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"