A Memory with You

In the darkening hours, with whispering wind,
All feathered flight alighting in trees,
Singing to the stars an evening song,
Watching the sun stretch shadows long,
And forested mountains black in the shade,
Shadowy clouds and evening breeze,
Looking down on the lights all man-made,
Awaiting the starlight and moon-shafts to fade,
Under clouds for a moment, and burst forth again,
Revealing the names of a thousand dead men,
And softly sitting, whispering there,
In the peacefulness of Somnolent Prayer

Distance of Dreams

Alone was the evening; awaking the breeze,
Away went the wind, casting off to the seas
Worn red dust of the hidden road running,
First earthbound now flying, and mocking the clouds.
Clouds of once-white gleaming all a’gold-red,
Afire from dragon, or lash of the sun,
Welding sky to ground, star-place and Ocean,
Most brilliant blue and gold, setting in motion
Some minutes of stillness; a love’s silent wonder.

In harmony with strains of the mountains’ deep heartsong,
When a girl let her heartbeats, her breaths, her longing,
Be caught with the waiting winds, off where they will,
The stars heard them rise and woke from dreams thronging,
Flickered and pulsed, keeping time of their fires,
With that of her soul; To fly glist’ning o’er wind 
Feeling cool clouds ‘neath moonlight she would,
To the stars and dreams if anyone could.

You Shall Yet Find Me

Perhaps we’ll find a Time somewhere,
In a crag of memory made,
Singing along with the crickets there,
‘Neath a ceiling of sunlit shade.

Or then that Time may give a share,
Of a darkened raining glade,
And to wander a path will be ours ‘ere
The sweet new Dawn is made.

We wait for the Time to find us then –
I’ll be there just the same,
Wherever a Hope finds a path to run,
You’ll find me there – Somewhere.

. . . forever past fleeing snow,
In the shade of a tall tree’s glow.

Winter’s Anticipation *

Light-haired and soft, the Sky shakes out her locks, 
Sends starlings scattering in wheeling flocks,
Arising from restless night, the land
Moves rippling, unfeeling, beneath her soft hand.

Just a-flick’ring and flashing all silver serene,
Shining and shimmering mercurial sheen,
The world lies glimmering in beauty – but dead,
Still mourning, the Sky in clouds veils her head.

She longs for her lover to wake and be free,
So long has he lain ‘neath this grimly wrought sea,
Ah, patience must bear the discontented hours,
‘Ere the grasses appear and the land flourishing, flowers.

All lovers apart might long for the spring,
While seeing in the Other some cold deadly thing,
Desiring to thaw the cold, glittering skin,
Rooting out the clouds casting shadows of Sin.

Still despite a lonely night, unrested,
A little thought of Spring is tested,
And the sun brightly shining can not bear to leave,
Lest alone the other should chance to grieve,

The light is of hope, though not perfect life,
Alone we now see it, winter’s little knife,
Will melt in the presence of the oncoming Sky;
The sun giving heat, ice shall willingly die.

*This can not be said to be solely my own work; my lady lent me the most important portion of the poem before I began – both word and thought.

Be Our Fire

Frosty gale, come up, come up,
Climb up and o’er the mount.
Flying, singing, Icily flinging,
The snowflakes like stars beyond count.

Wailing winds, come down, down,
From scorched hilltops high.
Fan the dust from our souls,
Revive the white coals,
‘Till they blaze and burn with a sigh.

Oh God, our God, draw near to us,
We would love through you alone.
Be the Sweetness between us,
The Fire in our hearts,
And Desire to be brought Home.

“Come, Lord, stir us up and call us back. Kindle and seize us. Be our fire and our sweetness. Let us love. Let us run.
~ St. Augustine of Hippo

Don’t Wait for Tomorrow

The sunlight has dwindled to moondust,
And fixed in their usual place,
Uncountable stars are guarding the gate
To where gold does not turn to rust.

The day is now over, past are all it’s cares,
Tomorrow has yet to be born,
Be peaceful, Beloved, don’t meddle with Time,
It will come when it will come.

Each angel places a gentle kiss
On the face of each sleepy soul,
And guards with his shining, unyielding rod –
Sleep now, in the presence of God

Eyes of the Rose

We’ve looked before in the darkness,
And daylight – they were the same;
In prayer or conversation,
Or silence – watching the rain,
The sunshine, clouds of evening,
A soul beside me dwelt,
In cold and snow, tiredness, pain,
In all moments I felt,
The glance of a thorn, and breath of a Rose.

I looked and loved what lived beyond,
Within, inseparably from the soft
And blooming beauty of Divinity’s shadow,
A soul far closer in her nature to angels
Than that of my own. A jewel, a treasure,
Sanctuary and tabernacle of God and new life,
Of others immortal, eternally being.

The surface is fair, both lovely, mysterious
Beneath lies the true Beauty, revealed with care;
Through the eyes of the Rose with peaceful love,
I saw there imprinted the Image of God.

A Thought for You

I don’t suppose you’ll know to whom this is directed unless you are that person. That’s alright though. I doubt that you’ll know the circumstances in which I write either unless you are that one. Keep reading anyway, it isn’t so particular as to be enveloped. If it were I’d not write it here.

I was nearly finished formulating this thought when we parted this evening. It’s just a thought and certainly could be written ‘better’ but it’s late.

If what is required is for us to ‘deal’ and be perfect according to that ideal standard, we shouldn’t take encouragement from Christ in everything He did.
We all have trials. His was a Cross, ours are splinters from that. (That seems fine by itself.) He fell with His three times. We ought not be surprised or frustrated when we do with ours. The best way seems to be to continue despite falls and apparent failures from being overloaded.

I don’t know anyone who does that perfectly in this life, but the ones who persevered are saints. The standard isn’t doing everything we set out to do completely and perfectly. It’s to do what we can (and should) in the time given us, to the best of our ability, with the grace of God.

Tomorrow will be a new opportunity.

Silent Lightning

Silence is a wonderful thing. A friend is a treasure from God. Time is mysterious, and darkness beautiful.

Is the last of the four surprising to be in such a list? I’ve written of time (or Not-Time) before. This is slightly different.
Many people associate darkness with things Not-Good. Maybe that’s because they can’t see what’s in it, and know that (worse), many think that they can’t be seen in it – the former is strange to me and the latter false in more than one way.

Earlier this evening I sat under a tree with a cup of tea, Another, and God. The sun had suffocated beneath piling clouds, or fallen down a mountain. I don’t know which. The day ended as timeless Evening crept forward to stealthily morph into Night.

We left the tree after a bit, walked somewhere down a road I’d never taken, and stopped after a few minutes to watch the clouds over the mountains ignite with brief flares of lightning. I don’t know how long we stood, perhaps twenty minutes.
It was all there – Time, a Friend, Darkness. Nature was raging in front of our eyes and was Silent. I know that somewhere the thunder was heard. It never reached us.

I say that darkness is beautiful (but then I can see rather well in it) because it doesn’t obscure everything – it removes some things and leaves the rest to be seen which otherwise are overlooked.
This particular species of Darkness was an unsteady rippling of light, for brief instances shrouding the starlight in pulses of silver. Other types are the steady moonrise, the waking stars, or bleak and cold, the clouded night.

To look into the darkness is like to do so up at stars or into someone’s eyes. There is everything to be seen, hidden in part by your own eyes, some things to be sought and others to remain Mystery. To know the stars or a person in whom resides the Creator are ways of further knowing Him. There, deep within the cosmos or in the heart and soul of that person, is God. If you look long enough, flashes of some truth shine out.

Look at the stars. I see hundreds of shapes between them, and unknowable points of light. Look at Another person. I wish that I could know the awful and beautiful ‘It’ which is naturally bound to the visible corporeal body, see that facet of God’s infinite beauty in all people – but far away are the stars, my eyes are blind and only God can be ever proximate.

All I know is that Sacred Mystery resides in Heaven, be It found in the eyes of the sky or a soul. And that is why I think darkness is beautiful.

” . . . faith is the substance of things to be hoped for, the evidence of things that appear not.” (Heb. 11:1)

Extinguished Stars – a Smoky Sky

‘There are no vocations, temporary or permanent, that do not come with the caveat that you will have to give up yourself for the sake of something or someone else, and that includes being a student. When we seek to do God’s will, He directs us on a road that is sacrificial, yes, “Take up your cross and follow Me”, but also peaceful –  “Take My yoke upon your shoulders…for my burden is light” .
But the big picture needs to be present in our souls in order to maintain peace of soul in a given moment, and we must remember that peace is a gift from God, not something we acquire for ourselves. There will always be things thrown at us designed to take away our peace of soul.’

So wrote the most influential man in my life to me this morning.

I find grimly humourous that one can write/speak such words to me, and often my thoughts are along the lines of ‘yes, I know…heard it all before’ – but do I KNOW this all? (In theory, yes)

Short post? Yes. 85% the words of another man? Yes. But methinks that the weight of the quoted words are worth contemplating for a bit, and also I should fulfill what I said I’d try to do in the way of taking part in an activity common to most of the human race, namely sleeping. (try)