Eden

Can I please have this garden 

For a lifetime or so? 

I'd like to watch the yucca grow, 

And kiss impatients row by row, 

While green walnuts harden. 

  

I would sleep in this garden 

Half the day. 

I'd watch half-grown cornstalks sway, 

And kneel in daffodils to pray, 

Then ask narcissus pardon. 

  

I might bloom in this garden, 

In the night. 

I'd bathe the hellebore in light, 

And turn the gladiolas white, 

My private shooting star den.

Psalm 4

You hear me when I call, O God, source and supporter of my righteousness:

Thou hast enlarged me with courage, in distress;

You will forever have mercy upon me, and hear my prayers.

 

Dark children of the world,

Ye sons of men who burn with a terrible black beauty,

How long will ye pretend the glory of my God

Is a thing of shame?

For in your vanity you call His light darkness,

And your darkness light. Selah.

 

But he that hath set himself apart for the Lord,

The Lord hath set apart for Himself.

The Lord, always, will hear when I call unto him.

 

I will stand in awe, I must sin not:

I go, I must commune with my own heart upon my bed,

And be still. Selah.

 

I plead with my soul to offer the sacrifices of righteousness,

Yet still it trembles.

I plead with my soul to put its trust in the Lord.

 

There be many that accost my ears, that say,

Who will shew us any good?

The Lord has called me as his candle, I must be the good.

Sons of man, cast your eyes upon me—

Lord, lift thou up the light of thy countenance upon us.

 

Thou hast put gladness in my heart,

Thou hast filled me with more Joy than have all my successes.

Surely, thou hast made all my tares corn and all my water wine,

While the rocks beneath my feet are gold.

My Joy in Thee increaseth.

 

Though my bed be a den of lions, and for my pillow a stone,

I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep:

For thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.

Come, Friend, You Too Must Die

"Come, friend, you too must die.
Why moan about it so?
There is always room in Hades,
There is always space below.
And when all the world is over,
Then where else is there to go?
For like every oak must feel the ax,
Each man will be brought low;
And like the trunk is stripped of bark,
Each man must take his blow.

And someday even I will feel
Apollo's shaft strike bone--
Come, friend, you too must die--
Why moan?"



*This poem is based on a line from the Iliad (Book 21, line 119). "Come, friend, you too must die. Why moan about it so?" quips Achilles as he impales an unlucky Trojan.

The Man I Marry Must

I wonder if I'll ever meet
A boy who's absolutely sweet-.
A boy who'll always hold the door,
And be polite, and not get sore
If I forget, or if I win--
A boy who doesn't hold with sin.
A boy who's smart, who knows his stuff,
And who won't break if times get tough.
A boy who's strong, a boy who's sure;
A boy who's heart and hands are pure.
A boy with right priority,
First, the Father; second, me.
A boy who laughs, but also cries,
A boy with something in his eyes.
If I can find a boy like this,
Then I'll have found the boy to kiss.

Heated

If the wind were my lover
He would be
Angry with me,
Angry with me--
Why is everyone angry with me?

If the stars were my neighbors
They would be
Glaring at me,
Glaring at me--
Why do men's eyes go on glaring at me?

If the earth were my mother
She would be
Sighing for me,
Sighing for me--
Why is she, embraceless, still sighing for me?





*Once again, I have invented a new word (maybe). "Embraceless" means "without embraces". For example: Because the man and his wife were both missing their arms, their marriage was embraceles.

Today Is Sultry

An irate wind 

Flings debris against ankles and 

Whips my head with my own hair. 

Today is sultry. 

The sky is blue, but 

It's a smoggy blue; 

Dirty, like a pioneer 

With snow-chapped lips. 

Sullen, beams the sun;

Bright and malignant, trying to 

Father sweat on our skin. 

I've read global warming 

Will only make weather like this 

More common. 

Some mornings it's harder than others 

To thank God for the day He has given us.

Feathered Catalyst

Thoughts, stirring for so long among the rafters of my mind,
Flutter down from their roost to
Peck at my paper bag full of sliced Surety.
Odd birds!
Odd, birds, the bread within the bag
Is stale.
Don't-- don't, see, it falls apart so quickly when you peck-- but
Oh, never mind, it is too late.
It is all crumbs now.

What has that one done?
Torn the bag, and found inside it
A Rock.
They cannot peck that to pieces,
Though half the world has tried.
People want to turn this Rock,
Which even the hungry Thoughts cannot destroy,
To dust; and fling it in the wind.
Funny, no?
They think they are more powerful than the Birds!

Drifting

The heater hums a soft nocturne,

The only noise at all.

The windows, full of faint streetlight,

Hang dimly on the wall.

 

Staring at the ceiling,

I think of stars; I nod—

Who cares if I don’t understand?

I’m in the palm of God.