War Rages

“All men seek peace first of all with themselves. That is necessary, because we do not naturally find rest even in our own being. We have to learn to commune with ourselves before we can communicate with other men and with God.”  Thomas Merton


War rages
in secret places,

cold war,
shivering bones
firing stones into
the hidden nests
of the
enemy

until war ends
in collapse
or
annilhilation;

but simply speak
and soon words
like sweet rain
will ease your
desert pain;

reach out,
hand to trembling
hand
and find
new strength:

friendship
and sacred
peace.

March Rain

March rain, thick mists drip

from grey branches, glowing grass,

rising like fire.

Buds bursting in slow

motion, unclenched, learn to trust

that green spring will stay.

Deception (Black Mesa Landscape)

Black Mesa Landscape  Georgia O'Keefe


Darkness still grips the world
with tales of deep holes,
caves dug into the skull,
empty graves waiting
rooms blackened by loss
of power as in panic we light
candles and hear the wind ripping
against trees, tearing the
sky for any sign of salvation,
and guided only by this
little light, this small rectangle
of white screen, the black letters
dancing in regular rows under my
fingers, I search this small window
for any reason to hope.
                                 But of course
true to its endless promise, the sun
casts first glow on the outermost leaves
and the grass finds itself again and begins
its daily green glow, and I wonder why
fragile faith is so easily crushed
by night's routine lie.

Unsent

In the distance

across the dark continent, 

we've drifted 

into silence,

our years shrouded

in a mist of 

unknowing.

Ah, once we were brothers

roaming the hills of green Ohio!

Remember that long bike ride? 

We pedaled all the way

to Link Road, to the 

Little Miami

to see Mark. 

I could not imagine

that we could go so far, 

but we did.

And at school we always moved

in circles of competition

and sibling pride,

but now, living so long beyond sight,

we've lost our bond.

We are strangers.

I hear you're doing quite well.

I hope in the quiet

of long winter's night, 

you think of me

occasionally.

Love in Spring

My arms reach out
to embrace green hills,
to hold heart-close
spring’s pulsating thrill.

With passion flush,
and grateful tears
I gaze on the forest
for I know you are near!

I can hear your song
in the sea-borne breeze.
Your golden voice fills
green lilting trees.

Oh give me more wine!
Your grapes and your vines,
make the night sublime
with spring’s sweet life,

eternally bounding
from boundless time.

Discontent

Late at night
our trains pass through broad meadows.

We grip controls, heavy, uncertain, anxious
about schedules,
about stalled cars on tracks,
about small children darting through the night,
small children who dare steel wheels and blinding lights
who test death at our trembling hands;

we guide our trains
probing the night
along the measured way,

discontent,

without incident.

wild mustard

Mustard and Mt. St. Helena • acrylics on panel • 8"x10" • © 2013 Karen Lynn Ingalls

(Used with permission of the artist)  www.KarenLynnIngalls.com

spring hills, green peaks laced

with strokes of gold - waving flame;

the wild mustard flows