One Life in Grace

In my living years, there came a new time,
Where winter's cold sloughs off  as a dream,
And buds and blossoms from an old branch,
When leaves unfurl, in warm light unfurl,
And the steeple bells sweetly ring their chime.

One day, a cool breeze waters my eyes pining,
A whispering air—'tis love's sweetest song —
A solemn hymn: "the spirit and the gifts are ours." (1) 
Relearning to love as if nothing were my own,
Awakening the will, to Easter's life aligning. 

Luminous days swallow this seedling soul,
And as the hours gyre the paths that I will take,
Shadows ebb and flow about my wicker frame,
Skin and breath — compass every pain and grace,
The cloth where lament and love make up the whole.

And awakening in love I see the gift of days,
Days where  love and grace heal a fitful soul,
Life — where love is given and love is given back.
A dying unto living, a journey to places never seen,
'Til broken hearts be overtaken in psalms of praise.

And though new days and years in time will fade,
This love speaks so loudly of the love of God,
And seen, and being seen, and beloved even still,
Renita, a sacrament that baptizes one life in grace,
Her holy love outshines the many years of shade.

One life,
In grace.


1. From the Hymn of Martin Luther: "A Mighty Fortress is Our God."

Noel

The ages have seen the sorrows,
Sorrows of all who draw breath,
Hours, to days, the years, to ages,
The birth-cord entangles with death.

Patriarch, heroines, prophets of old,
Promise in story; world without end.
Every denouement always unravels,
Every last breath will always portend.

'Til Christ is born, in Bethlehem town,
Seraph singers, shepherd supplicants,
Indigent cries echoed in Gloria choirs,
Foreshadow fulfillment of the covenant.

Our sacrament brother the story's end,
Hands and feet, our bread and our wine.
As Mary's suckles the Lord of creation,
Our stories and woes with His intertwine.

"Through him, and with him, and in him. . .
World without end, Amen." (1)



1. Adapted from the Eucharistic doxology.

Translation

There are times,
Weary of the wear,
The mileage of the soul,
Hollow is the stare,
Midnight chimes.

There are days,
Grinding narratives,
The unraveling of spirit,
Collapsing pyramids,
Mounds of malaise.

There is one,
Who is of our own,
The fullness of all beauty,
The dark we have sown,
Pierced and undone.

There is a love,
Mends a bruised reed,
The ending of our endings,
This succor and feed,
We in such need of.

There is salvation,
Smoking wick attended,
The truth of what we long for,
Pain and joys ascended,
A beautiful translation.

Purgation,
Communion,
Adoration.


"A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out." Matthew 12:20.

New Morn

I wonder as I wander out under the sky, (1)

That I live this life at this time in my life,

The sunrise meets eyes -- gleams numinous,

Each leaf and each form burns luminous,

And in a world molded in sorrow and strife,

I wander wondering, beloved  below sky.

I wonder --advent, "in the bleak mid-winter," (2)

That I breathe aurora's air with baited breath,

Angels of my nature shuffle in new formation,

Amity and charity in a surprising incarnation,

And in a world haunted by the shadow of death,

I, strangely warmed amid the winds of winter.

I wonder at the morn, "like the first morning" (3)

That crusty eyes blink at first the blush of sun,

That I be basking in light and love undeserved,

Enthralled with Renita in a dance unreserved,

And though life is of tears, this day has begun,

"Morning has Broken, like the first morning." (4)

Awake my love,

Wander with me,

Wonder with me,

In this new morn.

_____

1. I Wonder as I Wander, by John Jacob Niles

2. In the Bleak Midwinter by Christina Rossetti

3. Morning Has Broken by Eleanor Farjeon

4. Morning Has Broken by Eleanor Farjeon

Better Angels

Every lovely place and every lovely dream,
A negative of contrast to what is daily seen,
The fracture that is at the heart of everything,
Inweaves as every heart knows the bitter sting,
Lo, even in eyes that show the heart of love,
A sorrow will befall the sight of a fallen dove.

Revealed in moonlight calls of midnight howl,
As dancers falter, though they be cheek by jowl,
The very crack that allowed light to flood within,
The fault where seeps the sound of dark chagrin,
Lo, even in ears that bend towards the beloved,
A chord is pulled tethered to feeling so unloved.

There is a wincing, when a heart is pricked in pain,
The fear of loss a darkness marked by bitter stain,
When the sweetness of fellowship is sore eclipsed.
A gaze to distant hills, and sight firmly transfixed.
Lo, once more,the music that echoes in the spheres,
A touch again, like spit to eyes, and my vision clears.

In wonder at the angels of your nature taking flight,
And I pulled in as they wing to precipitous height,
You and I, our humanity, caught up in redemption,
As Love each day writes the story of our salvation,
Lo, in dark places this something beautiful emerges,
Shaping our true selves as love's hot alchemy purges. 

Until,
Love!

The House of Love

Homeless when it comes to home,
These eyes avert the gaze of love,
And love Divine, seemed n'er mine,
Vagabond below skies, fair and foul,
And soulless flesh, fit for the loam.
Stone.

 A candle behind glass, and a voice.
These eyes angling up in their orbs,
The warmth within, to this has-been,
Like warm bread to hungry senses,
Remembering the power of choice.
Wood.

Soft hand extends with a beckoning,
These eyes squint the welcome lustre,
Surprising trust, as this soul adjusts,
Welcomed before the crackling hearth,
Tender a new love's strange leavening.
Glass.

Safe arms support this wobbly frame,
These eyes blinking in watery focus,
Clownish steps, charity does perplex,
What is this frightful positive regard,
And this sweet calling of my name?
Clay.

Day unto day of love's sweet melody,
These eyes kindled like a nascent star,
Gazing at the face, of one Renita Grace,
Forlorn no more, in the house of love,
Two metamorph in love's hot alchemy.
Flesh.

Thou

In the witching hours,
As I lay upon my bed,
You waltz in my head,
Enchantment in the heart,
Amour's ardor is an art,
It's mastery will be ours.

In the waning midnight,
Love's embers quell the dark,
In your world will I embark,
Journey, I know not whence,
Love's nectar, my recompense,
My healing and my delight.

In the pale auroral dawning,
The sun silhouettes a visage,
Unveiling Imago Dei; an image,
Fixing the gaze of a vagabond,
Arise my soul, over and yond,
The heart of your new belonging.

In the warming morning hues,
Emerald shines Sol's early morn,
With a kiss of life, I am reborn.
Breath of life within my lungs,
Words of verse in holy tongues,
Communion with my sacral muse.

I
Love
Thou.

The Holy

In the presence of the Holy,
I can feel my skin contract,
Remembering my every lack,
Shutting out the morning star,
In darkest dark did I mar,
One life lost in melancholy.

 In the presence of the Sacred,
Cowering naked and afraid,
In the coldness of the shade,
Shutting out the healing song,
Hiding from that which I long,
One life in darkness captured.

In the presence of the Dying,
Cold silver burning in my palm,
Cold sinner desperate for a balm,
Lashed, gory, crimsoned bloody,
"Take and eat this bread my body."
One life ends its every striving.

In the presence of the Resurrected,
The Son of man with hair of silver,
His embrace makes of me a believer,
Chains tumble from hands and feet,
Face and knees rise from the peat
One life, once desperate and dejected,

Is loved,
Is lived,
Unto it's Lord.

Love in Sacral Time

Eyes open to a day — day upon day,
Open to endless deep midnight,
Warmth seeped from the marrow,
Cold-silent — a  fallen sparrow,
One who has given up the fight,
Ready for the coup-de-grace, I lay.

Life of walking among the tombs,
'Til hearing the calling of my name,
While memories like dreams congeal,
Until again they become quite real,
The call unfolds my crumpled frame,
Strangely moved from the catacombs.

In auroral light — voice on the wind,
A word of hope, a spirit of fondness,
This love evoked across the world;
Hobble as I wholehearted — hurled
Sweetly in the arms of lovingkindness,
Reborn, and now joyfully entwined.

Her heart as clear as wintry crystal,
Her mind as strong as tempered steel,
Her soul as whole as bread and wine,
To eat and drink this love, this sign,
I — a man, learning again to kneel,
Renita is Grace and living is sacral.

Delight,
Delight,
Delight.

Sacrament Truth

There is a sorrow place,
Where flowers daily die,
Ever ground into the peat —
Ever trodden under feet.

There is a grief in this,
Yea mourn the floral hues —
Sallow — as they are lost,
Blossoms fade to dross.

There is the sacrament,
Whence each death is life,
Petals ground as trod upon,
Reborn — a new spring dawn.

There is a joyous place,
Where the breath of God,
Exhales pollen o'er fields,
And soils rejoice in yields,

Of blossoms,
Of beauty,
Of truth.

4 new poems

Atonement

'Tis the love language of God,
Evermore debated by old men,
Ruminations of theologians,
A belief running roughshod.

A ransom paid to the devil,
Liberation for Satan's captives,
Jesus dies, child of Adam lives,
And all pilgrims may revel.

or

A moral example to the lost,
Of life lived devoted and holy,
Death the moment to be solely,
Undivided when counting the cost.

or

The price for divine satisfaction,
As sin is darkness to the Holy One,
Suffering poured out, 'til it is done,
Love pays for sin's every infraction.

or

Christ Jesus wins where Adam lost,
And in loving union with our race,
Blessed in his life of perfect grace,
Recapitulates-we in paying our cost.

or

Divine Christ becomes a human being,
That human beings become divine,
God in Christ dying, the gift and sign,
Theosis— changed by he — unchanging.

so

Atonement love language, God woos,
This love moving the most moved,
This love in bloody death, most proved,
Salvation, communion.Worship and muse,

Eternal.

Trash Talk

 

Words can cut,
Words can heal,
Words can wound,
Words can peel,
Soul from skin,
Bone from marrow,
Friend from friend,
Sharp as an arrow.

Words are story,
Words are Spirit,
Words have depth,
From endless scrit.
Know the weight,
Know their levity,
Know their nature,
Centers of gravity.

As words unravel,
And words devolve,
Words lose their song,
And hearts dissolve.
Words disenchanted,
Bark of the hyena,
Noise without worship,
Without luster or patina. 

Trash talk.

Synesthesia

Maybe all things do connect,
Deeply in the the mind of God,
And sound, and color, and touch,
Each God's spoken yes, reflect.

Shapes or letters may shine a color,
And symphonies caress the skin,
Numbers may matrix into a pattern,
Knowledge that escapes the scholar.

Maybe there are ways of knowing,
That fracture normal space and time,
Where love makes all things personal,
Sight, sound, touch, taste, all flowing,

Kaleidoscopic .

Sucks 

 

Bad things happen to you,
Bad things happen to me.
It sucks,
Ah shucks.


Daily life will disappoint,
Nightly dreams will scare.
It sucks,
No luck.

Pain cannot be dodged,
Wind blows as it does,
It sucks,
Show pluck.

One too many bruises,
Too many stubbed toes,
It sucks,
What the...
 

Awake, Awake

A fresh breeze upon the brow,
Christening dew upon the breath,
Aurora softly chimes birdsong,
Awake, awake, do not be long,
Shed shades of chimeral death,
Sighing air of promise, of vow.

Foreday's colors spectral blaze,
Windows to windows of the soul
Peel -- reveal lavenders and roses,
Until this stirring self-imposes,
As if the world were painted gold,
Calls to homage meets every gaze.

In coral light, hues steadily imbue,
And chords of melancholy plucked,
And chords of rapture and transport,
Sorrow and solace cozily consort.
A soul whose affect will not obstruct,
Both will entwine through and through.

Melancholy musters unto  mourning,
Such yearning answers the comely light,
Beauty reveals, in the fabric of the world,
The fingerprint of God --traces whorled.
As King Sol hunts the guardian of night,
Skies bleed beatific, in a prism dawning.

Transport and rapture on to rejoicing,
Invoked in the magic of the morningtide,
Light unto light, for those without sight,
Aurora's purgation  of specters of night,
Declares such glories so recently denied,
Beckons creation to gather in voicing

All Praise.

Awake, awake, do not be long.

One Lady

There is a way to be in this wanting world,
Where sorrows stampede o'er every self,
In being in charity of  living 'mid dying,
Breathing a sigh in the land of the sighing,
Is the art of she who in simply being herself --
Is healing --as God's realm, flag unfurled.

There is a way to walk in this vale of tears,
Where waking so often -- a curse to survive,
A presence that graces, a balm to the broken.
And speaking words that need to be spoken,
Is the art of she who in simply being alive --
Is quietness -- as a dawn that calms all fears.

There is a way to love in this loveless place,
Where a heart can break and bleed its soul,
A tenderness --arms extend and then enfold,
And warmed the heart that had grown cold,
Is the art of she who fires, red-embered coal--
Is life -- as the loving gaze of a beloved face.

Beatific.

Slugs

Blithe to all the narratives,

The tumble of all the species,

Of all the worlds within the world.

Extruding its slime, gliding in time,

O’er leaf or stone or shower stall,

Resolved in solitary imperatives.

Writhing watery — slimy, solitaire,

Every place trailing a slick of silver.

It’s endless buffet of rot and decay,

Feeding the loam which is our home,

And none too palatable to predators,

Audacious, appearing the apparent heir.

And sometimes, in the deep midnight,

Bonds Slug to slug in coiled embrace,

Glorious, gross, bonded viscous adipose,

‘Til nestling eggs in dribbling the dregs,

And off to extend the formless legacy,

Of birth, decay, in seasonal sacral rite.

These few words are a plug,

For the oozing primal slug.

Rosie

From a broken home, and sad state,
Colonized in fleas with matted fur,
A rough mannered beast you were,
Trembling at your yet unknown fate.

But time, love, and doggy shampoo,
Once nicely groomed so snowy white,
And warming to new familiar sights,
Your wag and swag replacing your rue.

And now you greet in a liturgy of licks,
Complete with black eyed adoring stare,
Mimicking bipeds whose lives you share,
Always ready to play and up to new tricks.

Sweetly, you love to be loved and to love,
Bark your invitation to play on the floor,
A dog heart shining like the purest of ores,
Part of the healing in simply being part of,

My life.

Night Air

A hush on the breeze in a light of blue,
Whispering of Luna's cool soft reign,
And dwellers of day in dens recede.
Those attuned to night's cooler hues,
Warble and wail in pastoral strains,
Calling and crying, a longing, a need.

Each crackling branch or flutter of leaf,
Goosebump skin and pauses the nerves,
Attentive in a fear both sacral and primal.
Choral yowls and howls in ambient grief,
Pining in a canvas moonlit chef d'oeuvre,
Their longing and mine converge chiasmal.

Then, horizon blues bleed purple and pink,
Bays stifle whimpering in the blending light,
'Til sallow sunlight stretches shadows of morn.
Night air re-enchanted in birdsong and blinks,
In puffs of dew breath or in wisps of sprites,
A faunal change of the guard in a day reborn.

Sol accedes,
Luna recedes,
Melancholy.

The Sun Rose

Every born life, a feeble pushing back,
Against air, and space, and shadows,
Every whelp invites talons and teeth,
And a bleeding of light again into black.

Yet the sun rose today,
Pulsing light into the fray.

In mortal memory, I know these shades,
Picked as carrion to the hellion beaks,
Feeding on flesh and hopes, and fears,
'Til all that is beautiful feebly fades.

Yet the sun rose today,
Dew sparkled in the rays.

Where hope when the ruin of days of war,
Are liturgy marking each birth, each love?
Innocent souls are consumed by the judged,
Reversing the reversal once promised in lore.

Yet the sun rose today,
A caress of color in the gray.

Every born life, a fragile pushing back,
Form and voice facing down Thanatos,
Every cub invites fellowship and love,
And a tending to life unto its tender lack.

Yes the sun rose today,
Rocking me in gentle sway.

The sun rose today.

One Life

In my living years, there came this time,
Where spring has faded like a memory,
Summer's blossoms withered like old skin,
When ever fell the leaves, fell the leaves,
And the augur bells faintly distant chimed.

One day, a stinging breeze in mine eyes pining,
A whispering air—'tis wisdom sweet sad song —
A solemn hymn: "Let goods and kindred go." (1) 
A learning to love as if nothing were my own,
A bending of the will, to autumnal days aligning. 

These stringent days swallow my threadbare soul,
And as the hours gyre the paths that I will take,
Shadows ebb and flow about my wicker frame,
Skin and breath — compass every grace and curse,
The cloth where lament and love make up the whole.

In these waning times, there will be gift of days,
When every kindness is free of fitful grasps.
Life — where love is given and not expected back.
A dying unto living, a journey to places never seen,
'Til broken hearts be overtaken in psalms of praise.
 
One life.





_________
1) From Martin Luther's hymn: A Mighty Fortress is Our God

Hush Nova

Nebular nursery ignite nascent stars,
All burning, burning, tiger bright,(1)
Fiery hunger ever yearns-takes flight,
Inspiring lovers and wagers of wars.

The stars burn bright in lovers eyes,
Scorching nests of sweet communion,
'Til stars and loves dissolve in disunion.
Once a candle lit, it but burns and dies.

Sun shatters —a fiery frore, a dying star —
The fires of hell burn cold like failing love —
Verily sorrowful, the plummeting dove —
Reborn  raven — plumage and pith as tar.

Conflagrant novas fade to inky black,
Singularity where light is locked away,
Soul's bleed silver in rot and in decay,
Love and light woefully fade into lack.

Star light, Star bright, First star,
Remembered and mourned,
In black sky, stone heart,
Cracks.



1. A line adapted from William Blakes: "The Tyger"

Missing

Streams of mists stratus, endless,
Reds, blues conned, from corneas,
Weight of clouds, smother soulless,
Chirps, warbles, silenced in apnea.


Cover of coolness, rage in presence,
Energies strike and leave for dead,
Colorless still, and void the absence,
Pea soup fog, seduced Sol, then fled.
 
Cloudless, sky-less, this empty canvas,
Nor warmth or cold, nor word or breath,
The stars, slaughtered in darkening novas,
Twilight fades, the god mourns Ashtoreth.


A stream, crimson, cupped, to lips, taken,
A stone soul, a name called to awaken.