in praise of the scab

(A lighthearted take on one of the amazing
“small” manifestations of the Creative Presence
we so take for granted. First posted 6/23/14.)

i celebrate the scab big and small
sacrament accessible to one and all

reminder we are more than machines
equally helpful to beggars and queens

it stays no longer than required
with little fanfare it’s retired

a creation of promise and salubrious dreams
a little miracle built into our genes

so all hail the scab and praise to its maker
in the business of health it’s a mover and shaker

© 2005 Dennis Ference

Creation’s Garden


May your faith
wake from its dull repose
that you may walk again
Creation’s Garden
with wonder and awe
in witness to the Spirit
spilling itself out
lavishly in every direction–
royal rose and creeping thistle,
majestic eagle and miniscule mite,
sturdy oak, delicate fern,
stars, galaxies, oceans,
deserts and domains
unseen under the ground
where you light.

Yes, let yourself be sated
with the splendor and spectacle,
praise and gratitude bubbling
up in your breast.

But finally,…come to rest
in stillness and in silence
until moved with tears
at Love’s unrestrained
excess, you recognize
again for the first time,
the miracle you are.

© 2014 Dennis Ference

Lake Louise

(Inspired by the awesome beauty of
Lake Louise in the Canadian Rockies.

Shh! Take
off your shoes
and reverence the place.
Shed your too tight skin
and ride the winds that swell
the breast and waken the spirit.
Let your eyes sip and suck,
sate the desire sifting ever the dross
in search of gold. Stake your claim
alongside these others, then dare
go forth alone with courage
to share the fire reignited
deep within your soul.

© 2007 Dennis Ference
My new book of original inspirational verses, From the Water’s Edge, is now available from and

Wellspring of Goodness

(An excerpt from the inspirational blog of Bill Tonnis. Check it out at

The beautiful sunrise; Singing birds; Blue skies; The mind-boggling, expanding size of the universe; A warm hug; Laughter with a friend; The savory taste of your favorite food; The fragrant aroma of flowers; The emotional sounds of your favorite songs; The feeling you get when someone reaches out to you with compassion or forgiveness; What other sign do we need that there is a Loving Source behind it all? Why not drop any cynicism and simply believe? Deep down…there is a Love that refuses to let us go. It is the source of our deep yearning for unconditional acceptance and love. Abide in this never-ending wellspring of Goodness.

~Bill Tonnis

The Universe

A human being is part of a whole, called by us the “Universe,” a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something separate from the rest—a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness, This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.

—Albert Einstein

The Animals

Forty feet from the front door,
a doe and two fawns
stand motionless before
a plush, seamless gown
of green. The grass tears
with a new day’s delight,
and an eager morning sun
smiles on the scene.

The speckled offspring
wait patiently as their mother
samples the surroundings
with senses sharply tuned.
Suddenly, as if on cue, a single-
file parade begins: back and forth,
back and forth. An obtruding
branch is managed smoothly
by the doe’s elegant leap,
the fawns’ casual bow.

After four passes they exit, and
my eyes strain after them
with unfamiliar longing.
At last I surrender grudgingly,
and plucking the newspaper
from an inconvenienced bush,
I proceed to the kitchen and
the regimen of practical routine.
But as I watch the steam
rise leisurely from my cup,
I steal one last moment
to muse that, if I had my way,
all the world’s saviors would
spend their first crucial days
in the company of the animals.

© 2009 Dennis Ference

At 65

(Our own reality is often starved
for our acceptance and love.)

He stares at him:
the man in the mirror–
the face indelibly marked
by time’s unrelenting crusade:
crown sparsely feathered;
beard coarse and grizzled;
brows sprouting feelers,
defiant and brash.

Their eyes lock for a moment
in the silence that grieves;
but still he resists concession,
still he withholds
the compassionate nod.

© 2009 Dennis Ference