Monday, September 29, 2014

This Day Will Not Come Again

“A sweet summer afternoon. Cool breezes and a clear sky. This day will not come again.
The young bulls lie under a tree in the corner of their field. Quiet afternoon. Blue hills.
Day lilies nod in the wind. This day will not come again. “
Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander

I expected the slight rise
in the east, the sky
growing slate, then
blushing pink and
suddenly blue.

The winter tree
is often
bathed in gold,

and the familiar song
of thrush and jay,
woodpecker’s rapid tapping
brash geese

are often the same
from one to another day.

But this sudden breeze,
freshening breath
of the butterfly,
the warmth
the joyful cry!

My God is here!

I breathe,
I sigh.


Sunday, September 21, 2014

Evening Song

In the nearly dark tree
out on the bright edge,
it clings to tender leaves,
rides the wind-swayed branch
and sings.

Small bird,
red as the falling sun,
cries his evening song …
to tarried mate?
to fading sky or
guardian tree?

Drawn deep to darkest night,
I cannot read this creature’s
pure mind; but his breath
leaves my raptured soul bereft.


Monday, September 15, 2014

Joy Fills the Night

Joy fills the night,
sighs, breath
faint as death,
inward fly.

Oh, gaze into the night,

to the emptiness
deep inside
where bright salvation,
in silence resides.

(Sept 15, 2014)


when the sky is still black
and stars glitter
like there's no
the overblown moon
above seaborne fog...

this is the time
for faith
when birds,
startled by dawn's
first spark,
raise sharp beaks
and sing
the first song of


Saturday, September 13, 2014

Mid-Summer's Night

Glowing night,
clouds excite
the summer sky -

swaying limbs
in dusky shade
sing praise,

for All’s afire!

Stars tremble,
and planets gyre

but this lovers’ moon,
the shadowed earth
with passion’s
pure desire.


Tuesday, September 9, 2014

Above Berkeley (For Connie)

Past stone houses

Along the dangerous road
We raced, top down
Past the homes of the rich
We flew into the night
To the top

And when we stopped

The March wind still filled my hair

And lifted my breath

High above the bright city
(its streets were constellations 
Carelessly glittering
Cast into black waters)

But walking past dark bulldozers
Beyond the battered, red, warning sign
Our laughter suddenly fell
Startled by the silver presence
Above the trees.

We climbed to the peak
As a halo encircled the full moon

Silenced at last
We heard an almost-human cry.

Nearly invisible, we saw them,
The plaintive, grazing deer.

Image: Deer in the Grass courtesy of Ron Jensen