Articles By: M. Morford

Morf likes looking into the odd corners of life. Riding a bicycle down abandoned alleys, eating unpronounceable foods and talking to strangers are only a few favorite things.

Every town would kill its prophets if it could

Every town would kill its prophets if it could
Every town would kill its prophets if it could. We’d turn their blood into stone, Their vision into marble or bronze Their words into platitudes That we place on schoolhouse walls. We slice up their words Until we make them safe And we remind the world And ourselves That we like our prophets dead And...
February 1st, 2014 | Fiction & Poetry, Poetry | Read More

Some Mornings

Some Mornings
Some mornings I wake up deeply empty And it is only duty that stirs me, Only the heavy, unrelenting hand of obligation That shakes off this clinging membrane of inertia. As much as I hate it, I am also thankful For this force that will not let me go, That will never stop reminding me Than I have more...
December 29th, 2013 | Fiction & Poetry, Poetry | Read More

The Storm That Rushes Through Me

The Storm That Rushes Through Me
There’s a storm that rushes through me As I touch your face And your eyes grow large As I feel your embrace And there’s nothing like it in the whole wide world And I fear this love As I’m swallowed into its swirl And I find myself broken Healed and torn Empty and filled Like a child reborn And...
December 7th, 2013 | Poetry | Read More

Where the Wind Still Sings

I long for a place where the wind still sings And the land is free from the iron clad grid Of wire and road And the greed and fear That cling like a living molecule On every strand of grass That has traded its freedom, Its hope, its life For days, endless days In the yard or park. But I’ve walked...
November 17th, 2013 | Poetry | Read More

Standing under a bright light

Standing under a bright light
I’m standing in a hallway Talking to two students When one tells me My aura is white. I tell her I’m standing under a bright light. And I am. I’m also standing in the light and legacy Of a dream, A dream that is still unfolding Even as it fades Or takes shape in other places. I live and breathe And...
November 10th, 2013 | Poetry | Read More

Your Unique Self by Marc Gafni

There are some books that everyone should read. This book is not one of them. To say that this book would annoy many and offend even more is probably an understatement. Consider the premise: enduring personal spirituality is not about being a good person, saving the world, or even getting into heaven....
October 22nd, 2013 | Arts, Books | Read More

I Walk These Alleys

I Walk These Alleys
I walk these alleys With the odd familiar determination Of a native in what is almost home But night time And a different perspective Casts a strange pall Over the neighborhood I think I know. I don’t know everyone, of course, But there’s a pulse of familiarity, Though not necessarily safety, That...
October 20th, 2013 | Poetry | Read More

I Am – For now

I Am – For now
Unlike the eternal ‘I AM”, I am not forever. I am here, And not there. Myself, And no one else. I inhabit this moment And no other. The past recedes as quickly As yesterday’s breath, And tomorrow, Is, as long as I have breath, Forever out of reach. We inhabit Or even become The flickering flame And...
October 5th, 2013 | Fiction & Poetry, Poetry | Read More

Business Secrets of the Trappist Monks

Business Secrets of the Trappist Monks
Most people I know, across virtually every political, philosophical and economic spectrum, consider faith and business distinct, if not polar opposites. After all, we work on week days and worship (if we do) on Sundays. The schedule most of us live on demonstrates perfectly this divide. But could we...
September 25th, 2013 | Books | Read More

Whose are these hands?

Whose are these hands?
Who has the hands That make our clothes? Who has the hands That clear the way? Who has the hands That grow the food? Who has the hands That work too long, And late and hard? Who has the hands, The black and brown hands, That care for me And clean up and bury me? Who has the hands That clap in joy And...
September 15th, 2013 | Poetry | Read More