Saturday, February 18, 2012

offerings


             some things that are cannot be told in prose
             evincing poetry, these acts unrhyme
             the past, the present, future, and all time,
             rewriting all that happened, all we chose


             a son returns a man still aged fifteen
             his dreams as flowers scattered on a stone
             remember still the land where they were sown
             so he his heart unearths, uncrushed, unseen


             too large, let it be written as it may
             mine eyes have seen it, truly, through a veil
             a tear in time admits one lately born
             to regions where the mind can surely stay
             awaiting all that left behind must trail
             until all shall be mended that was torn

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Live


live for yourself in every creature
live for the calm in the storm
live but to love though no one notice
live but to know, not be known

wait for the time in every moment
watch for the day in the night
witness in joy though all be sorrow
wonder at dark, hid in light

give of yourself and never tire
give of the pleasure and pain
give but to gather what only matters
give but to go, not be gone

nothing there is though all surround you
no one is here but your own
never is new though old be ever
no way but this, truth is one
x

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Always

The air is cool and the evening dark.
Only an hour after sunset
the sky is indigo black,
laced with high cumulus clouds
faintly glowing with light from a waxing gibbous moon
bright in the zenith above.

I walk my rent money over to the office
of ‘The Binfords’ where I live,
an old fashioned neighborhood
of ivy-covered white stucco row houses
built about the year I was born,
sixty-one years ago.

Calm is the night, the air faintly tinged
with the smell of suppers
cooking in kitchens as I pass,
the pale lamplight contrasting
with the deeply textured trunks
of giant evergreens lining the path.

Up a stair here,
down another there,
as my walk meanders over roots
that insist on having the right of way,
and have been obligingly paved over.
In these shadows,
if I didn’t know my way,
I might have tripped.

Ranging in the western heavens,
brightly shining, astonishingly luminous and clear,
Venus, looking so close
it makes the vast universe seem small,
a homey place, an astrological garden
planted for His wayward and wandering children
by the great God and gardener,
Jesus Christ.

I feel little but protected,
His love not being doled out grudgingly
as by a measuring and weighing deity,
but by the Lord of all,
to whom size is of no consequence,
nor renown, nor accomplishments, nor wealth,
nor even manly wisdom,
only that we exist,
only that we live, facing Him with trust and thanksgiving,
willing to receive all that He generously gives,
happy to see Him when He appears,
shining in the stars like tonight,
or in the eyes of our brothers and sisters,
creatures like us,
each infinitely different.

The eight psalms of the first day of the month,
the ones I know best,
even by heart,
unravel themselves in no particular order
as I trace my path homewards,
and pacify my soul.

My life is simple,
adheres to stillness,
and finds refuge like the hidden inhabitants of forest trees,
unheard and unseen,
and free.

The care of the Creator God envelopes me
like the strong yet gentle arms of the Bridegroom
that open to receive His Bride,
doting on her as His one and only,
both of them unaware
of anything or anyone outside themselves,
because their love contains multitudes,
includes all.

There is nothing and nowhere
outside this House that the Lord has made,
no roads long and weary laden with the remorse of parting,
only His way, always arriving, always leading Home
where, always welcome,
I live forever.
x