While praying peace upon this day
some pause to wonder, “Does it pay
to seek God’s counsel? Skies go gray.
Such focus - short, infernal
forgets a faith, eternal.
When TV lauds man's rage and smut,
it blocks the truth and leaves it shut.
We question – why and how and what
of thoughts so mal-adjusted
they leave us well-combusted.
Recalling joy and quests unknown,
I realize it’s God alone
who rules this realm from heaven’s throne.
Deficiency defraying,
I settle in to praying.
It’s not the length of time I spend
nor any sweat which I extend;
it’s fellowship which wants no end.
Communion needs no journey
when doubts have found death’s gurney.
When times are weary, careworn, bleak
Christ’s swift forgiveness stirs the meek.
I take my Bible, let God speak.
Sweet cadence, trust’s own rhythm
outflows in concord with Him.
"For from Him, through Him, to Him - life."
I did not sing today.
I walked long,
But there was no song
As I went about my way.
I did not talk today.
There was no friend
With smile to lend
And kind thought steered my way.
I did not write today.
I thought long and hard,
But there was no card
No parchment held its sway.
I did not laugh today.
Save a wry response
To a random thought
On my wandering pondering way.
I did not sup this eve.
No bounteous grace
No warm embrace
No consort at my sleeve.
But I count the day not lost
For the careworn and the cost.
For the steps on every journey
Be they light or weight uncertain
Must be taken...
Lest they bring the final curtain to the Day.
~ for Mom ~
you …
kiss my hand three times
as tender as a thistle, borne
‘my angel’ you whisper, as I kiss yours -
skin as thin as paper
careworn by the million things you
have done for me, but warm …
I turn at the door to
shut the light -
just in time to snatch your
sweetened kiss from the air
I return the same …
hugging it to your chest like
a child’s doll,
you smile, eyes closed -
‘I love you’ we exchange softly …
such a silly little ritual
among a thousand others we have
yielded over the years …
but none as precious
none as dear to my being
none that I now miss as terribly
for the sadly sobering fact
that we will never, ever … ever
share it …
again.
affable aardvarks amused arbitrators
brash brazen baboons enjoyed escalators
careless careworn camels circled sissy
dark dusky deputies danced until dizzy
eccentric entertaining elephants enthusiastically embrace
faithful fashionable forest foxes follow a feverish face
gloriously gleeful gorillas gallantly grab a griping grouse
happily, hopeful, they can share with hippos, a house
Chaos surrounds me there is no escape
Moment of reflection is all I ask
Oasis of calm in which I am draped
Sanctuary of peace in which to bask,
Sounds of world retreat, no longer intrude
My mind at once is cleared of confusion
Heart's altar of peace spreading fortitude
Sanctuary found, no persecution.
Ancient holy place with its careworn face
Concrete floor worn smooth with penitent feet
Refuge and comfort in this ancient place
Pervasive perfume I smell "Meadowsweet."
Life's upheavals are to be expected
Heart's sanctuary, ever, protected.
Grandmother rocks in rocking chair
Her careworn hands at rest in lap
Blue eyes bright she seems aware
Overcome with sleep taking a nap.
Beautiful embroidery lies neglected
Gnarled fingers, painful, no longer agile
Rainbow silk colours forgotten not selected
Advancing years have made her fragile.
Ancient love keeps grandmother company
On lap faithful companion does gently purr
Calico cat the colour of amber honey
Rocking chair rocks neither will stir.
Happier Times
Miracle Man
2-27-2023
I find some days to be like parched corn,
a few have smoothness of whipped cream.
Many days when I am feeling careworn,
I look to my past and begin to daydream.
Nigh are the chronicles through infant lens
that begins its long unimagined page,
and behold, all the world to its far ends
shall in time be your playground and your stage.
But for now we wait in last days careworn
a labour of love and bounty of life -
on my honour I’ll welcome my firstborn
when in my keep I hold my son and wife.
Gift him the arts and mercies of good men,
make heard his voice over the bark of most
and not want for love or false praise ask - then
my boy, my son, I’ll have no prouder boast.
Soon this big world you will enter my child
and soon a first breath and a firstborn smile.
Written: October 1999
For Oscar
Fawning and falling, there goes your heart butting
in again. faded careworn jean jacket's pockets frayed
no longer the deep indigo to match her eyes,
daring me to swing higher than she rocketing skyward
instinct failing me., how I want it to kick in..
nothing left to say, as the day wore thin, only she knew why..
go away with me in her eyes, please stay with me in mine.
Cunning cheeks proud, tho' gaunt.., how poor she must be.
asked her when she last had something to eat
restless heart hers.., so different than any I'd ever known
only a small handbag that looked once to've been mauve
lean lesson in friendship's hardest won friend..
'cause I need her to know someone cares if only this once,
so sad to see society steal her smile away.
She'll find it again, I always hoped this for Carol..
messy bun lip glossed lips whistle at a plateless car
in yet another restless turn of the sun..
lovely loveless one that learned so much from the street
endless search for you, virtue's never ending trap for me..
Careworn sun
It was early Sunday morning.
I saw a red sun struggling to get over a mountain range
and then it was morning.
A cat jumped up on a car roof, the vehicle's alarm
sounded, blinking light that stopped after a little while
no one came out to investigate.
The silence was profound I could hear the town breathing
rhythmically in and out, a dog barked but thought better
abruptly stopped.
The day with its opportunity, pleasure and grief began.
The Minstrel
In a doorway, squatting, strumming out of tune
There sits a minstrel, gazing whilst he plays
A string of chords, discordant in their mix
Combining all his thoughts of better days.
Unshaven, threadbare, clothed as once he did
Before some unexpected fall from grace,
So now he plays life’s thoughts for all to hear
As passers-by avoid his careworn face.
A flat cap holds a few small copper coins
Reflecting those who understand his plight
And so I cross and place a token too
Acknowledged only by a nod so slight.
His eyes look through me, seemingly to say,
This could be you who's sitting here today.
Tommy’s having a meltdown
in the local supermarket aisle
I know his careworn mother
so greet her with a kind smile
Tommy’s cries are getting louder
and he throws himself on the floor
Amy ignores him to do her shopping
but hears folk tutting by the door
As Tommy looks like a normal child
folk cannot see that he’s autistic
They assume it’s bad parenting
their attitudes are far from altruistic
People prejudge, it makes me cross
they are narrow minded, it's their loss
2/27/19
I see four eggs.
I dream, along with
Momma, of soon
four hatchlings,
four chicks,
four birds,
four first flights...
A well-built nest -
Soft.
Round.
Sturdy but cushioned.
Threaded, woven,
balanced, and
careworn.
At the level of my heart.
Four chicks
will grow to know
the world,
utterly surrounded
by the heaven scent
of Wisteriaroma.
A loving mom.
Patient.
Attentive.
Defender of
a homemade home.
Present.
Dare-I-say
loving?
This first nest
appearing here
this Spring.
I watch momma
every day.
She watches me.
She watches her dreams
there under her
warming breast.
I know it's their
first time here.
And yet, and yet
to me somehow
it's all a memory.
Of what might've been.
Of what wasn't.
I cry for her,
happily.
I cry for me,
less so.
I could retrace his footprints on the tar,
Vice-versa the city’s tar on his feet.
He made a tour each day around the town,
Not on a flight, or bike, or in a fleet.
His chants renowned to all the city walls,
Thus has become his song of liberty.
From on the floor, he picks supplies that fall,
And makes a life from all that we don’t need.
His tainted eyes never shadowed his smile,
Nor did his famished lungs disappoint him.
His hope stayed longer than the river Nile,
As if it never poured into the seas.
He’d think about his mother; gone! And sad,
He’d start to think of how to feed himself,
To also clothe his body after bath,
At whence he would ponder about a birth.
I could filter his chantries from your soul,
I would be firm and would wield no doubt,
He’s voice would be the one that pleads the most,
He’s song would be the one which is so sad.
At dusk, I traced his footprints on the tar,
Surely I traced I traced his careworn steps alone.
And hoped so much his house would not be far,
To find I traced an orphan with no home.
dreary evening falls on the block
where the careworn gal lies on her couch
in front of a blinking screen she's bored
when a shadow quickly flies outside
first she thought it's nothing special
her eyes so tired, not interested
but second shadow missed the window
and Laura stood in the room in fuss
neighbourhood was quiet and bleak
wind in the streets once strong once weak
when again, right past her window
a shadow of a man flew down
all of a sudden, all hell broke loose
men and women, boys and girls
writhing and kicking through the air
just a few seconds, down to the ground
frail and confused she opened the window
bodies still hitting the dead lawn below
crawled on the windowsill, for a better look
she lost her balance - quick joined the show
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