Poems

There is an inner city coming; I see its form evolving and its purpose, and it is to be called man. Citadel man.

It seemed to his friends that Simon had become a hard man, No longer ready to fish with them—all involved with his new religion. They may have called him fanatical.

Straight, straight to You, Father, like the flight of a bird, go my waking thoughts. Swift, now will I stablish the essential pattern for the emerging day.

Up there down there in there out there— All nowhere! Here is the place, here is the face of God, Spirit. All good here all health here all substance here.

There is no need for sorrow or despair When someone loved has vanished from our sight. In our true home there is no empty chair, No darkness in God's universe of light.

I will listen. Too much has been said in the world that is not to the point.

"Our": an all-embracing sound; "Our Father," reaching all around the universe, the world, the heart. Our is the place to start.

"Here on these waters a man walked. " "So it is written—yes, I know.

Rise up! You're not forsaken or alone. A tomb never hid the glory, The shining radiance of being.

The stone was heavy (who would roll it away?) but heavier than stone was grief/fear. Harder than stone was shock /loss.