When nothing waits as blessed as the foam
That drifts upon the waves of God’s kind wrath
Eternity becomes a place to roam
To roam upon the sand dunes which it hath
Each grain remembers tides that shaped the rock
The rock they once belonged to, far ashore
The memory itself does more than mock
It tells them what was once is never more
And yet the hope of sand lies in the surf
Where sand becomes a solid, spacious wall
The ocean’s waves are salty liquid turf
That hear the wrath of God and heed the call
The call to taste the foam, the blood of God
And flesh and bone in every driftwood rod.
Hold all your thoughts before expression bends
Then bows to rich transgressions, seeped in blood
Where action’s present futurisms end
Before they start, or even think they could
Your mindfulness betrays your mind’s intent
The way a tattered couplet ends in rhyme
Come raise a glass to fortunes broadly spent
Consumed by commonality sublime
Now turn to speak the noises in your neck
Your head betrays the source of one and naught
You deal the cads before you hold the deck
Now watch the wind consume the crimson lot
We all rely on thoughts, unborn, to sprout
Like planted grain, within before without.
God knew we needed light to color life
In darkness, God perceived what we could not
And brought accord from more than lack of strife
Perceptions came to be much more than thought
Sweet simple light reveals the all of all
And yet, the blind perceive pure sweetness too
Why does the spell of simple light enthrall
Our presence in a world we thought we knew?
Turn out the light and feel true beauty near
We feel more than we see; we feel God’s love
Beyond the simple darkness some may fear
True Beauty is a life we all dream of
Come meet the God who gave us life through light
Then feel the things you never thought you might.
I thought I might compose a little song
That kept the truth of words within its tune
When tunes and words collide, the truth is wrong
And what was once too late is now too soon
I understood the meaning of the note
The one you slipped beneath my lyric door
Each word I only found I thought I wrote
Each word revealed a shabby metaphor
Composed, I now compose with words, alone
Then if you must, sing out the words you see
It only sounds the way the wind has blown
And sounds a lot like hollow reverie
The truth you sing is clearly in the wrong
Each word, each note, includes my little song.
Wherever there is water, sound, and life
There’s rocks and silence, and there’s also death
The beauty of such ugliness is rife
With everything that harbors songs of breath
We call them Sirens, then, invite them in
Perception makes them real, and more than real
Is loving pure perception just a sin?
Should we repent of beauty we can feel?
The songs that we can hear and feel and see
Invite our lives to silent rocks below
The oceans of the world’s intensity
A place we should avoid, but love to go
Embrace the sound of life in water’s touch
Embrace the death of silent rocks and such.
Even in the ice of winter
as we walk across the river
to the city, to the life
we feel the warmth of the water
as it flows around and beneath
flows intuitively without rhythm
Even in the steam of summer
as we walk upon the island
from the city to the life
we feel the cool rain
as it drips from the clouds
drips rhythmically in a torrent
And as the water roars into the
darkness of the night and
the night slips softly into the
wetness of the morning
nothing has been cleansed
unless we see that it is clean
How close we must have come, in retrospect
I’m sure we could have met before our time
Our friends and favorite places intersect
As perfectly as couplets meet in rhyme
I saw the same surroundings which your eyes
Took in from day to day and week to week
Then would you find it any great surprise
That recognition found a way to speak?
A voice you must have heard in crowded rooms
perhaps, or even spoken, one to one
Ten years or more our past, familiar, looms
And presently our past is now, is done
When all the times when first we might have met
Becomes a future void of all regret.
The Word is God, and I am just The Son
You see, The Son of God is not a word
A flame that cools the heat of everyone
Who breathes the fire of every sound I heard.
And who would be the mother of my life?
Beget the simple Son of some great Word?
What Word would take less than a word to wife
A concubine? Then please don’t be absurd.
They nailed me to a cross; it hurt like hell
And now the cross is worshiped, like the blood
Sanguinis Christi casts a Christian’s spell
And thus begins the ebbing of the flood
The Word is God, and I am just The Son
Pronounce me now, before the day is done.
To the tune of “I’m a Little Teapot.”
I’m a little pumpkin, small and round
Come pick me up from here on the ground
Make a jack-o-lantern or a pie
Take me with you or I might cry.
Horizon marks my ocean’s distant shore
Soft clouds that drift above are water too
At times they bring me rain; at times they pour
But not today; horizon’s sky is blue
I’ve watched the sun bring color to my day
I’ve felt the sunlight’s warmth in peaceful rest
I know at night, the sun seems far away
But night begins with beauty in the West
The beauty in the West is sunset’s art
The art of light that colors all we see
Reflections on the shore remind my heart
That every day belongs to you and me
Our ocean’s shore reflects our sunset’s light
Horizon’s clouds bring beauty to our sight.