Advent

As the winter solstice settles,
A dark December's eventide,
The hopes and fears of all the years,
Are prayers breathed and denied.
Where the advent in times of war?
And the healing of what divides?

A candle lit upon a wreath,
A light burns still in places dark.
Which hints of perfect peace to come,
In cynic times a hope will spark.

Among the poorest of the poor,
The story goes something like this,
A nowhere place, when it was time,
A human cub chose to exist,
And God with us in times of woe,
A love story that does persist.

Another flame burns with the first,
A wreath half crowned in simple faith,
In pitch black incandescence seeps,
Life to them who walk as wraith.

And those who live outside the walls,
With sight suited to dark midnight,
Are first to see the seraph mirth,
Stars and sorrows eclipsed in light,
Sweet that succor will first comfort,
Those empty handed, and contrite.

The wreath now nearly all aglow,
A third wick lit, blackens and burns,
Still solace flames to souls beckon,
Joys will answer for which we yearn.

And all who live in places dark,
Seek the song of the Seraphim,
That Advent peace — and Advent love,
May fill the trunk and every limb,
That darkness will not overcome,
That earth will team in Holy hymn.

The candles burn, four then five,
Fear and trembling and quiet awe.
The center flame within the wreath,
Avows the end of tooth and claw.

Birth of peace,
In the Advent,
of the light,
of the Christ,
Child.

Crystals

In the briefest hours of day,
Feel the wintry zephyrs blow,
And crystalline waters sway,
Within the glacial air flow,
Dancing below clouds o' gray,
O'er boonies and boroughs grow,
Blanket.

Flakes of filament woven,
Some secret artisan craft,
Bond in some covert coven,
Defects on wings of a draft,
Tottering toss from heaven,
Riding a winding air shaft,
Alights.

Solstice moon — aloft the earth,
Beckons the diamonds to laud,
Stained glass illumined in worth,
Breathes awe in hymn and ballad,
A strange fear mingled with mirth,
Crystal chancel o'er the sod,
Reveals.

The quiet,
The flakes,
The presence.

Tide

In elan vital — a spark,
That flickers and ignites,
Cocooned within the dark,
A soul to cells alights,
Then flesh and blood embark,
On a road of endless sights.
Formation.

Mouth gapes in expectation,
Salve and sustenance abound,
Coddled at each sensation,
Every lulling soothing sound,
Are tenderness in relation,
As love swaddles and surrounds,
Protection.

Threshold the nubile and naive,
Leaving nest and kin behind,
Naught to worry, nor to grieve,
Strength in surety of mind,
Choices are the warp and weave,
Of the blind leading the blind.
Direction.

And dawdling, the waters ebb,
Revealing the detritus below,
The threads entangle as a web,
Tatters the cloth of life and woe,
A hard awakening — a common pleb!
A spirit sinks, and is brought low.
Disaffection.

The days and the years grow long,
Dreams wash away with the tide.
No longer to this time belong,
Mortals with a banished pride.
Ear inclined to hear the song,
The sea whispers as it subsides.
Resurrection.

Auras

Huddled beneath the stars,
Pockets of evolution,
A million photon fires,
Light circles of communion,
Where dreams or specters tide,
In a darkly dank reunion,
Resists.

And light to light will pool,
Against the pitch - auroral,
Within this fog of flickers,
Life-stories bind like coral,
Love babbles and love bonds,
In both revelry and quarrel,
Grapples.

Then in the deep midnight,
Wicks and lights expire,
And loves to bodies cleave,
In need and in desire,
'Til consciousness recedes,
As the embers that expire,
In whispers.

Gratitude

For every breath as every prayer,
The presence stubbornly is there,
For every light that cracks the dark,
And every time the hope does spark,
And for kin, and for friends,
The longing that never ends,
Bow in gratitude.

For every morsel that sustains,
For living through the daily pains,
Beginning with a burning breath,
Until we lose the race with death,
For every sound, and every word,
Confess the joy in the absurd,
Pray in gratitude.

For the mystery of divine love,
Sacrament Spirit, the burning dove,
Alights amid the killing fields,
Eucharist hope and faith that yields
A fruit of kindness and of charity,
In places dark, there comes a clarity,
Received in gratitude.

Ghost

Strange when eyes are stranger,
Reflected in the reflection,
Vacuous, bloodless, soulless,
Beyond the warm selection,
Of trust, of troth, of truth;
Consumed by the infection,
That pulses through every life,
Every pleasure, every affection,
Numbing the living from life,
Heart locked in hibernation.
Spectral connection.

Cold when the eyes of a beloved,
Glassily glare, abandon amore,
Numbness, nothing, no one,
Walking through that empty door.
Familiar chill to everyone,
Longing for that touch. Encore!
Loss is life, as life is loss,
This life on the mortal shore.
Until passing through the shadow,
To see what we were first made for.
Formed perfection.

Sons

Every day, these boyish grins,
And words bustling in banter,
Waiting in joys and chagrins,
Only for the right to enter,
And to play.

This young man will sit with me,
And share a place in his world,
Of starfields and places free,
A country where his flag unfurls,
In proud display.

This boy talks a joyful prattle,
His presence, both tough and tender,
And fear and pride will do battle,
Yet beloved, they do surrender,
'Tis love's sway.

One solitary on the shore,
One loquacious stories on,
Both wilt at what's in store,
In the onset of the dawn,
And the day.

Yet fraternal bonds grow deep,
Blood, a link that will not fail,
When they laugh, when they weep,
In jubilee or in dark travail,
It will pay.

Every moment the child recedes,
And features of the man appear,
Dreams and dreads, fertile seeds,
That grow in time, year unto year.
Where they stray.

Jonathan,
Benjamin,
Days like sand,
Slipping.