Long Passing over Poems
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In the twilight of my thoughts, a dream is born about girls, enigmas hidden beneath veils,
Smiles that wear velvet masks, concealing truths like treasures,
They whisper love to you, but you will never know how many stories they've lived before,
Nor who sings their hidden desires in the shadows of the night, a dance of secrets.
It's their secret, carefully kept, regardless of the storms passing over the world,
Girls are like a beautiful and mad mystery, a waltz of illusion in steps of mist,
They tell you they love you, but at parting, they may shout their indifference,
For perhaps they are there for the glitter of gold, and you are just a fleeting dream.
When you're with one, know that perhaps four ghosts wait in the shadows,
Do not waste your time, nor give your heart as a flower into their hands,
For they will break it and leave you in the cold darkness,
Like a fairy tale unraveling under its own spell, an echo in a frozen wasteland.
Priscilla’s News
The Word
Threads every dawn
Dyed in blue
And
Purples hues
And walks in time
With the meter of a shuttle
A steady
Pulsing rhythm
The beat of warp and woof
Rising-falling
Falling – rising
Weaving seasons through the soul
Into new patterns
Of hope
Foretold –
Life born from an empty tomb
And ancient promise
Raised up in flesh
Called from the grip of a cerecloth
Shouting in triumph
Over mortality clothed in flesh
In bright threads of victory;
A season of the heart
Peering through dark threads
Of winter’s midnight
And passing over
The bondage of empires
And conquering armies
In crimson strands,
The Word
Proclaimed to countless souls
Shivering through each starless night –
Waiting-hoping
Hoping-waiting
Not knowing eternity’s covenant
Changed the pattern
Of each life which numbly wandered
From Eden to exile
Exile to Eden
New creations –
New highways leveled -
New valleys rise embracing mountaintops
Where footsteps
Joyfully announce
Good News!
Changing colors of despair
To brilliant shades of joy
In the handiwork of a new handmaid -
Woman of the Word –
Who did not travel the holy roads,
Or wait upon the Living Word,
But sees through eyes,
Once blinded eyes
That held the coats
Of hands that martyrs made,
The calling of the weaver’s wife
To raise a herald’s voice
In a foreign wilderness
For those who wait in darkness
Preparing a new made way
In a tent of tapestry – hearts interwoven –
Bound by the Word.
JOHN MICHAEL MACMILLAN
What do they call you in heaven, John Michael MacMillan?
Are you still the "Baby-Baby", that player from the past?
Sometimes I try to catch you, somehow to hold you
Long enough to know that your ship has safely docked.
Can you read the poem alone now, John Michael MacMillan?
Did God allow you the small, simple pleasure
Of having a deck on which to bleed, a place in which to read,
A room that owns a door?
Sometimes I miss you, John Michael MacMillan.
Sometimes I miss the hope we had.
Sometimes I wish I had gone with you.
Is that why I try so hard to catch you, John Michael MacMillan?
Would I know you, as much as I knew you then;
Or will I merely remember the haunted story of your past?
Your brilliant, blasted brother shot down in your place;
Your sanctified vengeance and your holy justice;
The penalty imposed on a child.
That terrible, eternal loyalty impressed in blue ink
To ‘Mama’ Katherine: that damnable necklace of maternal tribute.
What of that, John Michael? Did God heal that pain?
Do ‘Mama’ Katherine’s walk His streets
Holding hands with twin baby boys?
Do you still wear her name, John Michael?
Or have you forgiven yourself for the rejection
Fostered out upon you and your brother.
Have you learned to believe that you were worthy of love?
That you deserved a better life than the one you stumbled upon;
Than the one that stumbled upon you;
The one that stomped you; the one that ate you up.
If I knew the right words to bring you back, John Michael, I’d use them.
But you left too soon; left me behind holding the ghosts of your life.
I wonder if you ever look down and just laugh
When you hear me calling for you,
My serious voice repeating “O Captain, My Captain...”
Sometimes I try to see life with your obscure humor,
But mostly I listen for the slow, silent tread,
Aware your spirit is passing over me.
And I know, I know
I cannot catch you ever again.
For you are gone, John Michael MacMillan,
Oh Baby-Baby, you are gone from me
And now dwell among the dead.
[To John Michael MacMillan. Rest in peace, Baby-Baby.]
I sit here alone, feeling the ache in my soul
Thinking of my friends and how life ends.
They are all gone away into the dark world
To what purpose must their destiny extends?
Images glow bright and glitter in my head
But those faint beams of light are unclear,
With silent shadows passing over the dead,
Through those memories, I ponder and stare.
At the adventures trampled on this day,
I see them on rapturous clouds in the air,
fleeting vapours glimmering and decay,
beautiful jewels of earth shining somewhere.
A rapturous death hails the reward of the just
Flown into destiny’s nest to them unknown.
Their secrets left to lie silent in the dust,
Through all the sphere their spirit may roam.
In my sleep, I see them in brighter dreams,
With only a glimpse of intrigue into paradise.
Prayer transcends all the grievous themes
Removes me from the thrall of sad demise,
Disperse the mist which has blotted the pass,
Their deeds too, outlast my perspective task.
That found the reason in which solemnity dress,
The halo of glory and the dull hoary outcast
I miss their laughter on this mournful crest,
The lore of stories with earthly brittle battles,
But they are happier now and more blest
Retreat to rapturous rest after escapades.
The scriptures speak clearly God is light
God is light and in Him is no darkness at all
this He reveals to His beloved people
revealing this pure light so they may stand tall
God's people are His righteous ones
those His son died for their sins to atone
so in this truth, they can indeed rejoice
filled with joy knowing never to be alone
God's promises are always yea and amen!
He gave them for His own to know
filling them with assurance and peace
steeped in God's word being sure to grow
The wicked are lovers of darkness
they hate God and all things divine
wishing rather follow things of the flesh
sinning and sinful passing over the godly line
Their lamp God will put right out
for sin, He can't look upon nor abide
God is holy, pure, righteous and perfect
only those in the light are on His side
('The light of the righteous rejoices,
but the lamp of the wicked will be put out.')
Proverbs 13:9 (ESV)
A sudden light of hope lift me off the ground and lead me to where destiny is bound, it parachute through the clouds with blazing fire burning the residue from its tail, and clearing the space around it.
Oh what mystery surround this ship, it is built specially for the international trip, my heart and soul is wrapped up in it and I am determined that I will never quit.
It cruise through the darkened skies cutting through silent space, and I watch the stars dancing all over the place. It is magnificent to glide in space with your eyes closed.
Oh what wonders awaits thee, oh what beauty rests on top of the sea, I am looking for a soft place to land where water is dripping in the moon dust sand.
They tarry all night orbiting the space passing over the black hole that mesmerizes the human soul, who says that human live beyond the clouds, there is nothing in space except the sand on the ground and gravity turning the people upside.
There is a cosmic energy circling around that keep turning heads around, and strange objects are flying in space and black holes are opening in various places.
Black holes are among you, black holes are dancing with you, and the most mysterious cosmic objects in space will help you to save the human race. They are not literal hole in the ground; they are concentration of matter packed into tiny spaces.
They are still looking for a comfortable place to land as the capsule floats in the moonlit sand; they were ready to depart to the earth but gravity spin the capsule around and anchor it in moon dust pit.
The worlds light up suddenly and another door opened and they both find a comfortable place to reside in space and destiny kept them alive and they slowly transcend in space
The mind hangs in silence,
All is stilled, thoughts lingering
Lazily, as if in cosmic animation;
No words drip from the faucet that once
Streamed waters of creation, and now is
Only empty air passing over an idle lexis;
How deceiving is the thought, idle mind:-
A dormant volcano creates its explosive flow
Does not the idle mind quietly stream likewise?!
There’s no creation that’s void of time;
God himself used time to speak in creation!
Thus, is not time herself, the plunger of idleness?!
Butterflies are timed in cocooned metamorphosis; babes in wombs;
And likewise, black holes are wombed in the depths of time’s space;
Yes, in all creations, time’s time is an instant of its own self eternity:-
Thus, we poets of the cistern of divine wisdom and guidance,
Must ever be aware that the sacred poem is a creature of time;
Germinating in the womb of mind, and premature birth is also timed.
Yes, while time itself–for anything–does not wait,
We mere mortals must wait on the timing of time,
For it is in its own time that the poem is delivered!
A Poetic Time Line…
(Apropos Poetic Faith)
I
At times the mind hangs in silence;
all is stilled—save thoughts lingering
lazily as if in cosmic animation.
Nay, no words drip from the faucet
that once streamed waters of creation.
Now there’s only empty air passing over idle lexis.
How deceiving is the thought: Idle mind.
Like the dormant volcano quietly creating
It inner explosive flow, so does the mind, its own.
No creation is void of time;
itself, the most elusive
of all its creation.
Katydids are tied in metamorphosis; babes
in the womb; black holes—from dept of time’s time.
Indeed in all creation, time is an instant of the eternity of self.
The poem is a creature of time—Creation
in the womb of mind—fertile words.
All birth is a timed delivery.
While time its self does not wait,
we must wait on the timing of time;
and in due time…the poem is born
II
As sharp rays of sunlight slowly sliced
through the tinted blue skies,
I wiped away the web of darkness—
broke off a piece of time; used it
to scrape away corrosive blockage;
released dormant visions.
Today I will open old dusty luggage
of creativity and pull out wrinkled
worn words; etch ebony emotions
on fresh refine pulp of ancient trees.
Today I shall weave soul stirring songs
of peace, love and justice—
the breath of God warming my serene soul—
feathering the nest of my pregnant poetic mind.
The revelations of winter pass now,
the captured moments of vertical strife,
the stanchion of paper white birch forests
rigid on the black scratch board of rocky hillock
soon, these markers of winter will be hidden.
The milky froth of frozen ground water with its
watery tresses falling in a downward slashes
passing over grey granite cliffs will disappear.
Brave bits green will spring,
rising succulent and sucking, hungry
as the red tipped maples tonguing the foggy air.
Winter weaned from the austerity of fast.
The still white tombstones marking the hill
will be hidden behind verdant forests of poplar,
beech, maple and rampant evergreen.
Each structural element, each under pinning
pining for the cloak of spring,
craving an end to the cracked and chapped existence,
longing for the robin’s song, and the worm’s rise.
Dreaming of golden dandelions
as the rain tinkles down.
There’s a truth in growing old
That’s almost worth the price you pay
A wisdom surely captured
By the act of going grey
The burdens of the busy
Are far lessened by degree
In the overwhelming knowledge
That the truth shall set you free
Mountains can be moved, my friend
And rivers can be parted
“’Tis faith and faith alone” he cried
The spring from where it started
The eternal well of wisdom
Brimmeth over, for to feed us
The nectar slowly poureth
From the weeping wounds of Jesus
“Walk with Me” is his cry to man
Do daily, as I do
Salvation, lies in every deed
If all your deeds be true
Believe in God and live in love
Deserving of His merit
Let slip, the chains of youth, my friend
Bathe freely in ones spirit
For even on our darkest days
The weakest star shines bright
To lead us gently, through lifes maze
To bask in Heavens light
For Life can be a burden
Or a blessing to behold
The warmth of life enfolds
Or some it leaves them cold
Have no fear in passing over
Help loved ones understand
No need for pain or anguish
God has it all in hand
Life’s given as a gift you see
The greatest story told
And in truth, its rapture’s recognised
By the grace of growing old