poetry


I stood next to a juniper.
It had all but died,
she had one vein of life
making it’s way up her side.
Huge dead branches clung to the wide girth.
A roost of ravens
got comfortable
and spent the night.
But this tree has all but died,
it takes a keen eye
to find its source of life.
The ravens preach their calls
almost past dark
to catch any others wandering
lost in flight.
They’ve all gathered
and tomorrow they’ll feast,
but for now they’ll sleep in a
big dead tree.

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I have not yet learned

How to be

A tree

Planted by still waters.

For most (and not by any means all) it is life, love and the pursuit of happierness. Indigenous tribes grow and plant contentedly until, in comes the tv and then better opportunities create some discontentment. So any indigenous qualities that remain in us are bound for distrust and then we must move forward. Progress my friends progress. And, in the name of God. This way all our failures and some of our successes have nothing to do with our lack of ability but with the Will of God. For God works all things for MY good. Certainly not the greater good or my neighbors good, but my good. I do need a smarter phone.

From St. John of the Cross, The Spiritual Canticle

Shown deeper than before

in the cellars of my love I drank; from there

went wandering on the moor

knew nothing, felt no care;

the sheep I tended once are who knows where?

If I’m not seen again

in the old places, on the village ground,

say of me: lost to men.

Say I’m adventure bound

for love’s sake. Lost on purpose to be found.

I guess this is the goal to be lost in a love relationship with God to be swallowed by His Grace, Filled with His fire, Drunk on His Love, Overwhelmed with his beauty and Consumed with His mystery. Yet what innocence it takes. We once walked free of knowledge a child a virgin bride, yet from the tree we have eaten and now enlightened are we. Now we walk through the dark night For the Flame of Love calls without reason. Reason I can not find it. there is none. The voices of the night cry that a fanciful dreamer am I, a story teller, a walking imagination. “The facts speak against you my friend, and your thesis, well it’s filled with holes, and contradictions.” Well so it may be, but now we have nothing, so without further ado and meandering we move forward lead by the flame within, dark though it may be. And what to the voices say we? Though you may be true and your argument sound, there is nothing to be done, for even the thought of such love is greater than your reasonable ground.

Tongue may you fasten
Fast to your roof
When I forget her
Swagger aloof
By every willow
Out Babylon way
May my harp fingers
Wither away
When I forget you
Sion’s delight
When I go revel
In foreigner’s night.
Daughter of Babylon
Wretched and doomed
Here’s to a hero
Conquers your land
Then you’ll regret that
Lash in your hand.
He’ll take his children
And me in my woe
To the rock Jesus
That’s where I go.

To God alone true glory.

For I have known them all already, known them all-
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

Silent the man looks at the loud world…..what has he by his making made but home, a present help by a passing grace allowed to creatures of his name here in this passing time and space?

Psalm 55:7,8 msg
I want some peace and quiet. I want a walk in the country,I want a cabin in the woods. I’m desperate for a change from rage and stormy weather.

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