You Create

There is only emptiness, the great void as if all had been destroyed,
Nothing employed throughout time and space in pace with nothing;
And all is hollow, surrounded by some numinous shell that is hell…
But then you speak and the sharp peak of light appears here
To sear the darkness, and something begins to take shape
That the nothing can escape, and there is suddenly living life
Filling time and space with the chime of the divine sounding
And pounding, pulsating throughout the fresh air so free and fair;
So, too, you speak into those poor souls caught in mere existence
In persistence of lifeless churning in the void of empty moments,
Breathing the power of life where there was only death by the hour,
And then it is the flower of spirit rises from the ashes and blooms;
You create what is great as your own self-given mandate of love
From above that shoves aside the emptiness with its high pride…
You create and satiate the gnawing appetite for truly alive life…
Yes, you create … You create


 

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In the Shades of Shadow Trees

Shadows passing shadows in the shades of shadow trees,
And life is like a vapor, a mostly ghostly shadow show,
And again does the church bell toll for yet another soul
That never really lived but finally died in vacuous pride
After casting aside hope for meaning to reside in shades
That weighed nothing because he was afraid of solidity,
Choosing instead a sickly flaccidity with heart cupidity,
And now the gray coffin is lowered into the black earth,
To the very place that will give rest to all of his worth,
Accumulated from cradle to the grave for such a knave;
But are we any different in our deference to existence?
No, we should know we’ll need some savior some day.

Shelter

O shelter from the stormy blast, hold me fast;
Quick! Speedily take me neath your covering,
Hovering over me against the tempest raging
And engaging all humanity in utter calamity
With no break for mercy’s sake – we quake –
O hide me and abide with me, (do not chide)
And save me from the rage all around about
That writes itself on each page of our history;
O shelter from the stormy blast, hold me fast!

One Simple Ray of Sunshine

 

I

One simple ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds,
Proudly and soundly focusing its power upon the earth,
Making the mountains its hearth ‘n giving birth to hope;
Aye! The whole world is in the scope of this solitary ray
That pays one hundredfold the breath of its tiny breadth;
And what can compare to the might of its bright light?
None and so soon to drive out all blight and every fright;
Yea, night turns to day with but one strand of sunshine
So fine and ever so piercing the clouds of gloom ‘n doom

II

Earth revolves around Sol, greater light to rule the day
And stay the powers of stark darkness in its own ways
With rays of brightness – happy song sung long on sea
And land by bands of people and all creatures living –
And how shall we describe him or ascribe him majesty
With glory, yet Sol is but an icon, very pure and simple,
Of the first and everlasting Light that shines brighter
And dispels thick black without a lack of magnificence,
So that Sol is but a child, young ‘n wild, by comparison

The Sad Bard

This bard tries to write but the words no longer come,
Like some long-lost friend always round the next bend,
And he sends urgent messages beckoning them home
So he can pen his tome, but the fickle words elude him
To the pain of his heart since he cannot gain their love,
Though again n’ again the woeful bard cries and tries;
But there’s some poetry even in this most sad situation
Of ill-sought satisfaction: at least this bard can write
About the aesthetic evacuation of his very own soul . . .

One Tree on a Hill

One tree on the hill standing strong, standing tall
Through summer and winter, spring and fall —
This aged tree has stood the test for the best —
And what has she seen through fat years and lean?
So many foibles of humanity born of pure insanity,
But also beauty, bravery and much love from above,
For battles have been fought, victories blood bought,
And in peace lovers have promised passion, as well,
Neath her mighty branches, sounding wedding bells,
And so this majestic tree has seen heaven and hell;
Now what would she tell us if she could but speak?
This tree on the hill standing strong, standing tall?

Quinn Mighty in Pen

There was a man named Quinn, who was mighty with the pen
And did win the favor of all sorts of men, but he did greatly sin
Again and again till he dwelled in a den of dark so stark
That he could no longer see and words left him bereft
Of light so that try as he might Quinn could no longer write,
And he became quite the sight to behold having sold himself
To gloom and doom — so sad and utterly bad — and he cried
As he tried to fill his days in the haze that had become his life
So rife with pain and no gain and stain upon his lonely heart;
So goes the tale of Quinn who once was so mighty with the pen