Restoration

It’s the things that aren’t said that hurt the most.

I can hear the tower clock chime from my pillow

It is the only constant I hear.

But even this clock;

I envy the care and attention

it receives for its restoration.

I hope to have its constancy at heart.

Spiritus Sanctus:

‘O Holy Spirit, as the sun is full of light, the ocean full of water,

Heaven full of glory, so may my heart be full of thee.’

The Valley of Vision

Season of singing

I love all the unseen things about you

I wait for them to make themselves known

a word, a look, a gesture, a smile

a gift of Love – one treasure I own.

 

When I stand before the body, in the flesh

I am confused. It’s You that I miss.

I respond in words I don’t understand

I lose part of myself in this.

 

Waiting for the unseen,

the centre of our being

to come forward again

In the Spring.

 

When you play, your work, your dream

it is there – the unseen

making music in my ears

as sweet as a song of songs.

 

Sweet fruit. Spring flush

Eat, dear friends, and drink your fill of love¹

The days were Made for this.

The season of singing has come.²

 

Love stronger than death

burns like a Mighty fire

Many waters cannot quench

Nor rivers sweep it away.³

 

By day the Lord directs his love,
    at night his song is with me—
    a prayer to the God of my life. –Psalm 42:8

buds over the stream


¹Song of Songs 5:1

²Song of Songs 2:12

³Song of Songs 8:6-7

Image source: ‘Looking through the trees to the stream’ by John Groves

Soundings

 

Barstools, beers and lonely cheers

Sideways glances, sound and fears

Top of the loft, corner of the street

Just dropping off, by chance again we meet

 

Perched high above on a leather bus seat

Looking down on you as sun and horizon meet

Living through pictures on your wall

Passing on paper cranes, love and all

 

Resonating strings and sings around

Searching for words unspoken sound

Fathom feeling depths unknown

Silence falls like shell shock tone

 

Rivers of lyrical, satirical rhymes

Flood down the mount of eternal time

A single vase of living water, blooms

Tapped from the source in our living rooms

 

 

 

 

Illuminate

It is not a situation where

what you emanate

reaches me unchanged,

to reflect what you radiate.

It is the essence of my being

to take in and absorb

the streams of mercy

that flow out from your source;

feed me and make me whole,

make me grow beyond my limits –

strong, broad, I tower over all.

You give your all to me,

I soak up your energy

preoccupied with you

Until the fall..

Dearest Hope

I hope…

keep yourself from feeling

resentment at my leaving you

here, my dearest.

It is joyous to depart,

do not let sadness taint

the inevitable start

to a “new” day.

Do not hold it against Him,

let comfort cover you

and soften the impact

you feel after free-fall.

It will save you, bruised not broken.

I am nothing but

a haunted house

occupied by a Ghost

that keeps all others out.

I fear it not, for it dispels all fears

– the hate and the fight –

it lets in the light through darkened shutters,

breaks down inhabitable disguise.

I stare into your face

no mask, of self – a trace,

an empty broken shell

awaiting to be whole

and filled with life anew.

No cold, hard, barren ground,

broken fossils incomplete

no slowly sinking mound

weathered turf, carved concrete,

chiselled words standing proud.

 

Within one heart rests humanity, whole –

my only other hope is you are there

once you too, are grown and old.

Add. 43490 f.23

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Image source