Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Green Hills

Green hills
mist rich
rising ridge
fog filled
plunging fields
black weightless
rise poised
on bare bank
the grass of

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Black Night

Black night 
shrouds my sight,
stills to silence
my failing breath.

Do you recall how,
by fierce day consumed,
passion's eye conveyed
love's light
deep into our beating hearts?

Glance up!

Oh, stretch back your neck,
your sleepy eyes
and see how the tree,
thrusting to sky 
dark branches, dons 
the starry cloak 
of night.

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Yahweh's Voice (Psalm 29)

Yahweh's voice through endless seas
convulses terebinth, trembles trees,
primeval forests compels to bend
to majesty proclaimed
from His highest seat
on the rising wind


Top Image:A Wind-Storm in the California Forest, after a sketch by John Muir

Bottom Image: A terebinth tree, common to the Middle East

Starry Night

Night fills the valley.
Swarming armies rise to crest
to fiery west.

The battle is done.
Tumbling stars overturning
pale winter's stark sun.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Gate of Heaven

Through rolling green hills, in the bright winter dawn
together we’ll go  to this wide winter lawn
over trails anointed by generations of tears
we’ll bring your still heart and at last face our fears.

For this is the field of our lingering pain
terminus for the somber parade
bodies blessed, broken and dressed for the grave.

But then, when the living have gone to warm homes,
you’ll stay in this place under the bright, cold dome
and wait ‘neath the grass of this wind-swept plain
for what will come next;  you'll rise once again.

For this is the field of our lingering pain
terminus for the somber parade
bodies blessed, broken and dressed for the grave.

In the End

In the end
will my I rise
like cranes flying
through obdurate fog,
keen eyes splitting the milky sky, 
swimming the windy sea 
to clearer air beyond
high dawn's 

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Before the Funeral

surround me.

Black ridges
scrape the sky.

Raw lacerations.

Gone are the songs of
hopeful winter birds,

gone to the mountains
of the sun.

In the valley of the moon,
bitter desolation.

Friday, January 4, 2013


I look for you in winter’s light
but your face I cannot see.

In spring I found you hidden high
in the living green of the tallest tree.

But now in winter's still, grey sky
for you with aching heart I seek.

Where have you gone? Oh, show me your face
and rescue me from my barren faith.