Distance of Doubt

Fear casting ahead

Nigh as far as prudence , yet

Farmers plant past death

Now

You may doubt that we,

Chosen of God, destined, ought

Deal with dust at all

Though  

Doubt tills, reaching just

Short of trust. Remember, God

Himself worked the stuff-

You

Fear sowing forward,

Just as far as hope, and yet

Something diff’rent grows 

And it is Very

Good.

Mud… and the Home to Which We’re Bound…

Spring Boys

Slipping

In two, into

Creeks

Cross crissing

Tiger

Cat’s tails

Long

Dormant

Dirt

Missing

Weighed down

With water,

Innocence stirred

Glist’ning

Mud

Sky’s daughter

Lense

By boys blurred

Wishing

Anon

To roam.

There’s mud in the water

There’s mud in the water

There’s mud in the water

That carries us home.

World wide joys

Welcome

Whimsy

Tripping

Young men

Missed and

Mississiping

As a way-faring

Water Wolf

Ripple of

This river’s pulse

Blood

Borne daughter

From an isthmus’

Distant Gulf

Dripping

Upward

Into

Death’s gloam.

There’s mud in the water

There’s mud in the water

There’s mud in this water

That carries us home.

While Playing With Moon-Shadows…

 

Is it really like
The stories say

With confidence –
Risk
Our given parts
To play?

Trusting fate
In Great-God’s gaps
Standing

All nothing
But steady
Til some love slaps,
Demanding

Everything!

Swivel-

Tables turn like a mid-winter’s sunset…

And the moon, new,
Knew…

When to turn her head,

Yet…

We’ve times and dark seasons
Where we’ve all flung our treasons.
Still He stays, good, and He’s
Got His love’s reasons,

Con-cluded in the stars
For leaving-
Leaving scars.

Like a delta, earth-dispersing,
While
The jeopardous ocean’s fed.

It felt like a shipwreck
In the sands
Left
Salty, littered, red.

And it tugs at our hearts
Like wind through our hair

Like sunlight
Speckled skin, tans,
Bare-

But then-
But then…
Without shade’s ken,
It burns

And here again,
Toward mortal men,
The now-full moon
Turns…

Her wizened head.
Remember
How he said,

“Facing sundry trials,
We ought to
Consider it pure joy…” ?

Well,

While playing with moon-shadows,
I… want to
-I do-
Under faith’s night,
Like a boy.

Snowflower…

A’far inland,
So far,
Unplanned,
A new enchantment
Lilting.

A flower blooms 
Amidst the glooms 
Of winter-
Fears of wilting

Wither, wiling,
Waft away. 
The pristine white,
Silence in sight,
Yester’s
Snowfall lay,

Surrounded by 
The long-drawn night
And yet it shines,
With an ethereal light
This snow flower,
Fox-red, fay.

Motes M’love…

 

Calloused hands or calloused hearts?
For every bitter brother’s rift,
With a sliver kept, starts,
And every love with a sacrifice made.
Simple -perhaps sublime-
For even our Jests, in this, do aide.

The Trust that Rest Embodies… The Truth that Mystery Speaks…

Poet’s frozen so stiff he 
Can’t even shiver.
He’d blink, but his life’s like 
The Yangtze river.

Wake, and stare, 
And stand in awe. 
Don’t be afraid to sleep.
Whatever corners 
You 
Drift right by
Give to God; 
Who can keep.

 

To build…

 

Have you ever played blocks?

Yes. Of course you have.

Have you ever played blocks,
with
a younger child?

You pick one up,
-one block among many,

and at the first sign of stacking…

-the first hint,
that something
is being built…

-when two
now
stand taller
than one
could on its own-

your little playmate,
with one,
swift, destructive stroke

undoes…
your doing…

Where two
once stood
-needing eachother-
now ruin remains…

and with each
following attempt,
the deep, hidden well
of desire
for destruction,

is drawn from, again,
out of the depths of Adam’s heart…

and the top of your tower
never knows
those heights
which were its aim.

No higher view
than the occasional two,
does the project provide.

This, is the cost…
of building,
together…

This irregularity
is the
leaf
to the tree
that is love,

catching raindrops,
fueling growth.

In imbalance,
a greater balance
is gained.

reflected…

 

Sparkling, muddy water
-a puddle in the street,
the sound of sandy pavement
grinding under feet

as, slowly,
a speechless
way is made.
Sunlight blinds
downcast eye,

reflected in ripples
of has-been snow.
A single sound, now,
wind by heart, reflected
-a solitary
sigh.

Love will Weave…

A tender sight,
a softness in the seeing,
A warmth, like sun,
to hear your gentle soul,

Singing,
Words all-lived,
and promises, revealing
fair hopes
all blooming, bright,
with voices, full.

A thought: the Gardener,
I have long-loved, now,
and yet of
this
handiwork,
I had not known.

How fitting to,
through beauty,
like a garden,
remember, ’tis not good
man be alone.

But… how will meager,
man among ten thousands!
now catch, ever, the eye,
of blush-ed Eve?

Rest in, and serve, the God
who both will guide you
and has roused
to life, a helper.

Love will weave.

Shroud…

Drink the darkness,
-medicine of mercy-
for light e’er lay
beneath the shadow’s shroud.

Know, below the feet
that, through night, travel,
or above the stormy,
doubt-black roof of cloud

there, sunlight ever-shines
and naught
earthly can master
that lofty,
hope-flamed furnace
hung on sky…

and wrought! within the mind of Him
who hung it,
-and from eternity- composed,
dynamically,

a song, alight with
brilliance and with shadow,

-revolution-
children
born,
to flee

all
in “good”
time
is
the scope
-and motto-

for life,
once grew,

and looked much
like
a tree.