Save me, my Saviour, by Thy Grace alone,
Not by the deeds my sinful hands have done.
Thou willest me to save: Thou knowest well
The way to rescue me from death and hell.
Save me as Thou wilt, as Thou canst, as Thou knowest;
By Thy known paths, Thy saving mercy showest.
Upon Thee, O my Lord, I set my trust,
And to Thy holy will my spirit I adjust.
Do with me what Thou wilt; Thy will be done;
I seek no other refuge, save the Holy One.
If Thou wouldst see me in the Light—blest be Thy Name!
If Thou wouldst have me in the darkness—blest the same!
If Thou unfoldest mercy’s door to me,
’Tis good and blessing; if Thou shuttest it,
Blessed art Thou, O Lord, whose just decree
Hath closed that door, as Thou dost see it fit.
If Thou destroy me not with all my sin,
Glory to Thy mercy’s boundless store!
If Thou condemn me for my sin within,
Glory to Thy righteous judgment evermore!
But as Thou wilt, dispose my path below,
That I at last Thy full salvation know.
Opaqueness transcends past despairs mainstream,
Brando wouldst cry whence heart parts, my desire,
Wit or witout, parleys saved, reigned supreme,
Self-secured, needless watch, aloof—steel beam,
Perch in want, puffed huffed girth lurks torment’s dire,
Opaqueness transcends past despairs mainstream,
Purpled robs thee of thy true color scheme,
Gray’s an area, right or wrong, prior,
Wit or witout, parleys saved, reigned supreme,
Budgie’s tales of my gamut’s length, extreme,
Dicky-bird, thou art my wordless flyer,
Opaqueness transcends past despairs mainstream,
Ne’er will the pair meet, sums nature’s pipe dream,
Empty nestles remembrances retire,
Wit or witout, parleys saved, reigned supreme,
Decisions abandon ruse quips redeem,
Eager claimed as death mounts, lingers satire,
Opaqueness transcends past despairs mainstream,
Wit or witout, parleys saved, reigned supreme.
Is the distinction between
science and philosophy
nothing but
illusion
Affirming what it wouldst
certainly and firmly most deny
Proponents of formulaic truth
require a defense against critique
judgment unrelenting
as their proof is self-inured
Science thus infallible
because its findings are collective
Their community not disposed
to answer
questions they will
— never ask
(Amtrak R5- February, 2025)
“If thou wouldst
be my critic
Thou must
— wear my soul”
(Woodland Avenue Philadelphia: May, 1973)
Wouldst thou lean ye summer blaze generous
thoust wilt naught as sea douse thee
cooly soaked ... or wake up
Wouldst in yawning amidst kerfuffle cord
freed in time broadcast air
curtain's [drawn--(saddened face]--rain)
Yea nay to sun, nay yea to rain but then
yea nay to work, still again
nay nay to fun ... that's life
Saturday, wouldst be Sadder Day
nineteen seventy-five
purple skies dusk twilight display
friend and I, still alive
Sleepyheads, car seats unbuckled
Russian roulette enroute
shut eyes refused a wakeup call
rabbit foot wore a boot
Squirming confirming not our time
go get out while you can
opportunity just-in-time
two tired souls and more than
Clueless me, whys and wherefores
reveal relevancy
this, that, and all those therefores
transcends generously
Sole say I, What wouldst be the reasoning?
Murmurs, her head swerves about, hesitates,
nibbles green herbs with care then elevates.
Cautious white doe, quaint sight a wandering.
Alert nose takes air, head bent back, above.
Hooves pave a path, being blue, surges clear.
Unaware, her head drops, tickles my sphere,
casts her spot of me, blanched soul feels her shove.
She lights her weight to level her being,
the full breadth of her trots to my chilled beat,
trots to shore, genteel flow, dares to repeat.
Tempted, being tide, yet pursuit was keen,
Perchance another day of challenging,
Goes a white doe, faint glimpse a wondering.
(Soliloquy of a young passenger aboard the Titanic)
I know last night's storm. What? Oh, I forgot.
In the midst of fading sounds and shadows
I'd heard less, seen less, be wanted for not.
Whilst in the fullness, buds I, a youth grows.
Death be heard, death be seen, what does it mean?
The dearly departed ... was it so dear?
Live I these years, and be dead at nineteen?
And what of my dear family ... I fear.
A precious life gone, was it worth the price
For whilst my soul lived, know I was ignored
Glad wouldst I be found, naught a sacrifice.
Leave this soul behind a life as pictured.
Soon I, in the midst of soulless searching,
Sole say I, What wouldst be the reasoning?
A sun encounters a probing of it,
course a bargain at a remote lea.
Jilt Thistles yields to breeze that never quit,
brush forces the stately Yellow Daisies
dressed, and clips wispy tall grass they'd cornered.
Giving Geraniums, lil' fuss yet mild,
errant gust o'er feral terrain, murmured
along roads of spooled vines, draped plain Pines filed.
Jumping Junipers Jurassic epoch,
weighs low Violets in check of their guides.
Mute untamed bouquet dells, wouldst edged dear Puck,
herald of joys, Baby Breaths, never chides.
Parts spring inseparable their lil' games,
divided droplets formed handheld mirth tames.
*Image of Outer Space by EIR.
September's Star
Vespers of the North Star,
Prithee August zephyrs,
Abides thy cobalt crown,
Pirouette effulgence,
Thy northern lights renown.
Vespers of the North Star,
Wist indigo twilight,
Van Gogh wouldst captured thee,
Thy freshly framed canvas,
Old Master's devotee.
Vespers of the North Star,
Of late Dutch Boy in blue,
Textured in porcelain,
Slept curled in the wee night,
Translucent artisan.
Vespers of the North Star,
Aurora's breakfast tea,
Cozy midst remembers,
Fond farewell bidst thee thine,
Albeit, September's.
2022 August 24
Gramercy of this aroint,
doth she come?
Sirrah crown cries well met,
doth she come?
Ye wast in a hurry.
Aroint! Thy heads were seel.
Aye, thou art nay dispatches.
Aye, thou art woe.
Thou wouldst be dead.
Hark now hie!
Hark now hie!
Each breathe we take nourishes our souls
with life-giving, God-given spiritual nutrients.
~ Inhaling, we expand our opportunities to bless;
Exhaling, we extend blessings to those around us ~
Breathing is much more than an organic process.
It is the spirit of our Creator living and moving
in us and through us to sustain our lives and make us
a blessing of peace and goodwill to humankind.
This is our God-given reason for being--
giving sustenance to our lives, and
purpose to our interaction with others.
“Breathe on me breath of God,
fill me with life anew,
That I might love what Thou dost love,
And do what Thou wouldst do.”*
Entered "Repent and Believe" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Regina McIntosh
January 28, 2022
FIFTH PLACE WINNER
Written August 11, 2021
(quotation from “Breathe on me Breath of God,”
By Edwin Hatch and Robert Jackson)
submitted to "As We Be Breathed" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Unseeking Seeker
Companion Of Peaceful Things
I, will seek the silent ways'
unknown in summer days,
I will linger with the flowers
Ungreeted in lost hours.
I will go quietly
That I may be
Companion of peaceful things, -
The brook that sings
Its murmuring song
The woodland shade along,
The moorland wide
At purple eventide,
The clouds that in the morning Sun
Vanish in beauty, and are one
With pure, unutterable love
And those dear presences that move
Ever around us, even when
We lose the way of trusty men.
I wouldst forget that I
May draw nigh
The deeper memories.
I will arise
And leave you, and thus find
The deathlessness I was too blind
To see among your swift-run days;
My ways
Shall be among the immortal flowers
Born of your darkest hours.
R.J. Lindley, (early 70's)
Classicism, (From words born and a sweeter life sought )
Beyond the Grey Sky
Sunshine glint fords this picturesque perspective,
well-disposed indeed, reserved for visitors,
my sepulcher neglected, whilst ...
time-stretched o'er,
~~my limestone sculpture.
Didst thee thought of me become therefore feeble,
wouldst thou respond moreover fulfill me whole,
nought by some supposed decree, nor wrongs ...
from me,
~~wouldst nought keep from thee.
Confounded of why this occurrence exists,
recompense didst I, whilst I lived gifts reprieve,
bedridden I midst the souls huddled in grief,
~~didst by duty cries?
'Tis penitence yet ponders whilst fresh ground detects,
new expressions circumvent, whispers, sleep I,
current flowers set, except one set on me,
~~my loved one stirred me.
2020 September 12
Wouldst I Become, Last Gasp Of Dying Star
Wouldst I become, last gasp of dying star
brighter glow in Heaven's majestic sky
existing as hope's promise from afar
gifting inspiration before I die.
Wouldst I become, pure as sweet love affirms
a soft flame, warmth to soothe a hurting soul
true warrior to defeat world's evil terms
an illumination to sacred scroll.
Wouldst I become, saving grace to my love
waiting shelter in times of sad despair
golden rays of tenderness from above
alleviating woes too hard to bear.
Wouldst I become light to life's dark defeat.
Lover, your destiny sets you to meet.
R.J. Lindley, 4-25- 1979
Sonnet, ( From Starlit Sky, A Magnificent Dream Was Born )
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