If Love is that which casts the shroud upon The mindful eye that sees the Cloud in pain; If Love or his the name which focusing On blinds the eye, but then awoke to song The spirit hears the Word of excellence, Then praise be heaped upon this gentle sense. If steadier the loaded pillar's held When two more hands enclasp, fulfilled or healed By how the bountiful creation lives; To see a soul of beauty's face in Love Allows them the Forgetting benefice, So may we sanctify those sentences. This affirmation in that Lordly Word That turns one to a path affording wide Acceptance that envalues every sod, And felt alighting just as He had said, "If Love is held between thee in my name, There I reside as well the holy flame." May we in loving love all things as much, And see the ways the spirits' springs are matched; Call it agape, happiness, or what You may, we feel it when we’re blessed to wait. A beacon though it's not beatitude, May we accept it with due gratitude.
Month: March 2022
Villanelle for stars
What did it take for the experience Of seeing eye-to-eye the shining Moon? And if it differed so why goes it thence? We know the firmament had once been dense Beyond the eye's conception in its swoon, What did it take for the experience? To see her golden beauty, the immense Madonna in full cosmic plenilune; Say, if it differed so why goes it thence? Was human nature those days just as tense, A grain of sand within the greater dune? What did they take for their experience? Were they preoccupied as I am since I feel my self and worldview so jejune? And if it differed so why went it thence? Did all the stars above give them a sense, Connection or a somehow secret tune? What did it take for the experience, And if it differed so why goes it thence?
Pictures of a Room
In lethargy I turn my head toward The corner of the room, the dry remains, The shriveled carcass of the roach nearby, And sigh for energy that never was. The carpet holds the choking, scattered light; The coffee table buried under ash. And now, the fuel all burned, there's only ash Addressed to time itself; the chair toward The sill sits vacant in the shafts of light. And though some portion of my mind remains Inside my torpid self, what really was Was held within the galaxy nearby. A spirit hovered in the beams nearby, The motes of dust descended to the ash And mixed in grays like lovers' hair. What was It that you told me when you turned toward The door? That only happenstance remains That somehow renders all decisions light. The heaviness of being in a light Malaised, although akin to those nearby, Is that when others move it still remains In yesterday's interrogating ash. Inside itself, the soul contorts toward A feedback loop: not what it is but was. The testament of Earth without one was Cicadas whitening the lower light Of evening. Stirring on the couch toward The open door, the pen has slept nearby Among receipts and splintered stems and ash; Perhaps a greener world there yet remains. The agency of effort still remains The jewel of human life. Among what was The generations now reduced to ash Is all the richness of the purest light; Millennia now past are still nearby, The same bright star as us they turned toward. Remains of oeuvres derelict in light; Ah, that was when the future was nearby: A present not of ash to turn toward.
In you my wanting love finds its encircling
In you my wanting love finds its encircling Desire, and blissfully requests the tether Be ever tighter, you be ever closer. However I must always fail to render Whatever the elusive touch expanding An individual within another. You crave the novelty that keeps another Obscure experience in the encircling, Encroaching days from you, a bore expanding Throughout your life, a modern serfdom's tether. I know the craftsman's poverty will render His dreams a fleeting fantasy; no closer. The intimate monotony is closer To death; the Silents' span from one another Is further far than voices that must render Immeasurable distances encircling Creation's whole. The pauper's life's a tether It orbits with the world around expanding. The passing days that find your doubt expanding Are huddled ever colder, ever closer Together; and domestic life the tether Does not permit your projects. So another Ennui consumes you, on and on, encircling The tight demands of human life we render. My ignorant heart weeps, it cannot render The means that you require; there's no expanding Garage or atelier I have, in which, encircling Our home from inside comes to be much closer Than all the rest of it. The dismal tether Reality insists on is another. Although you fear it will be just another Abstraction to approximately render Those gross machines, I say to grasp the tether; For if you quit you'll be adrift, expanding So far away from what you were, no closer To being happy, lassitude encircling. I pray the tether, clutching now, expanding May render all the distance from you closer With one another in an art encircling.
A place for my poems 