Darkest Winds

Darkest winds on the eve of destruction,
clouds without water drift in the sky
where the color of blood like a river runs
to set sail the souls that die.
A sea of transgression, amidst it one hope,
a faint grain of virtue in a river of vice
where the sands are blown in the face of despair,      
piled in dunes high as heaven and frigid as ice.
Never once to gaze up at the burning air
and words without power and a tree without fruit -
a form of light? But it does not shine...
If the light is darkness then what of the dark,
just a darker shade of its kind?
And a merciful death that sings sweetly
to comfort the suffering of those days
as they thirst for a drop of its poisonous substance,
amidst the fire of this scorching blaze
and denied a drink from your chalice,
we continue plodding this wasteland mirage
for all we dare say, some nefarious presumption
that fools parade in a dismal collage.
Were there so many ways to kill,
so many methods to snuff out the flame?"
Such numerous means of subtle will
to stake upon the dead their claim
who for all their power, lusts and dreams,
accomplishments and crowning glory
could not a single moment more      
add to their life's unfolding story.
We can not light the candle, burning,
whose flame would chase away the night."
We can not here by deed or yearning
bring back extinguished beams of light.
A sovreign power, the right of God,
a character He must possess,
as we, extensions of this sod      
become the things His thoughts confess
and may steal the breath of living creature
yet not a living breath impart      
to fan these flames of sovreign feature
or cause the beating of a heart...

           Snowflake Night

Lonely orphans, they fall to the earth,
wanderers, lost and searching for home;
stragglers, void of sorrow or mirth,
unique, undaunted, alone . . .

Drifting in a winter wasteland,
outstretched arms of cold, blue ice
grasp the wind with crystal hand
that never grace the same flake twice.
 
Spinning, whirling, they fragment
against the clouds and fill the sky
with a mournful, slow lament
as they drift toward earth to die.

Unfurled, my fingers seek to hold
a few within my fading gaze,
before their secrets can unfold
they wane and melt away . . .

Dimly lit, the land reflects
a silver, pale and eerie glow
as cold blue starlight intersects
the captured moonbeams in the snow.

Frozen flurries here refract
the distant, cold, celestial spheres,
like tiny prisms they react
and shower me with rainbow tears.

White shards of ice cut at my face,
yet soft, I feel a sweet caress,
So intimate!  This silent place
draws me to its loneliness . . .

An icy breath, the howling wind
piles drifts high, hills of pure white,
trees weighted down with icecicles bend
and stretch their limbs into the night.

Beautiful snowflakes, dancing and twirling
like frail death on a field of frozen flowers,
ghostly ballerinas dipping and swirling
fall from the heavens in powdery showers.

Piercingly the moon gazes
on the leery, sparkling white
where under trees the she-elk grazes
in the stillborn dark of night.

Flurries luminesce in the eerie glow
of the distant, darkened heavens,
their crystal shapes reflect below
the pearly drifts of frosty leaven.

Twinkling stars augment their rays
within crescending, bloated walls
of falling, drifting flakes ablaze,
the silver wings of midnight fall.

Descending from the frozen skies,
drifting cloud to cloud,
meandering, they dip and rise
within their misty shroud.

Sometimes gently, sometimes violent,
they chill the river's icy blood,
their descent so slow and silent
I can almost hear a "thud"

as they impact upon the hills,
each a work of icy art,
so full of lace and dainty frills
that long enchant my heart . . .

Falling swift and free,
the black sky drifts and sways
blanketing a frozen sea
of chalky, fluffy, misty haze.

Wet, cold, melting on my face,
against my lips to freeze again,
chilled to my soul by this beautiful place,
somehow we are ancient kin.

Falling, falling, falling
as they twirl their fateful dance,
falling, falling, falling
in this winterland romance.
 

            The Mountain

Tall green pines arching down
on cliffs overlooking the river,
rust colored leaves spread on the ground
blown by the wind, dance and quiver

in the chilly, auburn breeze of autumn,
fringed with gold and purple-red
and sunset-orange at the bottom
of an endless leafy bed

that spans across the forest floor;
hanging from the trees they fall,
first a few, then many more,
one by one descending all.

Rainbow blankets shroud the trees,
their limbs blue-grey, half bare.
Unraveling each breath of breeze
they drop to sail the brisk night air.

The sun sets sinking down below
the river far beneath this cliff,
the sky aflame with blood-red glow
darkens behind blue clouds that drift.

Pinpoint dots break out across
the waning pink of dusk,
pines drenched in silver dew dross
exhale a damp, sweet, earthy musk.

The stars brighten in the thick of dark,
the wind whips my hair each place I go,
pale and silvery moonlight marks
the beautiful evergreen valleys below.

Dark shadowed patches of leafy brown heather
crunch under my feet as I walk,
in the cold, misty, wild rainy weather
that muffles the cricket's slow talk.

Owls chat in the crisp evening wind,
the pristine sky overturns
near the roaring waterfall, to wind and bend
where the light of the fireflies burns;

an eerie, living cloud of light,
prismatic green and yellow,
that hovers in the black of night
where bullfrogs croak and bellow.

A smoky, glowing patch of woods
where good friends dance around the fire,
and leave behind theirs earthly goods
to give into their heart's desire.

Lost in some evergreen wonder,
the innocent pleasure of love,
the climbing sky full of thunder
as the flames of their fire rise higher above.

Playing guitar, laughing and singing,
they shared their hearts by burning ember,
for all the joy the evening was bringing
was more than they could remember.

Four souls seeking precious time
who climbed the weather-worn rocks,
wandering with no reason or rhyme,
soaked from their heads to their socks.

The rain felt cool against my face,
I swallowed, my throat was so dry,
and filled my belly with rivers of grace
that would rush from my eyes as I'd cry.

The moon, in a beautiful silken gown
that draped her pale white breast;
her long, soft, satin locks unwound,
caressed us as she there undressed

and in her virgin splendor
filled the night with soft, pure song,
on her silver cheeks glowed tender
kisses from the lips of dawn.

Beyond the beauty of all this,
that stole my fleeting breath away:
the love of faithful friends I miss,
the moon, stars, and sky there lay

a being, watching, gazing, caring,
breathing life into each creature,
each heartbeat He was gently bearing,
each life, its form and feature.

God looks down upon His earth,
this priceless pearl that He created,
to pleasure in each life and birth
a treasure He has long awaited.
 

      A Flower In the Desert
       (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)

A flower in the desert
is my Savior inside me,
a light not of my own,
a deep and endless sea.

This all-surpassing treasure
in a vessel made of earth,
for this power comes from God,
it's not of natural human birth.

Though outwardly I waste away,
inwardly I'm day to day
renewed like the coming dawn,
like a new born, sprightly fawn.

On the outside I am dusty,
just a desert dry and dead
where drifting tumbleweeds of sin
blow around inside my head,

not a drop of love to squeeze
from these lifeless sands,
only hate and greed and lust where
here and there cactus stands.

But inside is a river flowing
of the Savior's blood,
in this dry and loveless soul
a rising crimson flood.

His word, a rising ocean,
sweeps away the tumbleweeds
and plants within my lifeless sands
a thousand tiny seeds.

A flower in the desert
is His grace that holds me tight,
that waters, shapes, erodes me
like a wind storm in the night.

A flower in the desert
is my savior's love for me,
outside bound by selfishness,
inside living free.

(The love, the gift, the sacrifice
for which He paid cost Him His life,
now can I give my life away
in service every single day?)

A flower in the desert is
the hope of His return,
in this world of darkness it's
the light for which we yearn.

A flower in the desert is
this song placed in my heart,
this dry and dusty wasteland
by God's tears is ripped apart.

A flower in the desert -
Jesus living in my soul,
I myself the desert -
He the rain that makes me whole.
 

             The Seagull

I glanced into the acrid blue
as overhead a seagull flew.
He meandered through my limpid gaze
alighting in a crimson blaze
to eye me with his sandy gaze.

Capriciously he walked about
and spread his crested feathers out.
In sterling, placid alacrity
he dipped his beak into the sea
and sipped the salts of infinity.

Timidly he fathomed me
with uttermost tranquility,
tacitly his head would sway,
he silent as the waning day
spread his wings and lolled away . . .
 

      The Coming of the Dawn

The night sky stretches on
toward the black, cold depths of space,
marbled with slivers of grey
the pining dark is soon replaced

with some dim amalgamation,
some cloudy mix between,
the state of day and night
or any time that can be seen.

Faintly comes the light,
wispy fingers crack the sky
into a million broken pieces
bright as gold and dark as lye.

The fragments of the night
fade into the eerie light
of a pink and timid sun
that rises on the horizon.

The stars, blue and beautiful
recede as though a tide
were washing them away
in the expanse that they abide.

The heavens, dark blue and purple
shimmer through the haze
and wander, dull and dimly
through the misty maze.

The moon wanes softly, gently,
her meek reflection to give way
to the burning strength of sunlight,
the consuming light of day.

The clouds ablaze with fire
burn bright orange, pink and red
drifting on the wind's desire
to wherever they are led.

Like sheep brought out to pasture,
they gathered there to graze
on the grassy, floating fields
where the tiny starling plays.

With shrill and toilsome air
a robin sings his lovely song,
to greet the youthful morning
with his ballad, slow and long.

Then meet the sun and moon,
trapped within each other's gaze,
they lovers, there embrace
intertwining midst the rays

of the sum of their strange light,
with passionate kiss and courting song,
the sun pursues his mistress
suddenly, the moon is gone.

Then rises to the morning,
the bright and stately sphere,
waiting for the next
to bring his lovely lady near;

his bright and tender kiss,
as if to say "good bye"
to the one he'll sorely miss
in the blue and moonless sky.
 

           The Platypus

You among all things are trite,
a lovely, silly, sappy sight.
Did your Maker yet intend
a little of His mirth to spend
in making you with furry legs,
warm blooded, billed, and laying eggs?
Yet with milk to nurse your young,
reducing Darwin's dreams to dung?
Sopping in your murky bath,
I love you, how you make me laugh!

                   This Moon

Clouds pass between me and the moon
a blanket unfolding
across the southern sky,
the stars an atmospheric haze
of deep, rich darkness - fish netted
who cover the stillborn night like lye.

A luminescent mirage obscures
the alacrity of the moon,
her craters cast feeble shadows,
specters dancing her complexion,
banshees screaming of emptiness,
their vacant, cold expressions
seal the majesty of this masterpiece
in tragic, rare perfection.

I close my eyes and wander in
the freedom of expanse,
a thousand eyes turned up here,
different stories each pair tells.
Memories are stirred
in the drifting of the tides,
monsoons of tears, porous laughter,
public paradise, private hells.

They locked within this sphere
irradiant with hope and dread
lose their substance and importance
in the sea of living dead.
Forced to search for answers
to the questions they can't ask,
they feel excruciating madness
failing in their futile task.

We howl in misery wailing
of our desperation
for a particle of peace,
some assurance of salvation,
we do not understand
the song she sings tonight,
the moon is calling softly
to the blind seeking sight.

The answer fills the heavens
reflecting from the firmaments
and echoes through the cosmos
in grand, celestial splendor;
in the hurricane and waterfall,
the thunderclap and lion's roar,
the babbling brook and baby cooing,
the hush of dusk, and sea breeze tender.

The music of the moon
in a crescending, silver tone,
repetitive and lonely,
has a rhythm of its own;
the percussion of a heartbeat
in revolution of the earth
as it turns upon its axis
and I stand alone at birth.

Gratitude, the song
that all creation sings
in the softness of the moonlight,
in between metallic beams,
alien and surreal,
I'm captivated with romance
of all the intricate DESIGN
that governs EVERY circumstance.

    Notes In Linguistics Class

While sitting in linguistics class
waiting for the time to pass
my instructor moves her hands
as if she secretly demands
from us a language other than
the simple speech we understand.

Language is at best a means
to express vast extremes
of thought and conflict, circumstance,
emotions, logic, dreams, romance.
Though it always be rule governed
by dialect, northern or southern.

To make learning language fun and nice
we have a language acquisition device,
unfortunately by the time we've grown
our L.A.D. is cold as stone!
Punctuation marks and grammar
hit it home with quite a hammer!

To use language with tact and sense
takes communicative competence.
Extensive knowledge of its use
is grammatical competence abuse.
Linguistics is composed of 3 compacted studies,
that are sharply scrutinized by a linguist's buddies:

1 - Grammar is the first
    to quench your little thirst.
2 - Language Variation next
    to make it more complex.
3 - Real World Problems is the third
    (I guess this poem seems absurd.)

The spoken word and written letter
make information quicker and better.
Such passion to communicate!
With signing we gesticulate.
The tongue is set on fire from hell,
so all our words don't do so well

if we don't use the words of PEACE
our offenses here increase.
With this gift to communicate
selfishness, pride, greed and hate
are often what we here express
with all the language we possess.

There is a moral to be learned
upon the page of history burned,
if the pen is mightier than the sword,
then speak it, as before the Lord.
The powers of our words increase,
now words make war and words make peace.
So let us use the spoken word
with love when it is heard.
 

               Dear Butterfly

Sweet gem of utter happiness,
wings so gay and frail,
liquid waves of laughter roll
between your markings, pale.

Rippling with uncertainty,
capriciously, carefree,
you hold my eyes transfixed,
enchanted by the love I see

in your gentle movements
as walk the sky,
sipping nectar from the flowers,
you're so delicate and shy.

So swift, with joyful grace
you dance upon the wind
on songs of pure delight
you rise and dive and bend.

Do you know how short,
the span your life contains?
Tomorrow you will die,
what of your joy and pains?

Somehow I think you know,
as you strain and strive,
yet still can't contain the joy
of being free and alive!

This augments your beauty,
that you so delicate and weak,
for a day know joy and pleasure
that we for a life-time seek.
 

   Summer of Love (Amsterdam 1990)

Reminiscing, it seems like only yesterday,
so near yet so far, acutely pensive,
my thoughts drift further away, my fears
dissolve, slow, unsure, apprehensive . . .

I lost my life, I gained the world
walking those gray cobblestone streets,
passing canals that twisted and turned
through a sea of human feet.

Musicians and acrobats crowded town squares,
vagabonds and children flying a kite,
open air markets selling their wares,
the smell of sweet pastries filled the night,

mingling with the dust that hung in the air
and the odor of lamb roasting nearby,
the street performers sitting in chairs
staring into the smoke-filled sky.
 
In the park chasing frisbees we fell
on the green grass beside the pond.
I played my guitar, I remember it well
looking into the clouds, somewhere beyond.
(In that summer, summer of love.)

Did I really know God till I met him then?
I never felt him so close to me.
From the time I arrived, He my constant friend,
destroyed my chains and set me free.

In the Body of Christ discovering love
was like finding diamonds and buried treasure,
so warm and powerful and far above
any simple earthly pleasure.

Love flowed as a river, tears fell like rain,
the day that we parted I felt so much loss
in that dingy old station as they boarded the train,
I knew I would keep them, whatever the cost.

In all these miles, our hearts still as one
beat breast to breast, I won't let you go
till I see you all with God's only Son,
I pray for you daily, I hope you know.

By the North Sea we walked on the shore,
we talked of old times and passing dreams,
we met an old man who spoke of a war,
only yesterday, it seems . . .
(In that summer, summer of love.)

We opened our souls and humbled our hearts,
God lifted us up to the place of a child.
As children we danced, each our own part,
our eyes filled with light, pure and wild.

So full of love I thought I would burst,
so full of the warm affection of others.
Intimately God quenched my burning thirst
with the love of my sisters and brothers.

Our minds so connected, in tune with His Word,
like paradise, it seemed like heaven on earth.
I felt I could fly, I could soar like a bird!
We were all living the second birth.

Imperfect, yet endowed with grace
as each day the sun would rise,
friends I'm sure I saw God's face
shining brightly in your eyes.
(In that summer, summer of love.)
 

           Political Dreams

There's more than meets the eyes
to be politically correct,
you must be celebrant and "wise",
and full of narrow circumspect.
Afraid of what the world will think
about each word you say,
somehow to make malicious link
twixt dark of night and light of day.
Speak your nonsense to the human race,
your wacky, senseless, double-speak;
to wryly slap me in the face
by kissing me upon the cheek.
 

                 Cats

Like a tiger in the night
you prowl about, your whiskers out,
seeking prey you may devour
that would fear your brutal power.

Claws of steel that rip and tear
the fabric of my favorite chair.
You're made of rubber bands and strings
and slinky, slimy, bouncy things.

You think you are more terrible
than lions when they roar,
but you look so small when
someone scoops you off the floor;

yet your pride, undaunted,
shines like the morning sun
both when you turn and fight
and when you try to run.

Puffing out your chest
you walk with such a stately glow,
you think you're very handsome
and want everyone to know.

When something's going on
you simply can't resist,
the curiosity that drives you
takes you on another tryst.

You take the center of attention
no matter what is going on,
you must have every eye upon you
and then suddenly you're gone

into some dark crevice,
a box or paper bag,
knocking nick-nacks off the shelf
or shredding up a rag.

You break my things and flaunt
yourself about like you're the boss,
you never care what something is
or just how much it costs.

When I call you never come
unless you're good and ready.
Your obedience to me
is at best, unsteady.

You refuse to be tamed,
retaining that wild side
of yourself I love so much,
yet still you do confide

your trust in me each time
you curl up in my lap,
and purring give your love to me
before your evening nap.

Somehow it means more to know
you love me of free choice,
than simply in obedience
to your master's voice.
 

     No, Not This One!

No time in which I wish to be,
no space I wish to occupy,
so dim and barely understood
is everything that meets my eye.

If I traveled forwards or
backwards down the line,
is it forbidden to transgress
the laws of space and time?

Would I stand alone against
all energy and matter?
If I jumped beyond them
would their composition shatter?

Somehow to maintain a state
between the old and new,
neither wave nor particle,
some force between the two.

Neither e nor m
but c2 aleph one,
perhaps a lepton or neutrino
in the bright heart of the sun.

At the set velocity
of the surreal speed of c
mass increases infinitely,
stray positrons roam free.

Antileptons in antielectrons
annihilate with matter,
cosmic background radiation,
a thick primordial batter.

Bosons, gluons, leptoquarks
within this quantum stew,
neutrinos, gamma EMR
pass most matter through.

Galaxies gaily receding
beyond the rim where pulsars drift
at one third the speed of c
take a scarlet Doppler shift.

Neutron stars that rip our space
with gravitonic tides,
then past event horizons
a singularity feebly hides

infinity, eternity,
though neither particle or force
is the substance which transcends
all matter, time and course.

Coordinately grounded to
each point in space and time,
itself a singularity,
an infinite point defined.

No means of propulsion
are employed, but in their place
the particles, transfigured,
fade in and out of points of space.

No matter is created,
no matter is destroyed,
though its relation to wave energy
and field laws is employed,

till a state is reached
beyond the four surpassing forces,
in which the end and outcome
fuses with its starting sources.

Several times dilated
to cause temporal diffusion,
displacement of the linear flow
creates intense confusion.

The chain, already broken,
grows weaker with each falling link,
cause and effect suspended where
the warped continuims sink.

Then to pause for just a moment,
to sit for just a spell,
in the contours, lines and arcs
of a massive gravity well.

Perhaps more enlightening than
the frail imaginings of a man
is the fact that there is One
who holds time-space within His hand.

If I traveled forwards
or backwards down the line,
is it forbidden to transgress
the laws of space and time?
 

        He Loves You So

When you feel broken hearted
and the tears swell and flow
remember that He's holding you,
child he loves you so.

When darkness just surrounds you
and your heart sinks down so low,
feel His arms around you,
child He loves you so.

When death and sorrow fill you
and daylight is hard to know
feel Him gently kiss your cheek,
child He loves you so.

When you feel very lonely and
don't have one friend to show
hear Him whisper softly
"Child I love you so."

When by night your life is clouded
in a fog of ice and snow
see the red blood running warm,
child He loves you so.

When you grimace in despair
and your reflection is your foe
remember that He fought it for you.
Why? He loves you so.

When the river of life stagnates
to a trickle, cold and slow,
behold the torrent flowing from
His eyes, He loves you so.

When the sweetness of life sours
to an odor foul and low,
smell the fragrance of His nail
scars, child He loves you so.

When life leaves you searching
and confusion lands a blow
be certain of this one thing,
Jesus loves you so . . .
 

             The Unheard

Who am I that you hate me so?
What have I done, what could I know?
That causes you to look at me
with calloused, hardened, apathy.
Why does no one hear my cry?
Perceive my screams of pain?
Why does no one care when I,
the innocent, am slain?
You yourselves were once like me,
formed the same as I,
alive inside your mother's womb,
you had the chance to try!
(To be someone, bad or good, but someone.)

I was formed, warm and living
when the sperm and egg conceived,
a moving, feeling creature,
are you so deceived
to think that I don't hope and dream?
I feel, I think, the same as you!
By blood is just as red as yours,
my human form as true!
In example even nature
sees this act as a disgrace,
she does not destroy her yet unborn,
dispose of them without a trace.

She gives them all at least a birth,
so what I can not understand is
with the greatest mind of all,
why is this act performed by man?
Let me break free of this womb,
I will show you what I'll be!
A composer or inventor,
I could set your whole world free
of some dreaded disease,
some atrocity unsolved,
to alleviate the suffering
'round which our lives revolve.

I could find a cure for cancer,
create a form of art,
be a writer or a dancer,
paint the feelings of your heart.
Or may I be an average person?
Not to smart or bold.
Still I'd care for you with love
as you are growing old.
Could I have solved a problem,
somehow given someone peace?
If only you will let me live,
I'm begging you, please?
(Just for a chance, bad or good, to be someone.)

I could have been somebody's friend
who saddened and alone,
had no one to make them laugh,
and won't if I'm unknown!
Too late, and how it hurts,
more than the pain you'll cause,
more than the burning salt
and the coldness of steel claws.
You will never hear my cry?
As NOTHING I must die?
I am someone mommy!
Don't listen to their lies . . .

Let me live, let me grow!
I'll fill your life with love.
I'll be a source of joy
within your world of push and shove.
Don't believe the things they tell you,
their empty, worthless lies.
Do you know the joy you'll feel
when you first look into my eyes?
Or you may never recognize
their cruelty, so absurd!
because the cry "I NEVER HAD A CHANCE . . ."
is silent and unheard.
 

                Rain

Out here the torrent pours
drop by drop upon my heart
washing my soul of memory,
ripping my pride apart.

I feel my feelings wash away,
there are no words that I can say,
drops penetrating to my bones,
I fall to earth to pray.

I look at starless heavens,
their falling tears mix with mine,
lightening flashes, thunder rumbles,
the maddening wind howls and wines.

The earth and sky cry with me,
they join me in my mourning,
the bitterness of man and sin,
nature now is scorning.

The darkness is a blanket
that wraps itself around me,
my lips kiss the soil where
hopelessness has bound me.

I feel utterly forsaken
as I wait here to die,
I groan desperately toward heaven
though it can not hear my cry.

Out of the sky, deep in the storm
I feel a warm embrace,
I turn around and through my tears
I see my Father's face.

God picks me up and holds me
in His arms and with a kiss,
reminds me that He loves me
as He writes upon my wrist

the marks of His son,
He puts His name inside my heart
as He changes and transforms
my every inner part.

He dries my face and lifts my head
from the dust in which it was,
he fills me full of joy and warmth
and hope simply because

though I can not bear my shame,
he carries it for me,
in His eyes I find forgiveness
and my soul is here set free.

and in my deepest loneliness
I know that He is there,
I walk home in this rain
comforted in my despair.

I have fallen, but He helps me,
all my burdens here He bears,
yes my God hasn't left me,
somehow, still, He cares . . .

          The Unicorn

As I sat by crystal stream
the sun upon the water gleamed
and what noise in my lonely ears
did trouble me to stop my tears?

For as I lay there mourning,
my eyes turned to the ground,
it seemed that all was dying
without so much as a sound.

But then there was this voice,
it had a shiny, silver ring,
and when I turned to look
I saw a most astonishing thing!

And what light to my eyes
did shine so pale and bright,
but that a unicorn was prancing
in the darkness of the night.

Moonlit sky parading down
upon her graceful form,
so gracefully, she moving
in the fury of a storm.

Her eyes, the blue of the sea,
they sparkling in its froth.
So deep and pure and full of joy
the beauty was thereof . . .

Her horn was straight and long,
it spiraled to a point;
her body built so gracefully,
so swift, each bone and joint.

So delicate her shape,
as if a falling leaf could break her,
yet so powerful she was!
No force on earth could take her.

Snow white, her body shined,
her pale moon coat was glazed
with a blanket of soft light
that brightened, dimmed, then blazed.

Her legs were built so lightly,
like the wings upon a dove,
so tender, swift, and slender;
beautifully, they moved like love.

I wondered, was I dreaming?
Was this some fairy tale?
She moved so quick, so sweetly,
so gay and yet so frail.

Her tail was very long,
white waves in a sea of night.
Her mane fell down across her back
like glossy locks of pale moonlight.

Her ears were tall and graceful,
her lips the faintest pink,
her muscular flanks would ripple
when her hooves would rise and sink.

Opening those faint, pink lips
music sweetly poured forth,
the winter turned to spring
and all the south winds blew north.

Then she spoke to me!
"Silly man, why are you here?
Climb upon my back and ride
away from all your tears!"

"Oh dear," said I, "sweet unicorn,
how could I do this thing?
You are a most peculiar one
to take me underneath your wing!"

Then off we rode cloaked by the stars
as towards the moon doves flutter,
through time and space and a sea of dreams,
from this story to another.


              Notes On Botany

From all this gibberish I deduce
the awesome power to reproduce
is such a complicated fact
and yet it's such a simple fact:

sperm meets egg, the two unite
to form a young zygote.
Then these cells promptly divide
within a semi-permeable coat.

Each having only half a pair
of chromosomes when they combine
form a pool of growing genes
that make another life, divine.

Stamen, pollen, RNA
always changing through mitosis.
Many systems work together
in mutually friendly symbiosis.

DNA, mitochondria, chloroplasts
converting sunlight into food
stored vascularly as sweet sugars
we can eat when in the mood.

Meaningless and vanity,
like chasing after wind,
what will be, was before.
What is now, has been.

Always learning knowledge
but unable to find truth,
we fathom God's creations
for the secrets of our youth.

And to know these things, though grand,
to understand these things,
could never match the love and splendor
knowing Jesus brings . . .
 

           Summer Storm

The drops, they fall upon my
heart washed in rivers of tears,
tormented, raging storms of sorrow
pass my memories of the years.

Years I've spent upon this earth,
each day I have endured,
rain trickles down inside me,
my soul, refined, is stirred.

My eyes take in the earth with dread,
deprived of sparkling youth,
sacrificed to pay the price
of seeing what is "truth."

The clouds so black and gray
like a blanket cloak my soul,
the wind, so soft, like death
is slowing to a lull.

The sky a battlefield
where day and night collide
fighting for control
of the sun's receding tide.

Day makes war with night
becoming something inbetween,
a dark and dismal void
within this cataclysmic scene;

Whirling circles in a dance,
waltzing intertwined,
they move in graceful rhythm
to a cosmic song divine.

The thunder claps in majesty!
I trembling, feel my weakness -
a leaf blown by the winds,
I bow my head in meekness.

Whispers of the soul reach
through my head and stir my heart,
as overhead the clouds that shroud
the sky begin to part.

The pounding rain surges wildly
deep inside my soul,
the thunder, wind and lightning
take from me their toll.

The rain has ceased but something wet
still trickles down onto my palm,
within me builds a raging storm
but outside all is calm.
 

                 Starless Night

Tonight the clouds surround the moon,
her light so hard to see . . .
I wonder where the shore has gone
and what its fate will be

tomorrow when the water at
low tide reveals the sand,
and if then by daylight
I may somehow understand

where the stars have gone tonight,
their light eludes my gaze;
so longingly I search for them
within this misty haze.

A storm approaches slowly,
far at sea, yet drawing near,
in the lightlessness of darkness
it fills my heart with fear.

Or is it loneliness that
brings anxiously to mind
the danger of this moment?
Their light I can not find.

Sinking in discouragement
I wither to the ground
searching longingly, dear stars,
where will you be found?

But now I see a greater light
illuminate the shore;
the light of Christ, perhaps that is
what starless nights are for . . .
 

      The Speaking Sea

The sea comes boldly forward,
without fear she rushes toward
the dunes that are before her
giving all she can afford
to take her children from
their exile in the sand.
Against her constant pressure
what force on earth can stand?
Come forward foamy seas that
rush in power, strength and might;
declare the presence of your Maker,
bring His handiwork to light!

Overhead the seagull flies
crying softly, free of care,
lost in liberation,
he sails swiftly through the air.
All the toils of life
can not a worry give
to the freely soaring seagull
whose life we long to live.
Fly on lovely seagull,
with freedom, ease and grace;
In the fury of your flight
portray the beauty of God's face!

The wind blows east steadfastly
never ceasing to persist,
howling fiercely at the sand,
she seems always to insist
on enchanting each observer
as she whispers, sings and blows,
her wispy fingers pull and tickle
in the stillness as she slows.
Blow soft without cessation,
by your strength trees sway and cower;
make known the name of your Creator
and the reaches of His power!

Now gently pounds the rain
as the waves come crashing down,
softly pelting on the sand
making ripples in the ground.
The bloated clouds so full of breath
release their tears in mournful death.
Fall peacefully, sweet summer rain,
engulf the thirsty earth;
proclaim of Christ the Savior
resurrection, death and birth!

Slowly sets the sinking sun
casting in his silhouette
a crimson, flaming earth and sky,
a swiftly ending minuet.
Dusk falls slowly making
a twilight, blue-grey mark
upon the celebrant beginning
of the coming of the dark.
Set slowly sinking sun,
in the richness of your blaze
display the glory of you Father,
how unsearchable His ways!

The clouds pass drowsily across
the waning light remaining,
an image of finality,
they move abstractly painting
a picture, rare and beautiful
of freedom and release,
they become the colors of
this fading masterpiece.
Billow softly passing clouds
drifting through the atmosphere;
in the splendor of your brilliance
bring your Painter's visage near!

Now the stars come out to mingle
with the moon so soft and sweet,
in her pale and sugary light
the sky and heavens seem to meet
in an ancient rite of passage
to determine who will rule
the night advancing swiftly
on the ocean waters cool.
Shine gently, stars and moon
who roam so freely the expanse;
illuminate His sovereignty
that rules each circumstance!

Over the horizon
a glint of light appearing
heralds the promised coming
of the morning quickly nearing.
Black gives way to grey
over shadows that would be,
as the sun in all his glory
disrobes the sky and sea.
Rise quickly welcome sun,
bring once again the light of day
and tell the nature of our Father,
the God to whom we pray!
 

                  Games
          (Matthew 18:3-4)

Manipulation, speculation,
tally up the score.
Despising in each action
each reaction waited for.

Another move, checkmated!
Sometimes the game is such a bore.
Inside I feel this emptiness
that burns me to the core.

Why can't we make ourselves
an open book to passers by?
I want to open up my heart,
why can't I even try?

When I was a child, I could,
what fleeting moment stole
that innocence from me and
brought the chilling of my soul?

The lie, now manifested,
very few can recognize
the blanket of deception
we pull slowly o'er our eyes.

Is honesty a virtue?
Then why treat it like the plague?
I jeopardize the certain
for the ambiguous and vague.

Yet how much more can we endure
before we lose our minds?
In this game with hearts we play,
no happiness I find . . .
 

          Forgotten Shore

The wind a salty kiss,
like soft love upon my lips
brushes against my cheek
and curls around my finger-tips.

On the horizon, blazing sun,
that fills the deep blue skies
with rays of pink and orange,
through the clouds a seagull flies.

Waves crash relentlessly
against the glistening dunes of sand,
the surf beats against the rocks,
driven by some unseen hand.

Broken shells that line the shore,
fragments covered in wispy foam,
the waters ripple trough to crest
beyond which fish and dolphins roam.

The wind mourns softly, weeping
through dull-brown hills of grass,
the tides faithfully keeping
the waves that ebb and pass.

The wind upon my back, I watch
the graceful ships set sail,
that skim across the frothy waters
carried by a raspy gale.

On the shore, the sea oats band
with the lighthouse, tall, brick-hard,
to keep the drifting hills of sand
beneath their watchful guard.

                    Change

Turns the world another revolution,
day and night, problem and solution;
turns the page to another chapter,
to tell a story full of tears and laughter.

Turns the leaves once green upon the limb,
to gold and brown and red, dull and dim;
buds each branch void of living thing
into blossom at the time of spring.

Turns the hands afixed the ticking clock,
to seconds, hours, minutes, as they mock,
the old growing older by each breath,
turns the new reborn within their death.

Turns the righteous to the path of sin,
turns the wicked back to right again.
Turns each human soul and living heart,
changing inside/outside every part.

Changes culture, knowledge, wisdom, fame,
changes tame to wild and wild to tame.
only Jesus Christ remains the same,
in life's ever-changing, twisting game.


               The Sea of Time

Across the shores of time we pass,
the drifting tides of circumstance,
through particles of twisted fate,
unfathomed depths of chance.

Time flows like a river, ever moving on
placidly into a sea tormented by change,
the moments making history pass further on,
the features of our destiny to slowly rearrange.

Pass the minutes into hours, hours into days,
pass the days into months, wandering this maze.
What does it amount to, all our joy and tears?
Passes time into another hundred thousand years.

Forward moving, ever on,
toward God's eternal shore,
what remains, what is left,
when time itself becomes no more?

Vast, eternal, enthroned in light
stands He who was before
time began, and still He'll stand
when time becomes no more.

His name - pure love, His visage - truth,
His raiment shining white.
Through Him alone all power flows,
all glory strength and might.

All creation takes its life
from Him, breath by breath;
from Him comes life eternally
to those who share His death.

Bound within the dense expanse
of His celestial rule
are both the wisdom of the wise man
and the folly of the fool.

And time passing like a wave,
we caught within its wake,
are carried in the crests and troughs
through every choice we make.
 

                A Lion and a Lamb

I come as a lion, in fury I roar
prowling about with my claws spread out,
eyes flashing fire, teeth ready to bore,
snarling, wind crashing, I shout!

Sometimes I'm a lamb, in weakness I bleat,
riding a donkey, my face to the ground,
surrendering to each nail that was beat
into my wrists so tightly bound.
 
I, white horse riding, destroy with a glance,
I have both the keys of death and hell,
I judge all things, engineer circumstance,
my power burns every demonic spell.

But I weep, I cry, I love, I need,
I was slain a sacrifice,
upon the altar still I bleed
atoning for man's sin and vice.

Omnipotent, I can be weak
and come to you a lamb, so meek;
rebellious man come back to me,
I'll dry your tears and set you free.

So gentle, yet so fierce must be
my heart, that loving, longingly
seeks to give the blind their sight,
each broken heart a ray of light.

"How could a God of love," you ask,
"make a place like hell?"
My creations, understand
the wisdom that I know so well:

a loving God would not allow
the wicked and unjust
to forever slay the innocent
and fill with hate and lust

the hearts of those who seek my face,
the children whom I love,
so I have prepared a place
for those who push and shove

to make it to the topmost heap
of power, pride and glory,
seeking for themselves the hell
that ends their loveless story;

who say that it is better
to reign in hell as king,
than serve another within heaven,
than to another glory bring.

Does not love imply judgement?
Then how could I allow
all evil, pain and suffering
without judging it somehow?

Would you stand idly by
and watch your closest friend
be destroyed, or would you move
to bring about a different end?

I send no one to hell,
every being has a voice,
to accept me or reject it,
they go there by their own choice.
 
An act of mercy, not of hate
is the loveless sinner's fate
for where they go they still may "reign"
tormented by their self-sought pain.

So longingly, my arms outstretched
embrace with love divine,
and yet these selfsame hands of love
rebuke each child of mine.

Mercy, grace and judgement
flow in every act I do,
so jealously do I desire
the spirit I have placed in you.

A lion and a lamb in me,
my children do you finally see?
Too great is God to only be
one form or the other.
 

               Alone
        (Hebrews 13:5)

I sit here by myself,
wind blowing through my hair.
My eyes turned up toward heaven
at the silver crescent stare.

The moon in her pale beauty
casts her light between the stars
as the trees near the horizon
silhouette their gnarly scars,

they sway within the breeze
as the clouds, a narrow streak,
enshroud their tops in mystery,
a mist, dreary and bleak.

My face, an auburn shadow,
cloaks itself in salty tears
and I feel that God is with
as His Spirit gently nears.

I feel desolate and lonely
and I can't call earth my home,
but my heart can never say
"Woe is me - I am alone."

Though silent and unseen,
I know my Lord is here
with His arms embracing
each and every falling tear.

His smile makes me want to live,
His promise gives me hope
that he will never leave me
in this darkness where I grope.

For every thirsty, lonely hunger,
each companionship denied,
I know He went before me,
friendless, He was crucified.

Thank you God my Father,
to my longing heart You've shown,
that even if I'm lonely
I can never be alone.
 

              Pursuit of Love
(1 John chap 2,3,4)(Romans 13:8-10)
(Galatians 5:13-14)(Eph.4:1-3)
(1 Corinthians 13:1-13)
(John 13:34-35)(Galatians 5:6)

(Once I walked along the beach,
my feet upon cool sand,
and pondered things beyond my reach
about the fate of man;
while poised before the shores of time
I looked out toward the endless sea
and pensive thoughts, acutely mine
transformed into reality . . .)

A gory visage grasped my mind,
perception seared my soul,
I saw with eyes entirely blind
things never seen or told.

Meandering through countless years
of ferried, aimless haste
lay the laughter, dreams and tears
of the weary human race.

How we loath all that we are,
to play this wretched creature,
to learn and never understand
that falsehood is our teacher.

How pointlessly our pleasures sought
leave passions unfulfilled,
unsatisfied our souls are brought
to cravings never stilled.

How uselessly we gather wealth,
pursuing earthly lusts,
how strong we feel the heart's desire,
obtained, it turns to dust.

To be a man is emptiness,
to run a never resting death.
Who else could know the loneliness
of living breath by breath?

I thought of all the times my life
so full of foolishness,
showed no care or mercy toward
the lost in hopelessness,

of all those who I did not love
because my heart so cold
could not their value comprehend,
their preciousness behold.

All our dreams are vanity,
perversions torn and tattered,
only what we do for others
ever really matters.

A legacy of selfish pride
that rules the human heart
stains each of our motives
till their sadly torn apart.

Altruism in this sense
can never truly be,
when so much good and honor
is still intent toward me,

that I, to help another
must in some way benefit
from what I say I do for God,
this desire is from the pit.

(I heard thunder roar and rumble,
I saw a flash of light,
in its presence I was humbled
in the choking dark of night.
the sun was setting overhead,
a seagull swooped and cried,
darkness like a blanket kept
the red sky twilight-dyed.)

I saw true love and I was grieved
my heart had grown so cold,
how short we fell of all the love
the word of God foretold,

how short I fell of doing all
the things that merit trust,
when will we see we surely must
love those who don't in turn love us?

I tasted some of earth's desires,
great riches beyond thought,
I sampled cities, empires, kingdoms,
all of these I sought.

In all these things I searched for
love thinking it was surely there
but only found the icy flames
of ambition's dark despair.

In grief and great astonishment
I fell, face to the ground.
This last, redeeming truth I seek.
love where will you be found?

Love the longing in my heart
to grasp another's soul,
to give all of itself away
to make the broken whole.

Love, to pay not counting cost
that which it does not owe;
love to let another reap
a good thing that I sow.

Love, a fire that burns the heart
to give where there is need,
love, a hope that clasps the hateful,
soul-drenched tears that plead

for forgiveness and acceptance
of those who cause Him pain,
that gently holds in meekness
that which is in vain.

Love that can cry tears of sorrow
where words of hate should be,
love that loves regardless of
what others do to me.

Love that turns the other cheek
but doesn't walk away,
though he may be badly beat
He still desires to stay

to see what he can give away,
a laugh or gentle smile,
to give until He has no more
makes living worth love's while;

and even after that to give
that which it does not have,
to embrace with peace its enemy
preferring love to wrath.

What love is this dare be so mad?
How could it dare exist?
For never in the human heart
was there such a love as this.

I crumbled to the earth and wept,
how deep could feelings go?
Love wept for us with silent tears
as pure and white as snow.

(The moon in pale white glory
began to streak the sky,
as waves relentless in their crash
sang an eerie lullaby
to the stars hung brightly
in the darkness of the night,
dancing wildly through the clouds
in the laughter of twilight.)

I cried out "God!" in sorrow,
this pain we come to feel,
to be a man is loneliness
beyond all that is real.

So many wounded hearts
that won't receive Your love,
preferring precious wounds
to their Father God above.

How can a throbbing heartache,
the holding of a grudge,
be easier to bear than love's
forgiving, gentle nudge?

How cursed is humanity,
how miserable our fate,
for love can not be merely words,
His cost was far too great.

Or should we cheaply sell with words
that which we can not do?
For what we do, not what we say
proclaims that "I love you."

Blood was spilled to purchase love,
the blood of Jesus Christ,
we ought to love each other now
for such a handsome price.

Love was nailed to a cross
for all our wretched sin,
it was love we crucified,
despised by every man within.

Love - what we most fear and hate,
was gladly put to death,
we all cried cruelly "crucify!"
as Love drew His final breath.

All our hope for vengeance lost
when love in triumph rose again,
and still the battle rages on
in hearts weeping with sin.

Not the sin of witchcraft,
fornication or deceit,
but the chilling of the heart
has been ensuring man's defeat.
The goal of the commandment,
the fulfillment of the law
is love put into practice,
Love alone is all

that is required to see God's face,
Love works in us His holiness
perfecting in a secret place
obedience with brokenness.

Unless we are converted,
changed from what we are,
released from being white washed
tombs, so near and yet so far.

If we obey the law and live
our lives clean and neatly,
yet do not love then we have missed
God's purposes completely,

for so came every teaching
and instruction from above,
to teach our cold and selfish hearts
the ways of perfect love.

Love, where are You hiding?
Can human-kind be found
to give the life within itself
to those that are around?

Why have we forsaken so
a paradise we had?
Once Love lived inside our hearts,
as children we were glad,

but lost in chance and circumstance
we sold love for a whim,
when in the garden long ago
we rejected Him.

How long will we hold ourselves
afraid to take the risk?
To give our hearts up vulnerably
to those we now resist?

(I pondered all these questions
and my life, what was and will
take place, and each consequence
each action would instill.)
When death came knocking at my door
I wanted to know Love,
to sigh with satisfaction sweet,
the peacefulness thereof
knowing that I let God use
my hands as though His own,
that by His love inside me
I had made my Maker known,
to know my treasure was secure,
all that I need obtain
would endure forever more
among all that is vain.)

Our brothers, sisters, friends in
Christ, the treasure that we store,
spending everything we are
to buy them is worth more

than all the wealth stored in this
earth, because it can not buy
the satisfaction of my love
for them, and they, for I.

(The sand beneath my toes was cool,
the waves washed wet beside
my walking feet and gathered
grains of sand from tide to tide.
The waves were rushing inward,
foaming white against the beach,
a group of pelicans gathered
just beyond their reach.)

From love comes my expectation,
to Love goes my soul,
to one day be transformed by Him
and stand completely whole.

Love, so far beyond our reason
that our hearts quite often miss
its gentle, soft and warm caress
filled with care and tenderness.
 
Could love live within my heart,
the King's sovereign command:
to love the Lord with all my heart
and then my fellow man.

In Christ I find true love,
love worth the will to live,
love that fills my heart with joy
above the pain this life can give.

I lost my pride and sense of worth
though something more I gain,
a love that makes me so complete
it seems almost insane.

To be content though rich or poor
implied me to ask "How and why?"
Love replied, quite honestly,
"Because each day I die."

And in all this earthly hell
I fail and face defeat,
but the grace of God is still
sufficient, more than meet

for every darkened valley
and path down which I stray,
to keep me and preserve me
till that final judgement day.

For if love were truly love,
could the wicked go unscathed?
Would God allow both sheep and wolves
into His holy dwelling place?

Love can not permit the strong
to always maim the weak,
nor violence take advantage of
the lowly and the meek.

God is love, and merciful,
desiring that all men may dwell
with him, but without Christ
we can not change and this is hell.

Or did we think that in the jaws
of hatred love must cower?
No, Love shall overcome and
conquer darkness in His power.

There is a place of judgement
to which all souls must go,
and love would not be love
to give no justice to its foe.

(In this faint pursuit of love,
my heart, light as a feather,
began to realize that we'd be
with perfect love forever.
I saw that all was meaningless,
vexation of the soul,
yet Love can fill the emptiness
that nothing else makes whole.)

I realized love was everything
good, glad and forever,
Love alone has power to
bring God and man together.

For God so loved the world
that he gave His only Son,
that whoever would believe in Him
would find redemption done.

Could we finally understand
the statement "God is Love?"
Not resent that he declares
that God is love, he really cares?

For love to lose His all
crucified upon our hatred bare,
was joy beyond his heart's desire
and peace beyond compare.

(Little drops of rain fell
pelting gently on my cheeks.
Coming to, it seemed that I'd
been wandering for weeks.
Full of thought and feeling,
not sure what I came for,
looking toward the sea
I walked home along the shore...)