Creation of the universe is done,
Yet still the process unfolds—
New shapes, colors, endless realms of beauty.
Broken, I sit and weep
When gates of the world open,
Reveal what I have never seen.
If there be soul, it now overflows—
Heart expands as though in one moment
I glimpse the faceless face of God.
Light dazzles, though I am too blind
To see naked Sun itself. Only in reflection
Perfection speaks in abject self-surrender.
Something else besides what I see
Appears invisibly to touch me deeply—
An essence breathes that elevates me to praise.
In this moment, I finally feel reward of prayer,
Gate of grace now becomes one bridge—
Melts away time and space to Radiance undone.
Sunset is no ending, only another phase—
Beginning of night, eternal stars, then another day.
Sunrise takes hold of us, enlightens
Every stone, every tree, every child.
Words are never needed to feel awe or wonder.
Tonight I wait for new beginning….
No need for hidden books or secret names.
Hope to glimpse an inner force
Emanating, hovering within clouds,
Reflected in your eyes where love resides.
Listen for years and years of sighs,
Frozen tears upon cold winter Earth,
Old mothers’ mothers crying for us all.
Their stubbornness deep within the loving,
Stones of sorrow wedded with compassion.
Be silent when standing before these mountains—
Sense their deep foundations, dark roots secure…
Their summits sing in ecstasy, peaks reaching for clouds,
Waiting for this very moment where you and I
Come to witness, see, and finally come alive.
Today, I saw dried autumn leaves,
Edges brown and curled, caught within
Old web and clinging to the bark.
Possibly they may winter there,
Until spring evolves to green,
Bursts with ripeness on the scene,
Sweetens both you and me.
When will you return?
I miss your dreams; I miss your voice;
I miss your flesh against my flesh.
For now as winter darkens,
Where is reflection of fire inside your eyes?
Caught within silky web of love,
My light flickers at the edge of you.
I’ve been around for long enough,
Watched the eyes of many people—
Ten thousand eyes times ten thousand,
Some filled with love, some with fear or grief.
With guilt or shame, eyes avoid my glance.
A few eyes are green and others brown or blue.
Eyes of the elderly are often clouded
From age or cataracts that block the light.
Other eyes are curious and brightly open wide.
At night, all eyes are tired and wish for sleep.
I’ve seen your eyes before.
I know your eyes as though I gaze
Deep within your inner soul—
For one brief moment hold you tenderly
Before you blink and walk away.
For Dianne Turpin Ferrell
Slow me down. Let me watch this sunset
With no thought of rising moon to come.
Help me view the fading rays,
Reach the end lingering but without delay,
Hours and hours remain to watch stars at night.
Help me trust slow work of God,
Benefit in unfolding fast belief,
Healing wounds and grief—
Patient in suspense for something new
Gradually, in hours to come.
Let whatever miracle forms within
Arrive in its good time, no rush—
Within unknown find no anxiety,
Not needing to understand but trust
His strong hand is always leading.
Last night my dreams were lonely,
Went hunting after yours.
They wandered into dark heads
Searching for your curly thoughts.
Suddenly they saw you dreaming,
Sleeping within vast rooms of night.
Dreams swam across night of stillness,
Circled Earth until they reached you—
Found within your eyes your love for me.
Now our dreams have touched,
They dance together unremembered,
Yet still they kindle music in our hearts.
Were we suspended by filaments
From angel wings and prayers,
We’d open arms as wide as love,
Hands reached around round Earth,
Float softly down from clouds,
Bring to Earth a waking light.
For Ann Caldwell Dearman
Early morning rain makes blue roads
Look like water flowing up melancholy hills.
Across the moors are flocks of sheep,
Whilst violet clouds move across blue skies
Old stone walls make passage slow.
Homes are swallowed by vast expanse—
Green grass and ambling highland cows.
Parish church looks small beside
High jagged tombstones of the resting dead.
Life was short and death assured relief.
Here I want to pause to write a verse
To late afternoon English tea complete with scones,
Flocked wallpaper on tainted walls of empty rooms,
Fading silhouettes of Labradors and terriers,
And ghosts of little girls that walk alone at night.
Phantom choir of monks still chant in ruined abbey.
In moonlight, a head appears on block of stone.
Rocky ground and purple heather lies upon the heath.
Play in the graveyard your little games of hide and seek.
Find imagination released upon wide dark canvas—
But best to keep your questions brief.