Streams of Tendency

Streams of tendency,
As deep as being:
The whole manhood,
Is moved by
The first surrender;
Can we dimly see
The heart of God?
Let light be,
And light was:
Yet we see,
A darkness of obscurity;
Left in the solemn
Impressiveness,
Of that one word.

Seers

I have seen 
The fullness of zero,
Wrapped, in the
Infinite arms of Omega:
All moments exist,
Within the taint
Of imperfection,
Marked, by the piercings
Of eternal truth;
Everything we know
Is less than zero,
Not simply
More than nothing.

To See The Night Lift

The dawn breaks,
But it does not surprise:
For we have watched
From the valley,
And seen the long night
Of rosemary and rue.
We pass softly, with 
Quiet feet and open eyes;
Bearing with us
All of the redeemed earth,
That we have made our own:
The empty song,
Repeats itself no more;
As time sinks deep
Into the depths of Divinity;
For to be alive,
Is more than the coming
And the going of breath,
Aloof and absolved from
The accidents of existence:
It is in the ground
Beneath our feet;
The stubble, and the chaff
Lie together in its chambers,
With graves full of the dust
That once passed in forms
That spoke and loved as men:
Their illusion haunts us,
But to see the night lift;
It is here we must walk.

Lost

The ashes of the rose
Lie hidden well
In autumn's urn:
Life saved; and life lost;
But the ardor
Of the young lover
Was as the
Net of the spider;
Entangling and destroying:
We came not back
That way again.

It's the day after
Thanksgiving,
And all through
The house,
Lie six sleeping
Grandsons,
Quiet as a mouse;
As the sun
Rises quickly,
And eyes open fast;
I treasure this silence,
Cause I know
It won't last.
So it's out
To the playground,
And in for some food,
Then off to the movies
With my noisy
Little brood.
If I survive this day,
And it goes
As we plan;
I'll rest until
Christmas,
And do it all
Again.

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday;
Cunneda

THE GLORY OF LOST IDEALS

If you speak of wonders,
They believe in
Ten thousand things;
Or they believe in nothing:
Yet, their laughter walks
Slowly, upon the heels
Of their tears:
In every life,
The light was out;
And no one was
Looking for the morning:
But suddenly and simply,
Like any dawn
That takes its turn;
There he stands,
Just outside our door....
Now and then striking within,
To give us back
The glory of lost ideals.

Anyone of us can turn water into wine, it simply takes a little time.......the message, and the miracle in the water and the wine is the time, not the wine.......Jesus transcended the time.

A Summer Sky

A Summer Sky




The grass rustles
And the lizards bask,
By broken columns, 
Once pulsing with the
Traffic of busy men;
Time, after time,
Has come and gone;
And the place that
Knew them once,
Knows them no more:
Breath leaves no wrinkles
On the face
Of the summer sky;
Orion still hangs
His glittering sword;
And the Horses yet
Weave their mystic braids;
For the hand is laid
Gently upon the man,
And a word
Of promise to the ear:
Breaking it to the hope,
In the mountain mists,
And the deep places
Of the earth;
Till they were dead or vanished,
That sought its life.

Words

Words, just words;
Yet their very being
Cries of contact:
Deep, in the heart,
Symbolic events give
Imperishable meaning;
A long way here,
Illuminated by the
Pale light of a
Waning moon;
There, darkly shadowed
By a massive wall,
The pause of withdrawal
In the garden, only
To be pierced by a
Mysterious agony;
Like flaming torches
And the tread
Of many feet,
I hear a hurried mockery
Sickening into despair;
Their setting makes them
Vivid, and unforgettable,
Giving them an added
Urgency; as if something
Of the anguish was wrung
From praying lips, still
Clinging To my speech.

Entangled

Each experience,
As it goes;
Leaves its sediment
Within the soul:
An image,
Whose impression
Has ceased;
Lingering,
Like a ghost
Of what we were;
Or a loved one,
So long since
Passed away.

17: 15

A Light shines
Through the
Revolving years:
Mists of time,
To be won, only
When they have passed.
It is a present experience;
Immediate, or rather,
A thing unspoken in
The expressions of time;
A waking sight of God;
Seems more transformation,
Than dream, or vision.

Breezes of Autumn

Breezes of autumn
Touch weary lives;
We realize in the heart,
What we nurture
In the sacrifice:
Suspected, in a quest,
That no man gives;
We all, in some way,
Understand at once,
The nature of things
Waning among us.

Reverie

Each life around us
Is a Word of God:
A special muse
And reverie,
Realized in flesh.......
A word, if you will,
Transformed into the
Unheard voice of life;
Waiting, for an
Incarnation.

6/7

They stand, all
Along the course
Of our years,
Solemn monuments
Of unfaithfulness;
And none return,
Save in haunted memory:
Life is full of too lates;
That sad sound
Of the moment lost,
That moans through
The roofless ruins
Of our past,
Like the desert wind
Through some cold,
Deserted temple.

Indeed

Men speak of
The passions that clog,
With the evasive assurance
Of a superficial and reckless mind;
As face answers only
To face in a glass:
The apprehension of pain,
The fear of death,
The dread of the world’s laugh
Enslave alike;
Yet it is not to enjoy,
But to be, that we long for;
A craving, with which
We can part, only,
When we sink below humanity,
For ignorance is the worm
That gnaws the blossom;
Yet the eye, strong enough
To pierce the shadow of death;
Is not troubled because
The mist is dispelled.......and
Seeks not the strength,
Of strengthless dreams:
Striking from the soul,
The fetters of sense;
He delivers, from the
Illusions of time and matter:
Ye shall be free indeed:
It is a grand word, indeed;
Comforting in its simplicity;
It is a word of wonder.......indeed:
There are many kinds of liberty,
But only One “indeed.”

Eyes

The eyes,
Rest in darkness:
Laying up capacity,
Yet eroding vision;
Old things seen
Be no longer true,
Creation vents, unaware
On a dull,
Effeminate age;
Myths of imagination,
Shaded and softened
Like the slow
Crushing of amber,
The measured stoking
Of defilement,
Kindles a flame
It cannot subdue:
He looks away
To see anew
And the peace
Of ages fades
Into the smoke.

East of Eden

East of Eden,
He had dreamed
His dreams;
There was rest
In the wilderness:
Taught by the breeze,
And the mountain,
To bathe in that
Deep, and mighty silence,
That spreads itself
Beyond the noise of man:
The details of
Banquet and blood:
Of an encounter
Beneath the gloom,
And a confluence, swift,
With the executioner;
Amid the flickering 
Of the lights above,
Strike us still
With a shudder,
That lets the peace
Of lonely places,
Sink with benediction
On their souls:
For you know;
Things seen
Within narrow walls
Assume a dreadful bulk
Which we can never see
Until it finds us out.

The Dragon Ascends

The dragon ascends
On the thermals of chaos,
And the winds of wrath.

Eyes of malison,
Cold...grim, as the grey wolf,
Scan the horizon.

Seeking prey below,
With cold heart, and bloody hand,
Shield answers to shaft.

A voice like thunder,
Impaled on pain's own blade;
A blast of trumpets.

Now the ravens sing;
On the eve of carrion,
And heavy hand play.

Hoarsely barks the crow;
Warm blood upon his feathers
From the fallen one.

Here he lies, alone;
For stone dead has no fellow:
Dry bones waste away.

The Quiet

The quiet, is
A realm within,
That is me,
Not me,
And greater
Than me.
Here He speaks
In a breath of silence:
Like the coming
Of a gentle breeze;
But always in a stillness,
That is grander
Than me;
Envelopes me;
And finally calls, to
That deeper truth,
Of the full moment
That is close within me;
So now, in quiet,
The knowing
Is so simple,
And so clear;
His silence surrounds;
In it, do all things
Display their depth;
And here, I find,
I am but a part
Of the depths of
All around me; and
When my silence within,
Comes to savor, and value
The silence that envelopes,
I will have entered,
Into the very
Heart of prayer;
When the two connect:
Silence into silence;
I am lifted into
The Mind of Christ:
For He is to be found
Only in the depths;
And in the depths,
It is always silent.

Let us proclaim the name of the Lord boldly in the face of this assault. It is not by silence, but by fearless expression that we persevere.......it is not by drifting with the tidal flows of culture, but by endurance in the Truth that we claim our stake.......for our sacrifice here will be the blood-food for a new luxuriousness.......this Truth will be sustained and enriched only by expression, endurance, and sacrifice.......it is the Way of Christ.

Vistas of Perception

Vistas of perception:
Was it accident,
Or simply
Times unlooked for;
In ways unknown.
A breath suffices,
To blow the
Candle of life
Out .......
Yet we are given
To the chariot
Of uncertainties:
Man is born
To trouble;
As the sparks
Fly upward.