We are all of us part of a wandering band,
Climbing mountains, forging rivers, crawling through sand
Trying to follow everything we’ve planned,
And never enough but tis enough to die holding your hand
We are all of us part of a wandering band,
Climbing mountains, forging rivers, crawling through sand
Trying to follow everything we’ve planned,
And never enough but tis enough to die holding your hand
Out of the darkness the Light brightly shines,
As death itself is swallowed up in living Life
Breathing in the wicked halls of dark Hades
With walls lined by chained, mournful spirits,
But there are no shackles to be worn by you,
O Beloved, for you have born the very worst
And you have overcome, coming victoriously
Into the very throne room of groaning Sheol
To snatch the keys of death and hell
To be cast in your living well of Life;
And already the bell tolls the coming of dawn
As your tomb yawns in an awakening sunrise
That will be the greater surprise of all history
For death itself cannot hold in your bold Life
Just as the stark dark cannot overcome Light;
Yes, you are like that fabled phoenix, Beloved,
Rising from ashes with healing in your wings!
To one and all: Happy Easter! Blessed Resurrection Day!
Passing clouds along the sky, who would veil the earth from distant light, hear me now hail the night in promise of the dawn of yet another day. No tear will be shed in mournful loneliness underneath your dark forebodings and ill-promise of storm and terror. The Sun will rise with piercing ray and power breaking dark, speeding gloom far away … and I will rejoice and laugh again.
Death comes now, but as passing friend, not remaining foe ~ no bolted gate, no! an open door ~ and we embrace and exchange the kiss of peace, so long ago did the din of war cease at the mouth of an empty tomb, where once lay the dead-now-risen One. And so it is the Reaper now comes with promise, not plague, in sweet anticipation of the never-ending day when ends his work, and he too shall rest.
Passing clouds along the sky, who would shut out all light and make assault in storm upon the world, would you have me cry? Would you have me beg you disappear, and what with the rain would matter my tear? Would you have me hide in dark from the darkness you bring, when so soon from the Sun everlasting light will spring? And would I myself deny the dawn of joy and never laugh again?
Look east, dark clouds, along the line! Even now shows faint promise round the distant Mount, as black gives way to the golden ray! Dawn is birthed from the womb of night, and hope is cradled in the coffin ~ yes, there if life! For some short season we may bid farewell but you, clouds of doom, are passing; the Sun will appear and we will rejoice and laugh and never again will you veil this earth, for the night will be forever done!
Passing clouds along the sky, who would veil the earth from distant light, hear me now … The Sun of Righteousness has risen with healing in His wings!
Note: First published in June 2015, now republished especially for Eastertide. Blessings to one and all!
Is life but only the blade of grass that passes so quickly?
Or is there an invaluable worth from the day of birth?
Pages turn with age and the old sage reads every line,
And has what is written been smitten with lies or love,
Or more likely both upon torn pages since he was born;
And doubtless there have been tears through the years,
And smiles and laughter along the miles of pilgrimage,
But perhaps he sees in his time an image of villeinage;
Ah! But is life more than borrowed time in rented space?
Has his place been marked only by the chime of clock?
And when cock crows on that final morning,
Shall it be a warm welcome or dire warning?
Will an eternal sun rise as an heavenly prize,
Or will that bright light shine as an unwelcome surprise?
Is life but only the blade of grass that passes so quickly?
Or is there an invaluable worth from the day of birth?
To be lived fully and freely rather than in chains of pain?
What does the author write on pages for the sage to read?
Indeed, what is his life worth from the first day of birth?
Note: Originally published in November 2016, now republished for the consideration and enjoyment of new reader-followers. Blessings to one and all!
An end in sight but there is a bend, too, to be turned;
While not everything left behind us can be burned,
Yet there is the unknown, frightening yet exciting . . .
Will we meet another street like the one we are on?
Or will it be fresh, clean and serene for us to travel?
We glance at the clock at the crossing of this block
And tremble inside; we cannot abide where we are,
No matter how brightly shines our star;
We will go far in a mere few steps, dear;
Time chimes late into this night as we look for light,
Bright sun newly risen on horizon with anticipation
And hope for better pilgrimage in a much better age;
But we do not know and this shows in our very eyes!
Some won’t make it to the bend; it’ll truly be the end;
Some will go swinging around bringing holiday cheer
Never knowing the Reaper is near;
Yes, sadly, it will be their last year;
Some will round the corner in fear
Of the unknown, asking what seeds have been sown,
And when they are shown, all the fear will disappear
In the brand New Year in which we will hear shouts
Of glee and bitter cries, hellos and sad goodbyes . . .
But it comes, nevertheless, as surely as the sun rises;
So may the New Year bring you cheer, I say this day,
And may blessings fall upon all who are near and dear!
Prediction of addiction is total destruction
Abdication of the soul with no reconstruction
Abandon all of the demands of true reality
Senility of the mind in the bind of death trap
Leave what is behind for your kind of hell
Hear bells toll as fire lights your funeral pyre
Will you ask if he was worth the birth of pain
And what do you gain from being so insane
Straight lane to perdition in your condition
Contrition gone in submission to your position
Admonition unheeded in sedition of the soul
Petition the mortician for removal of remains
Your end has come, no more bends in the road
Bid farewell to the last chance given to dance
Liberty is now but memory by your treachery
Never particularly the cat lover
This kitty-cat hovered around
And was bound to win my heart
And so she became part
Of our beloved family. . .
So it has been for over 12 years
And now the tears come to eyes
As I cry when she cries out
Not knowing where she is;
You understand, she forgets now
And gets frightened when alone,
And she has to be shone her dish
With the wish that she will eat
Rather than simply seat herself;
Kitty doesn’t see as well either
And is easily scared
By rapid movement;
Nor does she move as fast,
And is past quickly jumping;
My dear kitty-cat has grown old,
And I don’t have to be told . . . no;
No, it won’t be very long, I know,
And when that day comes
I will openly show sorrow
For my sister-companion,
And I will have lost part of my heart
Autumn leaves are quite telling,
Such beauty shown in dying,
No trying to resurrect,
Life has been lived serenely,
And now comes the last sighing,
For there is no buying time,
Only chime of sweet sleeping. . .
Every star is born
Every star shines
Every star is shorn
Of its bright light
What gives us wings for flight?
What puts us forward in sight?
What passion stirs us to fight?
What buries us beneath night?
We are here for awhile to make a mark
We are here for awhile to sail our bark
We are here for awhile to snap a spark
We are here for awhile then left in dark
So soon as we are born we die
So soon we live out our own lie
So soon we find truth and cry
And our whole existence deny
. . .
Or, at least, this is what we try
As time moves on with our sigh
Ah! But even the majestic moon waxes and wanes!
Trying to hold on to what we must forfeit is insane!
Still strain to shine your light
In the smog and bog and blogs!
Still comes the last train that we must all board
Still comes the last train to carry another hoard
Yes . . . still comes that train
He fell without a sound
When no one was around
And lay there on the ground
Until hours later he was found;
And what an unthinkable sight
To see one with such might
Once full of vigorous fight
Now so slender, so light;
Once so strong, so very thick
Now so weak and very sick
Now slow, not a bit quick;
And what a crying shame,
But is anyone to blame?
This is life’s odd game:
None stays the same
Once So Strong . . .
Once So Strong . . .
Once So Strong . . .
Now to join death’s throng!