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.