When the World Pierces With Its Beauty

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.

Finally to Come Alive

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.

Where Is the Fire Inside Your Eyes?

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 Know Your Eyes

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.

Slow Me Down, Lord

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
God’s strong hand is always leading.

From Angel Wings and Prayers

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.

Best to Keep Your Questions Brief

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.

When Something Shifts

My monkey mind is busy today,
Jumping through my head like crazy—
Like bumble bees among flowering bushes,
Buzzing away before early morning dew is dry.
I’ve seen athletes run down the field,
Dancers tap their way across the stage,
But nothing quite as fast
As thoughts swirling in my head.

Don’t forget to pay those bills…
Time to take out trash.
Should I get new tires on the car today?
Why is it so warm? Where is the ice
That should be on the lake by now?
How are those out west who lost family
In this week’s latest massacre?

Call Ann and Elizabeth and see how they’re doing.
Any more Christmas presents to buy?
For New Year’s should I bake a pie?
As I walk the dog, every swirling leaf
Rakes against inside of my mind.
Then at home, I stop and pause,
Watch how clouds drift over Sun.

Lake is quiet now. Geese have flown.
Fish below are sleeping. Without effort,
Suddenly the Light breaks forth,
Concerns float away as something
Shifts deep within— deeper than form,
Deeper than thought— waves of Light touch….
Reveal a Light within.

Alone, I Walk Among Stones

Dedicated to Helen Gibler Howitt (1892-1961)

Whenever I return to my hometown
First thing I do is visit the cemetery.
Alone, I walk among stones,
Read names of my father, mother, sister,
Grandparents, great-grandparents,
Uncles and aunts and cousins,
Old friends I knew so many years ago.

Once they were alive and had their time,
Before they were finally swept away
As though by tidal currents into greater ocean.
Some say “Be careful what you hope for,
This side of the grave….” But for them,
I see them now filled with wonderous hope,
Beyond reach of lightening and the storm.

I’ve held the dying, who opened their eyes
Just as they breathed their last.
And I’ve cut the cord of those
Who took first breath at birth.
The out-cry and the birth cry
Are with me now, never forgotten.
They are both, in different ways, miracles.

When I visit graveyards, I stand in silence,
Feel within the double-take of all revealed,
Listening, listening, listening for silent Word.
I’ve done the same on Western Isles of Scotland,
Stood among ancient cairns and standing stones,
Some fallen on the ground, some taller than I am.

Many stones were a thousand years old
Before Egypt built her pyramids—
Still they seem to speak on dark cloudy nights,
Mist swirling in air—whispering in the wind.
Shadows do not lengthen but envelope everything
Among ancient burial cysts and sacred stones.
Something calls to me at dusk, deep within my DNA,
As I place hands upon rough weathered stones.

I have never heard God speak from burning bush,
But I’ve been struck speechless by cold stones—
Felt them turn from solid into liquid in my veins,
Breath constricted as I communed
With that which lies beyond all knowledge.
Have you wandered among such stones, been touched
As you brushed against something holy….
Heard a quiet sigh you recognized….

Simple Cottage on the Irish Sea

Something simple appealed to me
About this Irish cottage on western sea.
Sold my dream kitchen with granite counters
For a low fire that I bank for the night,
Enflame in early morning to fix black tea.

At night, swells of water snore away,
Mist mixing almost every day with
Those occasional hours when I see clear Sun.
My neighbor’s sheep keep the grass short.
There are no trees; no leaves to rake.

Now I’m retired and my wife is gone,
I keep my peace alone, though gulls
Clatter along the beach, an occasional deer
Comes close to the house and a fox
Sometimes drops from hills at night.

Rocks in the stream are all a-shambles,
Tumbling down, turning around—
Metaphor for me when I walk to town.
Three miles to the little village,
Visit a few shops for my meager needs.

Finally, I take time to study stars.
Despite skepticism, clear nights do come—
Move me to write a nine line poem.
Here, alone at last, I observe silence of crickets,
Profess an excellence at nothing.

There is wide immanence that comes with age,
Solitude as my singular treasure.
A stack of books are confident friends.
At the last of life, hours move slow.
I’m more content as night draws close.