Poems

We search in vain for man in mortal history. Old/young, birth/maturation/death are mundane concepts; deceptive, darkened fancies, which are effaced by light-drenched actuality.

From bush to mount to "thou shalt not"— one Voice—no choice. Bondage banished.

In strong command, the Master tells us all to "watch and pray" to see when Christ might come. What do we watch, how do we hear the call that wakes, and makes the voice of darkness dumb? What speaks to us in constant, random voice, this lulling message of the earthly view? It is a monologue of mortal choice that boasts and says, "I am the only you.

There's one thing wrong with tales of pots of gold, elusive and unclaimed at rainbow's end; they mean the rainbow's only semicircle— Like un kept vows, or stories left half-told. The rainbow's round; one half reveals the clue, The other we discover.

Have You forgotten me, Lord? I have been praying so hard; My children hunger for bread. Earth burdens weigh on my head.

Loneliness can weigh heavy as a sack of coal on the back. My load bent me almost double, that, and discouragement.

I woke up heart drum-rolling to find no one, nothing and listened in night stillness for a sound, a footfall. "Who's there?" rang in my thought but brought only shadowed shapes, the murmur of house settling.

Verily, verily, I say unto you, If a man keep my saying, he shall never see death. (John 8:51) Never to die? O precious Bible promise— understandable, in degree, if I see myself now as Life's incorporeal, indelible idea.

How do I know it? I asked in anguish. How do I know that God loves me now? (Turn that around, it's upside down.

Human sympathy can be warm and comforting, like an angora blanket. It does much good.