a loving respect


I sat often in the backseat
of my papa’s 1953 Buick –
a beautiful machine,
always driven with precision.
It had a smooth sound
and was comfortable in the
expansive back seat, all mine.
My grandmother was a special co-pilot –
opening the garage and closing it.
I sat on driver side of the backseat
and looked at the wrinkles
in the back of his neck.
Several deep horizontal lines,
like rows and rows of grape vines.
Wrinkles created from farming –
planting, pruning and nurturing in the field.
The vines grow in the vineyard from
a wild-rooted base.
Grafted into a life of
fruitful growth.
The graft brought lineage and freedom
from disease to its host.
These memories are deeply rooted
in my life, shaping future from the past.
I long for and cherish such parts of life
where God shows Hs masterful
hand in our lives
so we will always know
He is there.


Winter Rest



a flight from sensibility
a rapid demise of reason
departure from my many ways
that leave me this stark this season

upon landscape in tarnished brown
settles winter’s quiet way
soon the nadir of sunlit journey
the peaceful shortest day

where do I in my mind go
a quest of contented bliss
greet in joy O wintertime
a time for somber remiss

days soon depart from winter’s hold
as springtime taps on door
and resting now in candle light
God’s love certain evermore.

(c) 2017 Rick Stassi



Pablo Picasso

Lost often in days I’ve wrought,
trembling and bound in veiled knot.
The morning relieves a dreadful night,
as warming comes in hopeful light.

Should I in weakness stride anew?
Or pity failing in harboring dew.
This lack that wreaks on endless walk,
grasping for more than fruitless talk.

I dislike my downturn from certain way,
to languish as some restless prey.
The peace that comes on dove’s soft wing,
is the peace I seek in everything.

(c) rick stassi