poem: the wisdom of the bard

 

the bard was wise methinks,

when sayeth he that ’tis not love,

that doth exclude admittance of

that which is feared, would push all loving from it’s gaze;

indeed – what thou fear most would not impede,

my meagre loving of yourself, with none of thee left on some shelf,

to be ignored, or left alone to dry and dust-clad days;

 so my love i say again – and happy to –

tho’ my poor pen

must stand in sted of arms which will amen,

to loving all of thee,

yes, all of thee, still now as then.

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poem: ode to my queerly beloved

oh! to be

queerly old fashioned

with thee;

indeed, when thou hast shed the skin

of that pretense

which, long since, poorly had you worn –

thy truer self would agree,

that apt those words describe

what we have always been;

for well we know,

how strange the un-straight path

has weather’d us to normal seemed;

(indeed with strangeness we have taken

tenancy);

perhaps we could compare

our much imagined lunacies?

tho’ rather would i taste again

those queer, old fashioned,

truthful kisses.

poem: some nights aretha sings my blues

 

some nights Aretha sings my blues

when my hearts tried hard my the things you do,

when you’re trying to pretend that you’re like him too –

some nights Aretha sings my blues;

 

 some nights Aretha sings my love sweetly,

 i’m poured over with the rhythm of notes dropped neatly

behind the back beat that her voice sinks into me –

some nights Aretha sings my love sweetly

 

some nights are too many but what do i do,

when you’re trying to pretend that you’re like him too,

and my hearts still aches for this silly old fool –

some nights Aretha sings my blues.

poem: good friday

meditation based on psalm 23, vs 5 

 

you prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies

and i look up, from the foot of your cross

and it is my sin that put you there

too oft from a sin that i chose

and yet you anoint my head with oil

and my cup over flow’s

 

 

you anoint my head with oil

my cup overflows’

and i look up from the foot of your cross

from your head and your wounds

your blood freely flows;

how could it be that blood of lamb slain

could free me of guilt, could free me of blame?

that you feed me as enemies taunt me with death

and that my cup, with your love, over flows?

and i look up from the foot of your cross

and my love overflows

poem: on restoring vision

i will see thee, as i saw thee

and know thee as i did;

though better seen thy will be,

where, once, thou was hid.

 

you will see me, as you saw me,

knowing better what i knew;

and that mine eye indeed was clear,

and saw thee, love, and saw thee true.

 

our lips out loud shall speak,

what is whispered in these prayers;

and eyes this time will meet,

knowing love doth greet us there.

for tho’ mine eye is sore

from long denied thy dearest face;

it’s sight will be restored,

and its light, renewed, with grace.

.

Poem: n’est-ce pas?

a mystery, even carefully unwrapped,

remains disguised

until uncovered

before the eyes, from which

it was concealed

Poem: light to mine eye

through all of the storms that have tossed me to sea;

through fog, smog and hurricane,

and windswept cold quays –

this one thing I’ve known, I’ve known long to be true

these eyes that God gave me,

he gave me for you

through days of warm sunshine and whispers of truth

kissing the skin of the apple that youth,

long plucked from the top of God’s tree;

but that which is love is also

so wise – and love gave me eyes to see,

the youth at the top of his tree;

for though long the journey, ’tis not been unknown

and sorrow not stifles this constant heart grown,

for  hearts never hidden cannot be disguised –

and fear did not paint those starry bright skies;

tis true and cannot be denied

thank you God, for giving me eyes.

 

Poem: fairy tales

 

 

anxiety anxiety

crawling now all over me

am i dragon, fiery beast

feared till bled

from sword released

or just some foolish maiden

without head

who lay beneath the dragon

until dead

Poem: a lovers query

 

though disguised, you found me,

and I, surprised, could see thee;

and oh! how many steps?

from there to here –

my darling, tell me once again

how close they bring you,

and how near?

this heart, with trembling speaks

for it feels weak

and needs to hear.

 

Poem: returning, unleaving

betwixt and between –

that is where I have been,

between the always returning

and the heart that anchored

as it cleaved;

 

love

oh love, have i always known you thus?

let it be, let it be

in this heart that bobs along the crest of

coming back, and yet

it never leaves;

oh please, let it be still and calm between

those sturdy lovers arms

again.