Simply Writing

July 29, 2016

vacation part 1 377

Let me create
Then
Dark images
Upon this indelible
White paper
Pure as her silk wrap

Bleak
As the shredded land
Of this royal dervish
Yet not raging
The calm after
More that
Than a roaring maelstrom

For it is my reluctant
My recollection of the fire
Not walking in
Or fearing
But remembering with the calm
Of a sage
Who has seen
What is and was and is to come

So much that the ink
Is but a shadow
On the recalcitrant memory
Of this page

Occam’s Song

July 25, 2016

IMG_7268

to take a simple, graceful cloud
and string it to this line
make of it a hazy jewel
to place at your breast
and hold it close
seeing in it
something you’ve been before
knowing I have too

so that you don’t leave me
when I stand
without cloak or shelter

in dreams I’ve seen
there is nothing here but you
to stride along a knife edge
as if it were a trail
on one side life and sun
the other cold infinity
and stand upon both
as if we can dare
to claim there is a medium
a true place between

so that you don’t leave me
when I stand
without cloak or shelter

in dreams I’ve seen
there is nothing here but you
to capture this
burst of light
that singes my fingers
as I trace the scratches
on the page
from where I tried to hide
words that weren’t there
and return them
with someone else’s hand

so that you don’t leave me
when I stand
without cloak or shelter

in dreams I’ve seen
there is nothing here but you
a shadow
a twin
tears
and truth

This Silent Place

July 24, 2016

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You have led me to this silent place

This silent, silent mumbling
Of wishes and sightless stumbling
You have left the crow’s-feet upon my face
O’ God, I have never touched the hand of grace.

Your poets cried bright and cutting words
That I rose to hear, on the edge of my chair
Of dream-worlds and the sun’s majestic glare
You left them blind with glory and swords
I lament, I will never see those mighty lords.

And so, if we have turned and turned
To the left and right, to the East from the West
Only to find the garden in the shadow of death
What have we found but a center that burns
That burned alive for what no other could earn

A center, a signpost, a blood-soaked dolmen stake
A horrid thing that raised high a Man, a God, a Sacrifice
Which we, which I, have failed to see will suffice
To redeem my rebellion, my weakness, my mortal sake
To cleanse my unsacred turning, my precious, accursed lake.

You have led me to this vital place
This silent, pleading supplication
Of hanging on your every words’ salvation
You have put your Son before my face
And you leave me with naught but your precious grace.

______________________________________

Psalms 71 and 88, Joshua and Moses, David and Solomon, a juxtaposition.

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