acronyms galore –
no time for more.
acronyms galore –
no time for more.
A poem from 2002…
My heart beats
For the exotic
Coursing inside me—
To look in someone’s eyes,
And feel them beaming true,
But now there’s You.
My hands wait
For a beckoning
Entwined with his—
To see, not just believe,
And senses come to life,
But I’m Your wife.
My feet stay
As I sit still.
Echoes Your love—
More than a moment’s song.
You hold a tenderness
I cannot possess.
You hold though
Is better than our best—
You save us at our worst.
You shine bright, but I see him.
He must grow dim.
My prayers climb
To Your throne
You improve with faith—
It must become more
To let go what is past,
Cherish what will last.
Heaven is perfect rhythm
(God doesn’t miss a beat) –
beyond the bounce of runners’
a swimmer’s breathing
as the arm descends,
the heartbeat of lovers
(not just friends),
complexity of sunflowers,
hair dripping with the rain,
the clapping of close thunder,
the wild dance of a flame.
Here’s harpsicord and organ;
here’s jazz and rock n’ roll,
each creation – unique motion,
How heaven must be if sounds and sights
like these exist here, now –
more perfect, yet more varied,
more exciting, and more – wow!
A sonnet for The Magician’s Nephew
I spoke the deplorable word. Now all is still.
My enemies and servants are no more.
And from an utterance formed with power to kill
all opposition, I have won the war,
but single-handed, single-mouthed to deal
destruction on all sides—the armies fall
like ashes, into stone, no more to feel.
Only a word, my magic, ruined all.
The blood is drained to leave their stiff shapes pale.
Only the half-dead sun retains its red.
My masterpiece of winter cries out, “Hail!”
I sleep. You come too curious for the dead.
Children, be careful lest you strike the bell
that wakes the deplorable word you know too well.
Here’s a sonnet from August 2005.
That hammock still haunts me, the way I heard your name
after the breathing, aching prayer and swing,
the answer I did not expect that came
as I, enmeshed, cocooned, swayed in the sling,
that quiet, happy peace, my heart at rest,
believing that its future was secure,
that I would marry you, and we’d be blessed.
My hope for you – of all my hopes most pure.
You have been cold to me since I returned
from Mexico. You never say hello.
You’re all but engaged, for all my heart has yearned.
It casts about, finds nowhere else to go,
nowhere to rest. Why haven’t things worked out?
What of that deepest peace that lulled all doubt?
From around 2002…
A lightning flash illuminates this cave.
The burning bush sheds light, but now I see
more of those untouched alcoves which I crave.
I now delve deeper into mystery,
the mystery of God. He wants to show
to all His glorious greatness but cannot.
And here, revealed in Spanish, I can know
that God is Verb made meat, astounding thought!
Lightning of language, double-bladed sword,
lays bare to me more of Love’s height and depth.
The rocks burst emeralds, knowledge my reward
in this cave, heart of God, unmarked of breadth.
The Word of God is Verb; His flesh is meat.
His heart to me is opened, now more sweet.
Here’s another Lord of the Rings sonnet.
Too late I cry, “Forgiveness!” and repent.
Too late—I hear the leaves crunch as he flees.
I stumbled on the hillside, madness spent.
I could not see the danger that he sees.
All for a ring I coveted too long,
but for my own good purposes—to save
my people, make our weary army strong
and sure of victory. My cause was brave.
Too bold, I wrestled with him, would have killed,
but he escaped invisible, and I
lie seeing what an evil had me willed.
I’ll prove an honest man before I die,
and shield his friends from poison arrows’ sting,
more pure, though death to me, than that mad ring.