the coffee machine doesn't work well (despite all available facts),
I give her an incredulous look,
head-cocked, raised brow,
expecting her to look back.
Then after some time,
(and no reason why),
she works!
What's more human than that?
faded cedar
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 5:52 AM UTC
In a world full of people,
I’ll always run to my mom
when something goes wrong,
when everything feels too heavy.
Because she’s the one
who loves me back,
without conditions,
and never judges me.
When the world feels cold,
she feels like warmth.
It will always be
my mom—
my safe place,
no matter what.
gentle stone
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 3:35 AM UTC
firstttttttttttttttttt
blue kettle
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 1:37 AM UTC
The hum of conversation is sprinkled
Amid the lyricless instrumental song
Coffee and tea taken sip by sip, watch
As relationships evolve across stories
Written by studious, read by curious
Glances of potential hang in the air
Waiting to be acted upon and spur
The start of something anew for you
small elm
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 4:02 PM UTC
cracks and fissures are no ordinary things
some days are shattered past the point of grief
past the point of glue
I was shattered so I invited the wind
to whistle through my gaps
to be touched by the frost of the moon
or a stranger’s accidental shoulder
gentle garden
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 5:08 PM UTC
Two little things.
Rice and Adobo.
Hearty as the radiance
Of freshly baked bingka.
Tell me your day,
If life went your way.
No sorrow is to swallowing.
Neither is it permanent.
Tell me little things.
One, two, or few.
Don’t count each.
Just let them be.
So when darkness befalls.
You always have something.
Two little things.
You, and your little things.
golden field
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 12:16 PM UTC
i think i speak to the universe as i say this
why was i given the power to build
when i can only make-shift?
and what is the point to all that i do
when there’s nothing i earn from it?
silver fern
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 8:13 AM UTC
A psalm to time, to memory, to attention…
Bless the passing moment
I so often overlook,
still it offers itself—
again,
and again.
windswept kettle
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 5:29 AM UTC
firstttttttttttttttttt
blue kettle
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 1:37 AM UTC
It's a blessed morning to worship you
And soon it'll be a blessed night
To worship you.
faded meadow
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 11:56 AM UTC
a small psalm to the chirping birds of the morning
awoken from a slumber
by the sounds of little creatures
right outside your window
living their subconscious life
no worries
no problems
just chirping
and their sweet innocence
gives you hope
that maybe one day
you'll feel as carefree
as the little birds outside your window
restless stoat
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 2:25 PM UTC
before the illness
i never considered
the act of waking
and feeling alright
as something that
required thanking
it’s been a year
of getting better
and i sat up today
and looked at my wall
and realised
i felt normal
i often wish
i could tell those around me
to love the small gods
and have them understand
because you think it will last
until it doesn’t
and you think it’s a given
until it isn’t
moonlit ivy
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 10:59 AM UTC
Bless the kettle
for its steadfast rising,
its small resurrection
of steam and warmth.
It asks nothing,
yet gives a morning back
to anyone who needs one.
Let its soft hiss
be praise enough.
kindly hollow
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 8:05 AM UTC
In a world full of people,
I’ll always run to my mom
when something goes wrong,
when everything feels too heavy.
Because she’s the one
who loves me back,
without conditions,
and never judges me.
When the world feels cold,
she feels like warmth.
It will always be
my mom—
my safe place,
no matter what.
gentle stone
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 3:35 AM UTC
The quiet strength of a father
The gentle smile of a mother
The warm embrace of a sister
The playful punch of a brother
These are blessings
A rare gift
Something I treasure
For some aren't granted this
still heron
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 11:47 AM UTC
a small psalm to the window
keeper of quiet light,
you let the world in
without asking anything back
you hold the sky
even on days
i don’t look up
you witness
passing hours,
soft changes
no one else names
still, you stay—
open to everything
amen to the ordinary
that lets me breathe
faded fern
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 2:06 PM UTC
I begins at 7am and carries through the early afternoon. There’s an intermission until the evening choir picks it up again. The radiant and ordinary birdsong
restless elm
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 8:51 AM UTC
Humans find life in the lifeless,
it is a subconscious act.
So when the coffee machine doesn't work well (despite all available facts),
I give her an incredulous look,
head-cocked, raised brow,
expecting her to look back.
Then after some time,
(and no reason why),
she works!
What's more human than that?
faded cedar
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 5:52 AM UTC
When I gaze upon your beauty.
I see the fullness of your love.
The grass so green.
The trees so tall.
And the lily and daffodils, that sway to the breeze.
The sun displays, Your Glory
The moon gives shade by night.
The stars 🌟 reflect your wondrous works.
And the awesomeness.
Of the Master Builder.
Whose mind was set on us.
blue thrush
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 2:10 AM UTC