Reflection in Torchlight

The sunlit morn
dawns bright
over the haze
of the night before
torches held
as voices chanted
age old words
the long lost prophets
of war and woe
fingers pointing
to the sun
upraised hands
to strike us down
voices of peace
that break the bread
offering to all
a Sacrament given
from the wooden beam
of God’s great love
a grace that overflows.

One Day

One day,

I will not be here

but not today.

One day,

I will not feel the rain

or know the wind

but not today.

One day

I will not feel

love or pain

but not today.

One day

I will not hold my lover

in the darkness

but not today.

Today, 

I will live,

Today,

I will love,

Today,

I will feel,

Today,

I set my heart

to look forward

Today,

I hold my lovers hand

as we kiss,

Today,

I will live fully,

in the beauty

of God’s world.

The Harrowing

Oh, to write an ode or poem

to set down in words

the deep love within

showing the scars

on the landscape of the heart

left by travelers along the way.

Oh, to write of my life

in all of its intricacies,

the threads I have weaved

in the grand fabric of my world,

some tattered and worn

others new and complete,

each a different color

each a different texture

the complexities of the human soul,

upon which he bore the wooden beam

whose love carried the weight of grief

high above the city gate,

as the veil is torn

to reveal the grace

of loves true light

upon the darkened landscapes

that dwell in the depths

as he harrows the hardened heart

bringing peace to the wearied 

and life to the dead.

Mining My Poets Heart

Poetry is my escape

into the realms of the mystery

that lies deep within.

Poets open up the landscape

where new vistas are viewed,

horizons filled with light

exposing the truth hidden below.

I write poetry

to peel off the scabs

of a well worn soul.

Exposing the rawness underneath

to the healing light

giving sight to my blindness

and breath to my corpse.

Loves lost and found

memories mined for the treasure

that lies there for the taking

in the words that play across

the dreamscape as I sleep.

The mystical pathways

long lost to human memory,

our connection to that

which lies outside of our realm

found in the poets heart

and in the poets soul

So Simple

It seems so simple,

to just kneel and pray

to remain quiet and still

for just a few moments,

taking time to be silent

to block out the noises

and the shouts of others

who seek only to be loud

drowning us in a sea of words

hateful words, angry words,

while all I seek is silence

kneeling in the sanctuary

looking up at the stained glass

seeking peace that lies within

to calm my heart,

yet, tears come to my eyes

the heartbreak of deep loss

that loss of spirit and faith

in all that I hold dear and true,

so I kneel and pray

to quiet my troubled heart

lifting my hands to God

seeking that deep peace.

Small Things

It’s never that one big thing

that grand gesture

the opulent present

or the vast quantity spent

much is done in small ways

the tiny hand holding on a finger

a small crocus defiantly breaking through

a slight word that either cuts or heals

we live the butterfly effect

with our daily small gestures

a smile or frown

a look into another’s eyes

or downcast and aloof

can do so much to build or destroy

the fragile human heart.

I think of these things

as I write this poem

knowing my few words

are just small things

being tossed into the sea

a letter in a bottle

to one day wash 

upon a lonely, distant shore

there to be read

by one lost and afraid

who seeks just that,

small words to comfort

to heal the wounds

wrought in the daily living

that touch the heart

with a small breath

that lingers on the soul.

Messy

It’s messy 

never quite right

the human heart

that continues to fight

against the tide

rushing upon the shore

filled with false pride.

Ever standing 

on the shifting sands

losing our balance

watching the sea boil.

The messiness overtakes

a relentless tsunami 

until at last it breaks

upon rock that stands

silent amidst the noise.