Tuesday, February 14, 2017

The Economy of Love



















This marble world of stones and pools,
O'er every land, the divine image bearers,
In creeds of both Saints and of sinners,
Rise to conquer for such paltry treasures,
Which fire the economy of greed and war,
Paying returns in tears and crimson rivers,
Of death.

This mid-aged man, losing his steady lead,
O'er the shadows, yet the divine image lifts,
His steps. And a lonely heart is ever young,
Through the eyes of she whose eyes are gifts.
Her heart harmony, within her lovely frame
The sound moves me, as a fresh wind shifts,
Creation.

This marble world of broken-hearted places,
With all the rest, I screamed against the night,
'Til a day like the first day, all the world is new,
As sight, and touch, even the color of the light.
The currency of sacrament in the economy of love,
Is the grace of her embrace raising me to heights,
Of life.

Renita,
My wife,
I am,
Ever yours.


Friday, December 30, 2016

Bones of the Earth










The bones of the earth protrude,
Wounding fleshy fibrous loam,
The forms of eras, once teaming,
Jutting jarringly where we roam,
Beautifully resistant, ever hewed,
In wind,
In water.

The breath of the sky, day to day,
Gnawing the backbone mountains,
Through eras - 'ere the elan of life.
In lifetimes of spirits rock gives way,
Kneaded in numberless gust of rains,
In silhouette,
In symmetry.

Below the bony peaks endless quills,
Stabbing, cutting the fabric of wind,
Which howls a holy haunting hymn.
The forests of firs and pines pinned,
The earthen skin, splits stony skeleton,
In roots,
In recesses

The bones of the earth protrude.

Friday, December 23, 2016

One Mother














Your life upon the loom, your heart upon the wind,
We wonder in awe, attending your life's tapestry.
The colors of your days and loves are the whole.
Memories woo hot tears that run down our cheeks.
Your sweet life poured out like water from a bowl,
Yet in love and in hope your days are not a vanity.
Though you are still, your light has not dimmed.
Mother.

Teaming crimson threads inweave your lavish love,
Your children, grands, all in your covering prayers,
Violet strings combine every stitch, in warp and weft,
As your faith formed you, then we, in this cloth of life.
Your sweet spirit in your last breath, through a cleft,
Loosed. Healed and whole you climbed celestial stairs,
Though in sorrow, you with Saints and Seraphs above.
Mom.


Board games, camping, and scrambled eggs,
Ginger bread and cream, chili con carne, 
Cherry pie, lemon pie, apple pie, any pie,
Evenings of popcorn, and home movies.
Big warm hugs, but ripped off band-aids,
Lighting speed mid-air bee or wasp slicer.
Late night at the bedside tending a fever.


The green threads attest your heart was fully alive,
Robust as a tree and as fragile as a young bloom,
Your nurturing love ever soaking each life in prayer.
This space you've left, though wilted, still blossoms.
Your absence invites us to extend your love and care,
As we weave our lives from yours upon the loom,
With you, alive in God and in his Christ, will thrive
Mommy.

Your life upon the loom,
Your heart upon the wind,
So recently threadbare,

Now higher up and farther in,
Your tapestry complete.
Healed,
Whole,
Beloved.





Saturday, September 24, 2016

Aubade














A fire is kindled in endlessness space,
Where the weight of elements condense,
Nebular trees sprout conflagrant spheres,
O'er aeons and ages tumbling light-years,
As gift of  gold, myrrh, and frankincense,
A hearth to a handful of worlds in grace.

Fusion fires and flares, expelling darkness,
Limbs of light, over every spinning globe,
As blessings radiate infrared to ultra violet,
Canvassing ever land, piercing every eyelet,
The trail of King Sol, an ever widening robe,
Painting a blue horizon, otherwise starless.

Under, above, through, and beyond there was,
And is, and is to come, such - the notes of light,
Where orbitals and symphonies entwine, and be,
And stars pierce, like dandelions infest the lea,
Each fusion interrupting the monopoly of night,
Sustains all that can be seen and known in the laws,
Of love.





Sunday, April 24, 2016

Eucharistia


















And lo, how he hung his head,
His shredded sorrowing brow,
Silenced precious gasping breath,
Cold the kiss of the angel of death,
Slumped, spiked to a barren bough,
Crimson stained, as last he bled,
Eucharistia.

And lo, he is swaddled once more,
Ivory wrap seeps precious crimson,
Silenced, his dying prayer of mercy,
Cruciform limbs at rest in an earthy
Crypt. Descending to those in prison,
In dying damning death evermore,
Eucharistia.

And lo, his brow, death's dew dispels,
Burial shroud seared in a mystic power
Breathing new air through pierced lungs.
Breaking of bread, in any human tongue,
As with the cup, raised upon that hour,
Is Christ, our Lord, hear the Easter bells.
Eucharistia.

Saturday, March 26, 2016

Splays



Lazy melancholic wandering gaze one waning day,
Lazy-spying one common sparrow's abrupt descent,
Adorned in bark-brown feathers against the green,
A careless feathered form neither sings nor preens,
'Til peck-content in abrupt shift, one quick ascent,
Sudden blur of flutters, o'er blue maroon splays,
It's pixie form.

Sunday, December 20, 2015

Sorrow in Love


No brush stroke captures the lighting stroke,
Chords nor song express the strongest bonds,
And words stumble in an anguished heart.
When neurons and soul barely perceive,
When deep unto deep breathes and grieves,
A sage, or a child, lost amid the breakers,
No fathoming the depth of the churning sea,
All flaying and failing in desire to evoke,
Love.

She is the rising sun and she is the setting,
She is the first and last icon in my soul,
Yet all such blather is only so much noise,
Oh for a heart to howl honestly at the moon,
For pangs and pain that find no worthy runes,
Instead, a cub, with pitiful moanful whimpers,
Heart cries sealed in a cage of bone and flesh,
Born stumbling of a deep love ever begetting,
My troth.

In truth, but one tear in her emerald eyes,
Or a simple tremble upon her coral lips,
Then I, penitent before the throne of God,
Barefoot, and ready to walk upon the coals,
Passion's purgation extracts a weighty toll,
These fires overtake this stumbling jester,
Refining his ore, knighting him champion,
One man awakens to loving that bids him die,
For Her.