The Candle Lit
The candle lit in winter deep
does from my mind darkness sweep,
chasing sullenness away
with the dance of subtle ray.
Casting shadows without fear:
in the glow, warmth appears.
Turning night to coziness
and fills my room with peacefulness.
Crossing the Seven Streams
Life is a journey.
And each one has his or her course to traverse.
Each course has its time limit and end.
But each journey crosses seven streams.
A stream may be crossed more than once;
that is, unless you pick one stream and remain.
Though it may be the stream of JOY, alas,
you finish the journey stranded, alone, as
everyone else has traveled on to
cross its depths, breadths and vistas anon.
The stream of LOVE is a favorite respite,
offering drink and refreshment and life;
and no doubt, those who seldom draw from it
end their journey, though inertia flows on.
ADVENTURE streams down mountains and through woods.
Many build bridges or take guided tours
over adventure’s stream to stay in control.
But the stream of CHAOS
manages to break its banks and surge toward
the unsuspecting and prepared alike.
The fifth and sixth streams are crossed early,
and few care to search out their headwaters.
The stream of DISCOVERY runs underground
and the stream of INNOCENCE is a wadi,
a dry bed dependent on rain or melt.
The seventh stream is really the river
into which all the six streams eventually flow.
It is the River Styx, the Jordon, the Nile.
Some have crossed it and returned to this side.
For those, the journey seems to transcend time
and the six streams are simultaneously present.
Thus is the journey.
In the end, all cross the RIVER. For some,
it is a homecoming. But for others,
revelation comes all at once – too late.
Me or Moss?
The stream called life it tumbles on
o’er rocks clad in moss grown wild.
How does it keep its grip so firm
and is not by flow beguiled?
The stream does lead me ever on
round and neath and still and fast.
Were I not just now washed ashore,
moss would unknowingly pass.
What is the life the stream seeks give —
Does it sustain me or moss?
Launch out again or sink down roots —
Which to choose, I’m at a loss.
The Song of the Phoenix
Swift Phoenix, bird of might,
in your death you win your flight;
as your flame turns to ash,
you rise anew – death’s hold to dash.
Son of God, our true light,
in your death we gain our sight;
and we see ’tis the way –
sanguine blackness precedes life’s day.
And now as we life throw off,
like the worm becomes a moth;
martyrs’ prayers, souls ignite
to join the Phoenix in its flight.
An Eagle’s Cry
In an age when Beauty of Words
is drowned out by gadgets ticking absurd,
the cry of an eagle goes unheard. Still …
Words are spoken.
A voice, so fragile within,
rising from depths, bursting to flame,
clearing my mind of tangled thought,
searing lies, healing sighs,
the cry is heard.
And what greater image of God on high
than Word made flesh who ‘mong us cried
and was and is unheard?
Oh, Word Eternal you came and showed
that power of Word and words
remains a mystery
as long as the eagle’s cry
goes unheard.
Hope
The hope that drives each soul to seek
a future filled with love
is subtle as the still small pool
that nourishes the dove.
And as I hope for what’s to come,
I pause in gratitude
for struggles, victories (and even silence)
as hope become my food.
A Night Prayer
God, my hope, have mercy upon me –Free me from this net of night;
If not you, your angel of mercy
Send to relume strangled light.
Was the glint that erstwhile inspired me
Fabricated in my mind?
Or have all my doubt soliloquies
Made the flame so hard to find?
These, detractors pine to parody,
Dressed up like angels of light:
“Off the spiritual deep end’s gone he;
Against such ways let us unite.”
God thy Wheat Field ever Tares at me -
Seeking hope to extirpate.
Be not silent, come and redeem me!
With their lies themselves negate.
The Bones of Hope
Of the three things that are said to abide,
the greatest is said to be love.
But I am partial to the middle one
that also comes from above.
Indeed, love is what increases its strength
while faith is its precursor.
But hope is what makes each day new
and fills my bones with fervor.
Rising From the Dead
A passer-by overheard the uproar
over a strange occurrence the other day.
She said the commotion was due to the healing
of a young lad who is now at play.
The unexplainable, sudden occurrence
the passer-by said was out of the blue:
“The laddy was unwell and sickly,
and his restful death was overdue.”
But the tears of those who wanted him with them
appeared to reverse the grip of night
and trigger a miracle beyond mere physics
and move death’s darkness back into light.
The passer-by passed on by but holds these things
within her memory and smiles each day
she see the laddie who once was gone
forever and ever at play that day.
Bound for Joy
I live each day
in expectation
awaiting His
revelation.
And not one day’s
anticipation
is ever met
with frustration,
even though my
limitations
bar me from
emancipation and my own sanctification.
Yet, in sublimest
salvation,
I’m bounding with joy.
To Truth Fasten Love
To see the unseen,
To love what is good,
To struggle for truth,
Though not understood;
You’ll fight for what’s right
and hate all that’s vile
and see what they hide
and stoke up their ire.
But somehow you must
yo truth fasten love,
past evil see good,
and see God above.
I am you, you are me
I am you,
you are me,
we’re all God’s people;
Living each day
for more than pay
to help each other.
I join you,
you join me,
in peaceful purpose;
We empower each one
to reach greater good
and serve our neighbor.
I am you,
you are me,
we’re all God’s people;
Living each day
for more than pay
to help each other.
I hear you,
you hear me,
we hear the angels –
Calling us all
To guard the weak
with love for each other.
In a world with war
and hatred on our streets –
It’s time we recognize
we need each other.
I am you,
you are me,
Don’t you see?
Under the Bridge
Under the Bridge there was such a small hole,
That you could mistake it for home of a mole.
But looking more closely you’ll certainly see,
That hole is a portal to eternity.
‘Tis true – the secret of each soul,
The entrance was made by a heavenly pole.