Poems

Like arms cast around a child the solo embraces thought, draws us in. It is the song of Soul perfectly toned to prepare us: the solo is not an interlude, it is the calm vestibule opening to the heart of the Word.

You live an idea of Spirit, incorporeal, innocent, borne on Mind’s high wings where no dust clings. We gather energy from Spirit, read the stars through Love’s purview, and find reality in the science of Soul’s alleluias.

Father, so let us be risen with Thee, Whom but the pure in heart only canst see,      That Thine own Sabbath morn      Look on the newly born,      Giving Thy servants, Lord,            Rest and reward. Dust unto dust is given, earth chords are riven; “Hast Thou forsaken me?” echoed to heaven.

When the bloom is off the rose And the question .

It came to him, “Seek ye my face. ” He had been staring at a cracked mirror, On the wall of consciousness Seeing ugliness, distortion.

The knit stitch—not the opposite of purl but the reflection. Knit one side—the other purls.

The grand cathedral stands so tall, Resplendent, with its buttressed wall. But looking close, you soon will see How, stone on stone, it came to be.

Paul’s voice—through the power inherent in his words of truth—booms. Its tones reverberate through the centuries right into my heart and Work as a tuning device to bring me in accord with God’s song.

You know me like Your favorite song, an open book, a page turned wrong .

  Hear, Father, hear my cry!      darkness doth lower, Oh, let the soul draw nigh      man, in this hour. Calmly the feet may tread,      where soul hath trod, Over earth-woe and dread,      in its pure God;   In its unworldly love,     bearing the cross, Weighing the good, above      all that is loss.