Thou, Thee, and Me

Cloudward gazing on grassy bed,

As air anoints my brow with dew,

And  pining groans into the sky,

A world of pain within my head,

This longing aches that all be new,

An earnest prayer lags to a "why?"

Oh Thou.

This lavish loveliness all about,

Such beauty breaks into my soul,

And tearing eyes stare at the sun,

My quiet sigh rises to a shout,

Incongruous beauty enacts a toll, 

My praying tears before the one, 

To thee.

Yet in these times,  all seems lost.

Sons and daughters cast to the Baals,

The meaning of persons — eclipsed.

As ozone and sprites bear the cost,

Love and dust like weight on scales,

Such anomie–vertigo in betwixt,

'Ah me.

On Life's Way

Ever the dim melancholy cry,
Ever the moon pursues the sun,
Crepuscule, aurora, but glimpse
Each other, as but one light,
Ascends to the apex of the sky.

Pining, like the Dane to his Regine,
Knowing the searing heat of love,
Knowing the dark angels within,
This longing, ever lost in longing,
Unable to leap the dark ravine.

In setting free the broken sparrow,
Authenticity carried such a weight,
Lives broken, and lives reformed,
And bounded mind in leap of faith,
Lover lilts,  pierced by his own arrow.

Sometimes the road less traveled,
Is a sadness, is a sorrow of solitude.
Not every love though  forged in vow,
Grows old and deep in lasting bonds.
So Kierkegaard whose very self unraveled.

Yet was found in the arms,
That caught his perilous leap,
Catching each perilous leap,
Along life's way.

Unswaddled

Ghost mists expand and swallow sky,
In coal, then sallow, and back-lit white,
And beasts, and birds, and you and I,
From the eye of God are hid from sight.

And below nebulous, vaporous forms,
Time slipping incognito into the day,
Shadowless shadowlands of pending storms,
A still-life canvas — a stilted portrait.

Nimbus shades cocoon over nascent corona,
But edges fray from a mass restlessness,
Creamy ribbons flow from azural persona,
'Til all sigh the air of celestial undress.

And light, and drops, and bracing breeze,
Summons flight from flightless flesh,
And below my toes roll vale and trees,
Unswaddled ecstasy in auroral enmesh.

Alive.

Love

If life were made of light and laughter,
How be? How does this sacrament play?
Part improvisation, part cacophony,
The movement, the music, the muse.
And in the lengthening of the day —
Soothing in symmetry of fear and beauty,
Not a science, but a magic, an alchemy,
Angels conjure red from skies of gray,
Ever beckoning souls, each to the other.

If we be tapestry of diamond and dirt,
How be? For each, 'tis every other thought,
Part angel choir, part wolf's moon howl,
The cry of dereliction, a blushing swoon.
Here — the formation of souls are wrought.
Within love's longings and love's losings,
The fire in the equations of our mythology,
Beauty and truth imprint; such is the lot,
Of creatures oft formed in a world of hurt.

If love burn brighter than faith and hope,
How be? That lovers 'oft pine melancholic,
Tristan and Iseult, Lancelot and Guinevere,
Archetype brother and sister to every heart,
As if every love were born of the diabolic,
Yet love in longing ever loves to beckon,
'Til love itself is worshiped in sacrament;
In places wild, kneeling in a spirit bucolic,
Love is metaphor, parable,truth and trope,

Eternal.

Winter Waking

Breathing deep the ghostly January air,
A dozing mind cool breath will spur,
Though numbed in winter's den, will stir,
And skin will taunt and goosebump hair,
Awakens me.

Silver rays evoke a gaze one New Year morn,
Clouds bleed light into smoke gray sight,
And a cold faded world bittered in blight,
Reveals its hues and sheds its coat forlorn;
Unforsakens me.

Stepping in light, as light to souls alights
Tears crystal ducts moved in angel symmetry,
With beasts, Saints, sinners in strange amity,
This sacrament washes my soul in dawning rites,
Enquickens me.

Crystal light,
Clears my sight,
Reborn,
Reborn,
Reborn.

Shades

And night shades make dour company,
When dreams lack fuel and pitter out,
My breath -- too spare to pray a doubt,
This, the dark quiet, so void of amity,
Enfolds.

Shadows congeal the strands of fear,
Inweaving the night in mistral cold,
And lo, a feeling flows of growing old,
When only ghosts whisper in your ear,
Reproach.

Alone, with the watches of the night,
The heart joys to see the auroral seep,
Sunrise bleeds such beauty -- so to weep,
And shadows don colors, anointing sight,
Reborn.

Leaves

What begins in gentle germ,
A twisted embryo cocooned,
A lost one in cave marooned,
Chlorophyll bairn 'ere to term,
To the song of the sun attuned,
A fragile bud — then ballooned,
In unfurling, extending squirm,
Is born.

And in the sun and breeze and dew,
Such endless dabs of brushes green,
Branches paint lattice canvas scene,
In endless flutter, an endless queue,
Inweaves cool verdant canopy screen,
Shading beast, bug, any who convene,
All that must the August sun eschew,
Safely sorn.

Autumn's cooling foreshortened days,
Fields will gold and breeze will zephyr,
And the foliole will dance tarentellar,
'Til waning in vibrant beautiful malaise,
In reds, golds, browns, pitch then propeller,
In luminous cascades. Once a tree dweller,
The sod adorn.

Blowing and crinkling in around our feet,
Crisping stockpiles cushion child-play,
Till from their veins fleshy cells decay,
In sallow dust petals ground into the peat,
The empty bramble mourn in shades of gray,
Yet drink the dust that will one day defray,
The leaf reborn.