Blue and Purple Hues

Words were always this. Color-drunk waves
Raining, Rolling
Through air breath and sky
Capture a glance of passerby
In wild winged
wonderful flight.

They stole warmth above the tundra,
Tore triumph from ungiving hills,
Danced through darkness in the cavern,
In heavy wood whispered faithfully still.

But wait, soft. heavy worth
trustful eye'd watching for sound

of bell-strung verse

once more, to ring.

echo reaching
beyond the tyrant sea
to receive heart
(a harbor)
peaceful.
singing quietly.
like deep sea diving.
words rang, there they came
to rest and wander
find meaning.

These - a dream were these?

Waves to sandy beach, greeting me--

laughing raspberry and olive green?

Blue and purple hues

this is the song I never wrote

Landed. With soft thunder
on the cushion of snow and countryside.
It washes with its whiteness, with cold brightness
Words that were muddy, experience unguided.
I sleep,
listen.

Look.

Wait.



Til stress’ yoke is fully broke.
And melted snowflakes roll
down my cheeks.
When heart begins to thaw
it aches.

But Joy remakes.
And Christmas' wished for prayer
for peace quickly is brought to bear.
We rest not alone, but in presence Divine
whereupon muted lips and closed eye
Glory intimate and beautiful shines.

for the Ποιμην

“Peter”

by Madeleine L'Engle

Lord I love you.
I have tried to feed your sheep.
Shepherds have a lonely job.

I have gone out searching for you
into the tumult of the midnight sky –
the swirling life of stars too many to count,
and have been deafened
by the rush of the wind.
And now you ask me to look within,
away from the vast and echoing sound without.

So I go down and in,
into the deepest, narrowest,
darkest, most brilliant
places of the heart.
I am battered by its beat
throbbing in my veins,
tension, release.
In the small space
between the beats,
the rhythm is yours, not mine,
yours is its time
to keep me here, in time,
in, deeper, deeper,
to the beating of my heart,

So I end where I began
and once again I start
to learn that my disgrace
is ripped, is torn apart,
and mended by your grace.

Sunday Morning

Sunday morning praises

voices, to God, are raising.
On earth the Holy Spirit amidst
the weak and lowly
blazes!
That with a joyful shout,
exiles might be embraced
transcendence bows down and
profoundly breaks
power of blindness, fear,
all that isolates
God has replaced
doubt with heaven's door:
a Savior, Lamb, and Lord.

pressing in

peace in clement pieces scattered 'cross the sky
like stardust, making way to heart,
through eyes.
peace poured proliferant in place brimful of prayer
soul bent, aching deep,
desire heavenward.
peace - golden burden gained on heart, mind and hand
living portion reverent glimpse
trace of promised land.

paper-writing prayer

right now you are, dear poetry,
the only tune i care to sing
anesthetizing other things in me.
although i need to write and think
profound thoughts with profound beauty--
you don't mind my bad grammar
or vocabulary,
as long as truth and meaning
are made visible through thee.
grant me more grace, God,
and make my prose a poetic offering!