Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Weekend Woodsman

Day was cold; frightfully frigid. Yet,
the salty sweat beads covered his head like a crown.
Making an even fluid movement, he swung
the bit in position; pausing a split second.
The sunlight blazed on the blade as he brought it straight down
splitting the trunk of the mammoth oak. Repeating
the action again and again, he spent most of the day
at his task. Taking one step back he reviewed 
the results of his work, grinned like a fool and with
the faded remains of a red flannel shirt removed
the woodsman's crown and then headed for home.

Sunday, May 24, 2009


A moonbeam hurled Earthward
and exploded in forest below
with quiet gravity. Silent
translucent reflection bent,
disturbed by waterflow
of winding brook: a dream to share
with those held fast in luminous glare.


O Faithful Hound

(with apologies to Francis Thompson)

O faithful Hound of heaven

how you pursue and follow me.
Relentlessly you run though I
in my arrogant unbelief flee
from the presence of your grace.
Yet you run to overtake;
and from your absolute embrace
I run, praying all the while,
that you prove swifter in the chase.


Questions to the Eldest Son

Did she tell you of the awe-filled faces
belonging to the old sheep-herds?
Of the golden gifts given by kings—
or of the bewilderment in her own heart?
Or did she keep them to herself, waiting
for some appropriate mystical revelation?
Did you notice the quizzical look on her face
when she found you standing among the rabbis;
a prize pupil who wandered in from the streets?
And how did you feel when she questioned your sanity
upon learning of the opposition
from the teachers and priests in Jerusalem?
------------ How deep was the wound when you heard her cry
------------ in suffering silence watching you die?


Final Regrets

a theos

In the stillness, silence surrounds me.
The cold invades my bones.
Descending darkness veils my heart,
while I wander among the ruins

of this, my own mortality.

It was a fine piece of art
I created for myself
from the rocks and dirt.

Yet tears are cried bitterly

for dreams broken in half,
which lie strewn among the tombs;
monuments to my life.

At last I am left to be

given to eternity;
the silence still surrounding me,
the silence still surrounding me.


Grave Yard Run

I run in this place of rest for the dead,
lifting my feet, like so much lead.
The silence broken by ragged breath—
(it does not disturb their sleep). And I,
in the same, quiet way shall lie
on a damp, sunken bed of earth;
while above, a quarried canopy
will mark my space for eternity.