Light Is Come

10 12 2014

glory streaks

Pleasant for eyes to see, truly sweet is the light.      1

But when whitened skies are brushed blue by the breathing breeze,      2

None can gaze e’en with longing at the sun’s star white.      3

Longing fails to linger strong in Light’s awesome feeze;      4

Blindness of blackness comes preferred in our dis-ease.      5

Yet the Sky’s Wind conceived the living, gleaming Word;      6

The shadow of death out to Light it then averred.      7

 

Whence, where, and whither it wills soars and sounds the Breeze      8

Circling one and then another, each to gird      9

With truth revealed, recalled, retold in congeries.     10

Esteem, embrace the wisdom of the Word adjured;     11

Prefer the halo, the crown of glory conferred.     12

The way of the right is a route evermore bright,     13

Enlightening perfectly with dawning daylight.     14

 

Before beginning, beyond ending, is the Word,     15

Commanding out of chaos, “Let there be light!”     16

Shining in darkness what darkness never immured:     17

Grace for grace, full of truth.  Because, despite the night,     18

Love and joy and peace, faith and hope and love unite     19

In one chivalrous, glorious Spirit imprese.     20

This with these announce Life, pronounce death’s obsequies.     21

 

Day dawns; the day star shines white.    22

Glory has risen aright.    23

Arise!  Shine!  It’s come, thy Light!    24

Excerpted from the novel entitled No Shadow of Turning: A Sojourner’s Tale, which is available as an e-book on Amazon.

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A Rose Is Best

3 08 2013

Of all flowers

Methinks a rose is best;

It is the very emblem of a maid.

For when the west wind courts her gently,

How modestly she blows, and paints the sun

With her chaste blushes. When the north winds near her,

Rude and impatient, then like chastity

She locks her beauties in her bud again,

And leaves him to base briers.

William Shakespeare

 

yellow roses





Wind and Window Flower

6 02 2013

Lovers, forget your love,
And list to the love of these,
She a window flower,
And he a winter breeze.
When the frosty window veil
Was melted down at noon,
And the cagèd yellow bird
Hung over her in tune,
He marked her through the pane,
He could not help but mark,
And only passed her by,
To come again at dark.
He was a winter wind,
Concerned with ice and snow,
Dead weeds and unmated birds,
And little of love could know.
But he sighed upon the sill,
He gave the sash a shake,
As witness all within
Who lay that night awake.
Perchance he half prevailed
To win her for the flight
From the firelit looking-glass
And warm stove-window light.
But the flower leaned aside
And thought of naught to say,
And morning found the breeze
A hundred miles away.

Robert Frost

winter floral 2





The Wind and the Moon

23 01 2013

winter moon

 

Said the Wind to the Moon, ‘I will blow you out!
You stare
In the air
As if crying
Beware
,
Always looking what I am about:
I hate to be watched; I will blow you out!’

The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.
So, deep
On a heap
Of clouds, to sleep
Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon,
Muttering low, ‘I’ve done for that Moon!’

He turned in his bed: she was there again!
On high
In the sky
With her one ghost-eye
The Moon shone white and alive and plain:
Said the Wind, ‘I will blow you out again!’

The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew slim.
‘With my sledge
And my wedge
I have knocked off her edge!
I will blow,’ said the Wind, ‘right fierce and grim,
And the creature will soon be slimmer than slim!’

He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread.
‘One puff
More’s enough
To blow her to snuff!
One good puff more where the last was bred,
And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go that thread!’

He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone.
In the air
Nowhere
Was a moonbeam bare;
Larger and nearer the shy stars shone:
Sure and certain the Moon was gone!

The Wind he took to his revels once more;
On down
And in town,
A merry-mad clown,
He leaped and holloed with whistle and roar-
When there was that glimmering thread once more!

He flew in a rage-he danced and blew;
But in vain
Was the pain
Of his bursting brain,
For still the Moon-scrap the broader grew
The more that he swelled his big cheeks and blew.

Slowly she grew-till she filled the night,
And shone
On her throne
In the sky alone
A matchless, wonderful, silvery light,
Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night.

Said the Wind, ‘What a marvel of power am I!
With my breath,
In good faith,
I blew her to death!-
First blew her away right out of the sky,
Then blew her in: what a strength am I!’

But the Moon she knew nought of the silly affair;
For, high
In the sky
With her one white eye,
Motionless miles above the air,
She never had heard the great Wind blare.

George MacDonald





The Snow Storm

5 01 2013
a cold light
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier’s feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.

winter wonderland

Come see the north wind’s masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer’s lane from wall to wall,
Maugre the farmer’s sighs; and, at the gate,
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind’s night-work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

 pine line





Who Has Seen The Wind?

1 01 2013
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.
Christina G. Rossetti
cypress overstory

John 3:8

King James Version (KJV)

The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit.





Again the Waters Flow

29 12 2012

alpine runoff

Like wool the snow God giveth,

Spreads hail o’er all the land,

Hoar frost like ashes scatters,

Who can His cold withstand?

Then forth His Word He sendeth,

He makes the wind to blow,

The snow and ice are melted,

Again the waters flow.

Psalm 147:15-18