Beauty speaks to beauty in musical harmony of muses
So sing to me sweet songs of serenity for heart’s security
And let me live in your love among lovely children carefree
Never ceasing relentless search for peace among peaceful people
With no dagger more dangerous that kind words and an open heart
So my departure is ne’er depressed in descending into such a scene
That I might live, too, in more than sight of paint on cold canvass
If you will but sing songs of serenity for such son as I am
Softly and tenderly I hear your voice again,
And has it been so long and I so very wrong?
Slight enticements led me away day after day,
Until your face was but a shadowy memory,
And your choice voice but vaporous whisper;
But now how clear I hear your song over me!
Softly and tenderly I hear your voice again. . .
Let me sing of you as you sing to me, O Love above all loves,
And bring me into your home and heart as I give you mine,
And let the sign of our passion be grace with contemplation,
And may affection thus fill my soul even as you caress me
And make me wholly yours, my Beloved, through the hours,
Every step along the Way and every moment of every day
As I cry, ‘Stay with me through the light of day into the night,
Through every low valley up onto every height thru this life,’
And never let it be said that this poor man ever forgot you;
And so my song shall be sung long and on into the eternal,
Which shall be accompanied angelic choirs thru the hours
With power and might, in the face of Beauty shining bright
And fair as this man tears himself away from so many cares,
Diving ever more deeply into the layers of your love, O Love,
Now and forevermore as you care for me as everyone sees,
And so shall I sing my never-ending song as you sing to me
By the crimson tree we are free to dance
On hallowed ground with joyous sound
Round and round on life’s new mound
Till we fall with laughter after first light
Of night when we rest beneath bowers
That tower above our heads as we make
Our beds for peaceful sleep ever so deep
Beneath crimson tree where we are free
On hallowed ground with joyous sound
Together as one with new life just begun
Note: Illustration by the artist Marcia Baldwin
As muses conspire to inspire poets and artisans,
Wraiths gather around the gateway of the soul
To emasculate all creativity, to frustrate the pen
Or brush, opening up the floodgate of confusion
To fixate some poor soul on some senseless sight
Or sound ‘n none that’s worth a pound of manure
And all to secure his attention on anything at all
But the intention to create; and thus making him
Into a kind of artistic reprobate who then hates
What he’s not done because he’s taken the bait
Of unseen creatures who only satiate themselves
By stilling the mind and killing all true creativity;
But the good muses pay the price and still play
On numinous harps to sharpen the wit of artistry,
Praying he will dive into the sea of his own soul
And be what he was meant to be by taking hold
Of pen or brush to begin to bring into our reality
What was not before — lyrical poem to be read,
Song to be sung, picture to be admired and more
To heal the hearts of sore humanity in its insanity;
To bring peace to the fires of funeral pyres and
To send love from above around the round world;
To be an artisan fulfilling his most high calling!
Note: First published in September 2016, now slightly revised and republished for the enjoyment (and perhaps edification) of new reader-followers. Blessings to one and all!
There is a path to serenity and plenty of room to travel
Though the road is gravel and pain is a part of the gain
This inviting pilgrimage is rough
Your choices are certainly tough
And shrill sounds surround you
With dæmons around you, too
But in the end you’ll be all new
With right dignity there is an epiphany in the cacophony
Just hold your head high and fear deny even as you sigh
This golden cup comes with perspiration along the way
And temptation to exasperation but the goal is worthy
This inviting pilgrimage is rough
Your choices are certainly tough
And shrill sounds surround you
With dæmons around you, too
But in the end you’ll be all new
A brand new you . . . in serenity
A brand new you . . . in serenity
There is a path to serenity and plenty of room to travel
Though the road is gravel and pain is a part of the gain
Cards spread on the table, no bread,
And every head stares at its dealt hand
While the band plays some jumpy tune
And the sun shines bright at high noon
Don’t drown yourself in whiskey, boy
Cause poker’s the only game in town
Shuffle the deck and deal, this is real,
Try to steal and then heal from the shot;
Best to play straight, don’t take the bait,
So plot your best play to win the pot
Don’t drown yourself in whiskey, boy
Cause poker’s the only game in town
This table’s without a meal, only deal;
You’d better be sharp and don’t disturb
Or perturb the other players round you,
And don’t listen to any of the naysayers
Don’t drown yourself in whiskey, boy
Cause poker’s the only game in town
Play your hand well till sounds the bell
Play your hand well till sounds the bell
Till sounds the bell . . .
Don’t drown yourself in whiskey, boy
Cause poker’s the only game in town
Note: Previously published in November 2016, republished now due to some renewed interest as well as for the enjoyment of new reader-followers. Blessings to one and all throughout 2017! And remember, I AM … 🙂
How can you abide and stand by my side?
After all the cunning and deceit,
After all the feats of madness,
Bringing only deep sadness . . .
Why are you still here? Will you still stay?
Will you spill your love amidst all the fray?
Will you climb the hill with me?
Even scale the rough mountain
To reach the fountain of love?
You say you will to my thrill . . . and dismay!
Why do you bother with rotten me, even me,
When there are so many other garden trees?
Insanity, yes, but without vanity,
This is madness and gladness . . .
Why do you want to dance with untrue me,
And prance like lover and hover over me?
Will you climb the hill with me?
Even scale the rough mountain
To reach the fountain of love?
You say you will to my thrill . . . and dismay!
How can you abide and stand by my side?
Why do you bother with rotten me, even me,
When there are so many other garden trees?
Will you climb the hill with me?
Even scale the rough mountain
To reach the fountain of love?
You say you will to my thrill . . . and dismay!
Peoples around the world are bound by the sound of fury,
Shackled by deprivation, starvation, escalation of violence;
People hurt people, avert justice, and desert Lady Wisdom,
Overtly perverting, exerting themselves, inverting decency
O Come now, O Breath of Peace, come from above,
And bind up the broken heart and calm our fears;
Come near and blow through our world with love
Do we really want to mar the earth, this place of our birth?
Do we really want to compromise the worth of all creation?
Here today, but like flowers of the field we yield in the end,
And our place knows us no more and with nothing to show
O Come now, O Breath of Peace, come from above,
And bind up the broken heart and calm our fears;
Come near and blow through our world with love
Peoples around the world struggle to survive, even thrive,
Persistently walking the halls ‘n consistently hitting walls
Of resistance without any assistance even for subsistence;
Is this really how some want to live, with so much to give?
O Come now, O Breath of Peace, come from above,
And bind up the broken heart and calm our fears;
Come near and blow through our world with love
Blow thru each of us with loving peace from above!
Blow thru each of us with loving peace from above!
Peoples around the world are bound by the sound of fury,
And shackled by chains
And shackled by chains
O Come now, O Breath of Peace, come from above,
Blow thru each of us with loving peace from above!
Blow thru each of us with loving peace from above!
Hope deferred makes sick, indeed, the human heart,
Always obscure no matter how hard we pray and play our part.
Sick, worried, bereft of dreams, aimlessly we wander
So long in the wastelands of despair, good we no longer ponder.
Oh! what is our life without hopes and dreams, but vain?
And what is life without the Gardener herself to sustain?
Dreams shadowy, nebulous, planted in the nether shallow
By other-worldly hands in the Garden of All Souls Hallow.
How do they take root and grow neath the ground of Mystery?
These hope-filled dreams, ever-growing so elusively?
Oh! what is our life without hopes and dreams, but vain?
And what is life without the Gardener herself to sustain?
How do we enter through the Gate of the Burning Unknown
To pull or pluck our hopes and dreams so vaguely sown?
Or should we wait outside the Gate, vagabonds in begging,
For the Gardener to give us such fruit without charging?
Oh! what is our life without hopes and dreams, but vain?
And what is life without the Gardener herself to sustain?
Oh! what is our life without hopes and dreams, but vain?
And what is life without the Gardener herself to sustain?
Note: Original published in October 2014
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