Passing Clouds Along the Sky

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!


Lay It All Down

Malice, envy, chalice of poison, strife and callous thought;
Bile of vile hate, your seared heart the gate of needy greed;
Seed of lust that must be satiated at the cost of innocence

Lay it all down before you drown
Take up your crown
Take up your crown
And dress in new, unspotted gown

Apathy, lack of empathy, careless ways, and reckless days;
Pride and arrogant stride, haughty looks, and crooked books;
Dirty tricks and bricks and bombs of battle and idle prattle

Lay it all down before you drown
Take up your crown
Take up your crown
And dress in new, unspotted gown

There are better ways for brighter days for everyone
Under the sun in peace and harmony if we earnestly
And fervently seek and find and bind ourselves to it,
But we have to give up all that tears down around us!
Yes . . .

Lay it all down before you drown
Take up your crown
Take up your crown
And dress in new, unspotted gown

Lay it all down before you drown
Take up your crown
Take up your crown
And dress in new, unspotted gown

To the Distant Unkown

I see so many running up and down this well-worn coast,
Never stopping, always moving, with only sand in hand to boast;
Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and lonely men no one will host.

I see the water waves always moving, rolling in and out,
Again and again, unceasing, unbothered, never reason to shout;
And in the distance vague harbor where anchors the ship, tall and stout.

I see one barely, shadowy, turning toward me and smiling,
At the harbor, prepared to board, to bid farewell before sailing;
And how does she know to go, why, and to what distant shore awaiting?

I see her turning again to board, not sadly, to sail away,
To leave frenzied coast of grand illusion, and will this man stay?
But there is the harbor in the distance, calling me to redemption bay.

I see the ship, so regal, slowly pull out into ocean deep,
And I cry an unspoken good-bye, yet such sight I’ll ever keep;
I’ll no longer run along this coast, nor boast, though long I may weep.

I see many on this shore with no more than sand in hand,
But I’ll make my way to harbor to sail away to an unknown land;
Alone, perhaps, yet someone may see me, too, where I saw her stand.

No, I’ll not stay, but board, and not sadly, to sail away…

To sail away…

Note: Originally published sometime in late 2015 and republished in April 2016, this is one of my own personal favorites that came to mind and heart today to share with new reader-followers.

Waking Up a Year Later

This morning I awoke with a melancholy heart,
My mind on a trolley filled with a volley of thoughts
Brought on partly by the New Year, partly by the old,
And I felt cold, yet at the same time strangely bold;
Not only had I survived the old, but in ways even thrived,
And I could not help but wonder what is in store this year?
I hear it’s supposed to be a good one for me, but we’ll see!
Here it is, then: January has creeped in and I begin again;
Changes are in store for me, so it won’t be a bore for sure!
And I do have my resolutions for some small revolution
In my life, but the year now stretches far beyond my sight,
And it is a bit frightening; will there be blight? Or might
I thrive like busy bees in their hive? Well, I am alive!
What about you? To you I simply say, ‘Happy New Year!’
May yours be blessed with peace and cheer and lots of love!

Specter of the Happy New Year

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!

I Sing A New Song

Once wandering, tossed-out vagabond,
Lost in the wilderness at the cost my life,
My feet stumbled, to the earth I crumbled,
Crying aloud ‘n lying to myself
That I was not really dying . . .

And I longed to belong
To sing a new song . . .

Too proud to admit the crowd had passed
By me ‘n I was drowning in my own tears
And fear engulfed me and seared my soul,
Leaving a hole in my forlorn heart
And no hope for another start . . .

And I longed to belong
To sing a new song . . .

But then you came, crossing desert plain,
With emerald eyes easily spied my pain
And the invisible chain that wrapped me;
Your look pierced deep in me;
You read me like an open book,
Then lifted me in strong suntanned arms,
Russet-brown hair blowing in the wind,
And you carried me to the place I belong,

And, oh, how I now sing a new song . . .
I sing a new song
Because I belong;
I sing a new song!

Our Way in the Beautiful Day

Now it’s such an exquisitely beautiful day,
An exquisitely beautiful day for you and me
To be together walking along the same way,
Away from the fray of way too busy affairs;
Just one pair among pairs of lovers walking
And talking, strolling along the greenery,
Enjoying the scenery, and nothing could be
Finer nor more delightful in our flightful
Fantasy-turned-reality, where we two agree
And see our twin lives as one that’s begun
To grow into an eloquent show for the world.


End of the World as We Know It: Present Reality, Prophetic, or Perhaps Personal Perspective

The news is the same, really. Different headlines with different characters, perhaps, with different names in different parts of the world, but the content is essentially unchanged. Reality television programs are not real – yet, again, perhaps too real – but everyone is an actor and the audience knows the show is no more than showmanship, and it has all grown old and stale, like renamed and repacked video games that lost their novelty long ago.

New music rolls off an assembly line for mass consumption by an entertainment-saturated culture, and distributed to various artists, who have no authentic artistic ability, which no longer matters because technology adequately substitutes for talent, and rapidly flashing lights and explosives and quick movement are enough to distract an already aesthetically-numbed public anyway. And poets write for personal pleasure but in their heart hate their work.

New books are shelved in bookstores, little more than the rehashing of bygone bestsellers – nothing fresh, nothing innovative. Old cell phones and electronic gadgets are advertised with the flare of advancement as the “next generation” complete with so many trivial, unnecessary but alluring “add-ons.” And people file into churches, synagogues, temples and mosques but the Spirit is gone. Something has died … inside and out, individually and corporately.

Strenuous prayer has been replaced by simple e-cards on Facebook; fasting means only how quickly one is served at an unhealthy hamburger joint; meditation is how intently one can manage to concentrate on the televised football game without being distracted by the nuisance of children, who are better sequestered in their own rooms with their own television sets, CD players and game consoles … largely left alone to care for themselves by whatever resources available.

Astute individuals form reading and writing guilds, academic and intellectual societies, invite others to join and participate. Some respond initially, mostly with lackluster interaction, and then just fade away. Silence replaces what was meant to be stimulation. Art is anything anyone labels art, and there is no genuine appreciation because genuine appreciation requires some standard of measurement of quality. Quality is no longer manifest.

Wave upon wave, customers flow into stores and back out again, an unending tide of flesh and blood once considered human; wiping shelves clean of superfluous product manufactured on the other side of the globe in order to flood their already inundated homes. Most of them are not happy, though, evidenced by merely looking at the myriad faces walking up and down the aisles. There is stress, anxiety, boredom, anger, depression, emptiness … but seldom joy and peace.

Fall has come, as she always does in the changing seasons of this world, but this Autumn is more than merely the effect of an ordinary planetary cycle. No, as the season of Fall brings along customary dying in herald of Winter, so this more significant Autumn portents the death of an age, an era followed by an exceptionally long, dark and cold Season of terrifying tranquility as new life stirs beneath the surface, waiting to be born anew in the coming Spring.

And I wonder, will we be here to greet that happy moment of fresh growth under warming sunshine, ushering in an infant epoch in the history of our world? Will I and my children be here to witness this nativity?  I ask with some fear and trepidation, but with excitement and anticipation as well… After all, each and every age and epoch is as unique as each and every individual. So who might I meet in the Spring to come?

holy whispering to the heart

hand_pen“I love the way you cry at the end of a good book, just because the story is finished and it was so good that you wanted it to go on and on. I love it that you pour yourself into the narrative so much that you’re almost living the tale. That’s not weakness, child; that’s one of your precious attributes…  But I don’t like it that you’re afraid of endings, that your heart breaks when you turn the last page of some chapter in life. I don’t like to see your tears of fear; I don’t like it when you shake at the thought that it’s over.

“Don’t you know? With me every ending opens out into another beginning, bigger brighter and always full of promise? Don’t you know, child, that I am Creator, the Lord of Life, the Author of the unending Story of love and hope and dreams? Don’t you know, with me every good story really only ends with ‘to be continued…’? I know what it’s like to hear the awful words, ‘It is finished,’ and that part of the story was finished … but the story also continued, too, didn’t it?

“Trust me, child. I know very well how to weave an everlasting tale complete with an infinite number of unique chapters. Just live and breathe the story and I promise, though so many endings may still be bittersweet, your heart will not long be sad… I promise. You will live and laugh and love in the excitement of the unfolding narrative being uniquely written for you  …  for you, my child.”

love and mercy reached down

I was the one sitting on the wall.  I was the one who took the great fall – headlong crashing, shattering.  And nobody could piece me back together again, least of all myself.  But Mercy reached down and Love grabbed hold and did for me the utterly impossible.  Love and Mercy picked up the shards and pieced them together again into something  more wonderful, more beautiful, more radiant than any wonder, beauty or radiance contained in any of the remains of my former delicate life, seated so high upon the wall of self-centered pride and folly…  And I am new and I am thankful.

“I once was lost but now am found, was blind but now I see…”
~  Words from Amazing Grace by John Newton

“I do not at all understand the mystery of grace – only that it meets us where we  are but does not leave us where it found us.”
~ Anne Lamott, 20th century American Author