“Beware the Hands of The Wizard”: In Response to: Buji-nin – Photo Seeking Caption

Hands hold the vessel ancient, black

Set upon with dragons, bowl to stack.

Its wizard pours out wishes, non shall lack.

Beware his brew, you’ll not come back.

Canticle II

My soul thirsts for the living God. The deer seeks out water brooks.

My most inner self longs for you, thirsts for the living God.

His mountains of stone like Him stand. His rapids and floods cover me.

My poured out soul cannot contain such high thought as these.

Deep calls to deep in holy noise. I fall to my face in worship.

a psalm of David…transposed…

Canticle

My pen is bent to glory. I address my verses to the King.

He anointed me with grace. My pen bends to a noble theme.

Your dwelling places are lovely. Your throne is beyond our comprehension.

Truly it is God who saves me. He is my rock and my salvation.

a psalm of David…transposed…

 

Spring Bombs

Appearing like yuletide balls

Spring bombs

Sun against lunar pull exerting

 

***

Converging in the heavens

Collecting, growing

Storm, wind, hail, destruction, sure

***

Her beauty is the moon

Always moving

Best when Easter comes early

 

 

 

Coming on Christmas

I love Carley Simon’s song “River”. In that wistful ballad she soulfully croons in her pure, true soprano that “it’s coming on Christmas, they’re cutting down trees, putting up reindeer, singing songs of joy and peace.” She goes on, “wishing” she “had a river to skate away on.”  

As I gaze at this magical photograph of my tiny granddaughter enveloped in the shimmer of her Christmas tree, my thoughts turn to years and Christmases gone by-those of my childhood and those of my own children at her age. All over the world and in our own homes it is coming on Christmas. We are cutting down trees., putting up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace. Traditions we hold dear, love and cherish from generation to generation. 

However; instead of wishing for a river to skate away on, I wish to have a star as my plumb line to keep me focused on the truth of Coming on Christmas. The One who continues to bring joy and peace.

A Coming Change…

Today is still dark outside my window.

A promise of sweeping chill.

My mind and senses groan for the coming of it like the bee to the flower.

Come, Fall in all your glory!

Come with your cleansing wind!

Brush away the stickiness in my head.

The old stuffy clamminess, heat, and stuff of piled up

summer  dog-days weighing me down.

Brush through my hair, my brain and soul.

Let me sprout a pair of wings perhaps, that I could dance on your breeze!

Or set me free upon the air in a huge rising balloon so as to see the entire earth.

Let me sense, touch, taste, breathe, live into the crisp sharp newness of Fall.

Unfinished Thoughts

A writer’s dream, fulfilled in my very hoping,

Complete in silence, speculation, unencumbered of mind.

Ah! The mess is the latter thought.

As More of Tudor’s Court once evoking,

“Words, words, words. It is all only words.”  

Less than dream, featureless, exuberantly blind.

Unfinished now, yet not for naught. 

Summer Morning

 

                                               Strange dainty pods               Pop on dewy prickle

                                               Rooty faces appear                  Gnome-like wonder

                                               Knobs from faces                      Gnarl up new joints

                                                                Knees spiral sun-ward           

                                                                       Pod   Tree  Knee  

                                                           Backyard Cypress Knee Swamp  

                                                                                      *

                                                                       Summer Morning

               

 

 

Summer Morning Song

Tiny rain-soaked pots and stones 

Precious, hidden, glorious.

Flourish yet untended

There’s one who cares for you.

*

Cherubim and tiny blooms bow down before Him

 Gaze ever sun-ward

Summer Morning Song

 

Summer Morning

Voracious climbing   clustering   twisting

 

Newly shooting   dancing  twining  

 

Bursting blooming   fragrance   wafting  

 

Multitudes buzzing   pistils   spending

 

Quietly fading   singeing    heat  

 

 Viscerally  clicking   cloistering   containing  

 

A Vining   Summer   Morning