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 every 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.

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.

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.

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.

Billow

Wind like the water, sculpts, or sculpted,
Ruffling the fauna, combed by the flora,
Pollen or plankton, swirl and dusts all.
Trees, corals swayed swaying in vaulted
Display.

Zephyrs' breathe deeply Aurora's first dew,
As waters consume silt in foraging depths,
Cool condensation paints every leaf and life,
As stirred sands living elements eschews,
Renews.

Tempests churn cumulus, brawl breakers,
Branches bend, and bow, like laundry lilts,
Ferns and kelp more firmly shift and sway,
Naiads and sylphs, in pas de deux, o'er acres,
Prevail.

Wind,
Water,
Flora,
Enchant.

Presence

Air infused white prisms, imprisons,
The weary daylight lingers ethereal,
And Sol himself, diffused through air,
Stills all things in mystical liaisons,
Inweaved.

Mist fall, dissolve mount, mountain,
Dusk delays the burning of the skies.
Birds, beasts, and trees, and you and I,
Boundless of bark, fur, feather and skin,
Commune.

Heavens sickly falter, pales as impaled,
The sun, o'er horizons' sword unsheathed,
Mists cede to love's sacred crimson dying,
Sliver at world's edge, seeing beyond the vale,
Transcend.

Out of Pott

In all of God’s worlds, in the whole of creation,

Never has there been, nor will be, such a being,

Philosopher, editor, sharp-witted contrarian,

Endless communication, not once a key keying.

The son of a preacher would reform the tradition,

Climbing Calvin’s Ladder above the theological fray,

Yet grounded by Gwen’s unexpected expectation,

Blazing terminal inertia with Eerdmans did he stay.

Stay he did, through Presidents Johnson through Obama,

Authors, colleagues bettered, as iron sharpens stone,

Able to better any author, from Calvin to the Dalai Lama,

Would they have listened to him loquaciously intone. 

His craft extends from books to persons unaware,

A desk for a boat, time for friends, for grandchildren,

Wishes and prayers, as he fares where he will fare,

Many will miss the wise steps of our fellow pilgrim.

Grace for the days ahead,

Gratitude for the days behind,

Bittersweet the moment,

Until we fellowship,

Again.