Poems

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.

One little leaf is waving at me— its fellow leaves already drifted down to meet the ground, performed their final dance of the season. But this little guy is hanging on— he seems to know I’m here watching, and needing to stay alert, to be cheered on, to remember I don’t have to do it myself—            it’s the wind            that makes me glorious            that moves me            that ignites my joy            that makes my brilliant light flash            a beacon to others            an act of praise to God—            as one of His “untired            worshippers.

Leaving behind the heaving surf of traffic the tide of timelines, we prepare with prayer— seeking true thoughts finding a secure rock. Called to hear, we listen: the sounding resonance of Soul guides and consoles us filling consciousness with Truth.

Speak to me, speak to me God’s angels, at my bedside. Speak to me, divine Love.

window flung wide— this everyday mind I thought was mine is Mind —Gwenn Gurnack.