Thursday, April 30, 2015

Faith

Faith
is seeing my blood
coursing through
shut eyelids

and feeling
blood pushing down
into my arms and legs,

believing
it will soon return
to my darkly
beating heart.

But faith is more than
seeing
or believing.

Faith shines
like the cloistered sun
concealed by thick
autumn clouds.

Faith knows
all my childish lies,
and gently laughs
at my innocence.

Faith stalks me,
deep into my desert
where, trembling,
I wait for her famished arrow.

I love faith;
in her passionate embrace
I fall into my
darkest night.

I fear faith;
slave to her lacerating truth
reluctantly I walk
into her relentless light.

Leap of Faith



You decided
that you want me,
and so commanded
flashing angels
to invade my night.
With blind bliss 
to contend,
and weary with seraphic strife
I gave in:

(a pious moment
here and there,
a sign of the cross,
a whispered prayer),

until, patient Father,
in bright dreams you called
and led me high 
up your holy mountain
promising
that I will rise
and never,
never fall.


(24 Dec. 2011)

Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Immanence



I know you stroll 
beyond Andromeda,
gaze on the Magellanic Clouds,
but I cannot see that far. 
I am stardust, 
to Earth fallen, 


But I seek you in the autumn rain,

hear you sing in the evening wind.

Your breath my empty lungs increase,

your smile shines forth

from my darkened eyes,
and my heart overflows 
with your sacred blood,

love spilling,
Earth fulfilling.

(11 June 2011)

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Breech-mender




I cried out for help
and in the silence  
I heard a voice,
like my voice
but from deep in a dream, 
ringed in song and sleep.
I heard Him declare, 
"yes,  I am here."

and so I cried, 
"Lord, I am deprived,
have become
the afflicted one
you once saved!"

but He replied, 
"Be quiet. For 
In the silence
of your soul 
I'll make
a cool river flow.

Water-gardens will spring forth
as I lift you, fortify you
until with your strong arms
I'll raise the shattered walls,
mend the breaches
that separate men, 
and restore to life 
the peaceful lanes
for the innocent 
children of Homs 
to play.


ref: Isaiah 58:9-12

(15 Feb 2013)

Saturday, April 25, 2015

A Theory of Everything


The machine lurches
scattering matter through
the expanding void.

With galaxies, stars, and dust,
we glide wondering across
this this vast black balloon,
this every-day universe.

Yet microns away, mirror-wise,
our image turns.
With our dark twin
we slouch towards breathless
equilibrium.

In epoch attraction,
our fabrics collide.
Thus are born
new worlds without end,

and the cosmic machine
grinds on and on
through vacuous eternity.

(27 Sept. 2010)

Friday, April 24, 2015

Greenland



sheets of ice
cascading to the sea,
plunging in the summer sun
like kids cannon-balling into the deep end.

global warming
spawning new islands and bays,
a lush new age of water,
green-house gases rising
in a great belch
from the man's
energy binge.

But what is the cause?
Hydrocarbons burning in roaring cars?

The unseen dead rising
into the innocent stratosphere?

Jungle trees are burning
as, wild-eyed, the panther
prowls the Amazon village
hungry for her own energy fix.

We could blame it all on Fulton and Watt:
their steam-punk monsters spitting fire,
as trudging workers descend
into the industrial-grade darkness
and the misery of the money hole.

But one bright student
suggested  a more somber cause
from which there is no escape
in cap and trade.

Gaia, walking with large swings,
slings up
volcanos and glaciers and men
while, deep in her brooding, iron core,
she shrugs,
and, most inconveniently,
takes her own sweet time
smiling
as she contemplates
her next move.



(20 Oct 2013)

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Abernathy Road Roundabout





Bronze angel, strong arms
lifting the rainbow,
you stand in the center.

Our fast cars veer around
north, then east
to shop, to school,
to home

but we can’t see
what you see.

Even the truckers,
who lumber down
Abernathy Road
and enter the circle
with heady grapes
ready for press, for barrel,
for thick, green bottle

steer past you.

Our lives are scheduled over-full.
We all have
some place else to go

until unfulfilled,
we return at last
to your bright center, 
and in your embracing arms
we rest.

(16 July 2011)

Author's note:

Image: Mother Nature by Lisa Reinertson, in traffic circle at Rockville and Abernathy Roads, Suisun Valley, CA.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Wakeful Hills

“We have become more humble than the rocks,
More wakeful than the patient hills.”  Thomas Merton A Book of Hours


The morning fog flows like milk
through folded brown hills,
cream spilled on dry grass;


then rises the sun, rolling fog
into shimmering waves
before the hard hand of
simmering noon-day.


But you permit no illusion.


I see what is hidden
beneath the dark oak tree
under these dry rocks
what is given to me:


down shimmering highways
past white valleys of bone
I’ll glide till I become
the humble stone.

(30 August 2013)

Monday, April 20, 2015

Cry Aloud



A voice said, "Cry aloud!"
and I said, “But what shall I cry?”

Shall I sing to the people 
a song of spring,
hills aflame with green,
dry grass igniting 
with joy?

In darker days, 
when the high meadow fell fallow
and flowers of the valley 
dried to dust, 
I thought you'd turned
away, took your giving hands
to other lands.

Despairing, I wept, 
stung by tears
from angry Hell, 
and doubted 
your love. 

Oh, forgive me, pity your child
and make your enduring rain fall

on the riotous grass, 
on the bold crocus
and passionate 
rose.










**************
Крик вслух

Голос сказал: "Крик вслух!"
и я сказал: "Но что же я плачу?"

Должен ли я петь людям
Песня весны,
холмах горит зеленый,
сухой травы зажигания
с радостью?

В темных дней,
при высокой луговой упал паром
и цветы долины
сухой на пыль,
Я думал, ты оказался
прочь, взял ваши руки дающих
в другие страны.

Отчаявшись, я плакал,
уязвленный слезы
от разгневанных Черт,
и сомневался
Вашей любви.

Ой, простите меня, жаль вашего ребенка
и сделать прочный дождем

на буйных трав,
на смелый крокус
и страстный
розу.

(6 Dec 2011)

Sunday, April 19, 2015

Camping at Lake Berryessa

My children sleep
on the thin vinyl floor
while above our tent,
just past the dark tree-line,
the Milky Way glimmers
like cool waves breaking
on the black coast
of the deep mountain sky.

All night
the lake whispers softly
under gentle western winds
as egret and owl
keep guardian eyes
on the sleeping
human shore.

While watching my sons sleep,
I hear the low murmur
of wild turkey and possum
scuffling through dry dust and leaves,
searching our campground for leftovers
peanut butter crusts, hot dogs and beans,
any careless, easy meal,

when I feel rolling pressure
pushing insistently at base of our tent,
and, alarmed, hear quick, powerful,
exploratory snorts.

Holding my breath,
I gaze into the deer’s
questioning,
fearless eyes,

and wonder
if we campers
are part of this
ancient community,

or welcomed,
honored guests,

or simply curious,
rude intruders.

(30 Jan. 2011)

Monday, April 6, 2015

Compassion

“What is my new desert? The name of it is compassion. There is not wilderness so terrible, so beautiful, so arid, and so fruitful as the wilderness of compassion.” Thomas Merton

I’ll wander with you
in your pain.

Though dried, dissected,
through rainless days
and starry nights
we’ll search sharp rocks
for pools of cool tears.

Forty days and
forty nights shall we journey
through the wilderness
to the green oasis
where we’ll flourish,

audacious lilies
luxuriant in hidden springs.

There we’ll possess
every good thing.


(13 Oct 2012)