Morning Song

The mockingbird sings

Like he just saw the sun

For the very first time today,

His song carries with it

A message of joy

To the mind that was drifting away

On the seas of regret

And the winds of discord

While the heart slowly whispered dismay...

But for me he exists

That I know to rejoice

In each moment of life, come what may.

The Lone One

In the desert stands a tree,

All around it grains of sand
Shift with the wind
And come to rest
In teeming waves
‘Til its roots are buried,
Unable to breathe for the weight
Of the gusting, gathering crowd.

The tree stands tall,
Looks to the heavens
And sees above the host,
Clear is the sky it longs for
As it reaches, desperate
For the raining water of life
To calm the massive tide
Of accumulating disappointment.
 
Incapable of movement,
It lowers twisted branches
And waits for relief,
Gives up the struggle
For growth while it yields
To the need for the horde
To be masked in its shadow,
Looking toward its roots in despair.

Out of Reach

The stars are just beyond the trees,
Drawing my awareness outward,
Holding it fast with their vast promise,
And yet they are out of reach
Just like my dreams;
Ever envisioned, never touched,
For this earth on which my feet are planted
Forces me to spin within its time,
Confines the imagination to smaller things,
Demands focus on what can be seen…
Like the cat brushing its soft, black fur
Lightly against my ankles bare,
Weaving rhythmically,
Begging attention without a sound…
So the finite world distracts me
From the contemplative awe
Of reaching possibilities infinite.

Alter Ego

The alter ego takes its throne

Prepared to govern me
And soon thereafter I’m alone
In present company,
For it has deemed too great a risk
The heart that’s finally free,
Instead commanding my retreat
To safer boundaries within reach.

Deep inside a tiny protest

Tries to warn the growing heart -
The King of Silence only thinks of
Winning in a fool’s regard,
Where spoils are measured only
By the lack of casualty
And one who lives to fight again
Has postponed agony.

There is no truth within the fort

But what the King decrees,
Until one comes from outer courts
To knock deliberately,
Breaking through the Silence,
Asking that the heart be seen,
And waiting, patient, at the door
For she who has been freed once more.

 

The Real Thing

While still, I think of something real,
Something beautiful that I feel,
Begins at heart and grows from there,
Becoming something that is shared,
And in my mind I hold it fast,
Knowing that this dream will last
As long as I will walk this earth
In search of more of what comes first
Before the deeds, before the fruit,
Before the words that speak the truth,
Before the peace, before the hope,
Before the wonders I am shown,
Before the rising up above
Into a realm where all is love,
Your Spirit comes in to abide
Makes me new from deep inside,
Reveals the thing on which I dwell,
The Lord of mind and soul as well,
Existing at the source of light,
Author of the Spiritual life.

The Parable of the Walk

The Believer is likened unto a man who went for a walk.

He chose to pursue a worthy destination and carefully selected his path and pace. However, after setting out he forgot where he was headed, which path to take, and how rapidly to place his steps. He became distracted and enticed by wants and temptations that were not part of his walk. He allowed his mind to rest on the futile things of darkness. Soon he found himself tired and lost, walking alongside other wanderers on rough, steep, and dangerous ways.

Yet in his time of need a light in his heart awakened his spirit and he recalled the wise words often uttered to him by those who cared. These truths mercifully reminded him of his prior pursuit and he became grieved that he had abandoned his walk. All around him were unfamiliar faces and places and he wondered at how he had arrived here.

 
The man searched everywhere, asking, seeking and knocking on doors until he found the Teacher who called Himself the Way. The smile of His Lord and King beckoned him to follow. Secure on his chosen path again, he kept his eyes fixed on Jesus and his feet on the narrow way. Evermore he would strain towards his goal - not looking behind nor fretting - but actively learning by imitation, as a child does, how to walk uprightly.

Lost in Haze

If I could stand and watch the sky

So splendid in its motion smooth,

And soft within its billows high

To see the wonder of your love,

Then would I gaze for hours on end

To view the grand procession slow,

Observing that the birds pretend

A higher path they do not know

Though far beyond as you pass by

They linger long on sunny days,

Wishing for the wings to fly

To reach the summit lost in haze

And soar up there without a care,

The earth below a tiny field

Of flowers fading, once so fair,

For those who to the ground would yield

Forget there’s more than life down there.
 

Hearts of Women

These hearts of women,

Blatantly colored,
Flash and shine
In the fashion of dance
As they give and offer,
Create and dream.

The hearts of women,

Made to fly freely,
Sing, and laugh
For the sake of lightness
Often grow heavier,
Misunderstood.

These hearts of women,

Callously broken,
Cry out and mourn
Like a jaded soldier
As they succumb to pain,
Scarred and let down.

The hearts of women,

Beautifully crafted,
Hold onto hope
In the form of potential
For love’s restoration,
Their fondest wish.

DYING

The dream lay dying
In a manner of neglect
As the crippled cry
Of clanging cymbals
Sounded its pretense
And love languished
Along the lavish illusion,
Hiding hungry hope.

The vision vanished,
Leaving lonely the language
Once spoken sweetly,
Now silent and slow
To recover reasons
For forming fondness
Within the voice once vivacious,
Now of negative note.

Will the wounded win?
Where and why does wonder wait?
A miracle maybe
Could curtail collapse
And daunt demolition
Eager and evil;
Possibility's promise
Healing hardened hearts.

WINTER SAYS

The winter says
You can not stay here,
Time has come to remind you
There is more outside
Than inside man
And cold is the night
But frigid the day
When you can't see
Yet think to control
This illusion, this dream
That life belongs to you.

The winter says
Death can come slowly,
The warmth of breath stolen
When bitter the wind
Carries the sunlight away
Though you fight it,
Clouds thin and gray
Bring the dawn of confession
That here is eternal
Collapsed into vision -
All is God's refrain.