To be seated in your midst knowing
What the longed for child knows that
He belong that she delights; can do
No wrong that would take away the
Birthright to be seated here. Strong
Is the content to be least among many
By love assured in this community
Belonging a colleague  ever anon.
That  may bear witness to the glory

Our Father You who are at all times everywhere
The only true reality.  Your Kingdom is now and
Always was and forever will be.  You give us our
Daily bread.You forgive us.  We too forgive all.
Boundlessly are we are loved so boundless is
Our love.  You do not lead us astray but Keep
Us safe.  We see you now as in a vanishing mist
Ever more clearly that our love may grown
But in our heart of hearts you are truly one.

There are many ideas we lend
Credence to.  Old saws too
Often heard.  We believe
Them .  Think they are
True in a pallid way but
Convincing proof it is no
Longer known. Yet were
Once truly experienced
Now they are tired unto
Death.  What is this but
A forgetting of tiredness
Of unfeeling.  To wake to
A new vibrancy of feeling
Of meaning, of keenly
Knowing.  Look and be
Astonished at how the
Grass is green.  Feel its
Green love.  Let it go in
You.  It is a salad that
You are hungry for.
Eat it with voracious
Eyes as the truth of
Green love.  You are
A horse set free at last
Into the living meadow
Do you not love Him
Who has said I make
All things new (at last)
But it was always so
And it is a wonder and
Cannot be remembered
I love you.  I love you.


For Stanley who loved the green

That we are living in Alternative
History and How long has it
Been?  If we have anything
To thank DT for it is at last
We must take the question
Seriously and if we choose
In the affirmative- What
If anything can we do.?
Can I can you Wake up
If we don't realize we are
Dreaming; a serial dream
Of many days and nights.
I imagine it will take a  loss
Of memories, a collective
Alzheimers in which we
Return to childhood where
History is only a rumor, a
Fairy tales that has some
Entertainment value to
Adults; but  is a story
We can only enter into
By a suspension of Dis-
Belief; and what do we
Really believe in in those
Childish days  For myself:
There is a Mother and Dad
A baby sister Sue, My two
Grandmothers and my
Aunt. My neighborhood
My dog Stubby and my
First best friend Ronny.
My neighborhood of
Small houses on a circle
Other children.Exploring
A little woods secluded
And finding some big
Mica rocks and strange
Red bugs under them with
Ronnie and Stubby nearby
All the time in the world
Today...  I suppose  that this
Too is a dream or  memory
Of a dream.  But it is a
Better dream and some
Of us old folks know it.
Just too many fake facts
Today  and so Donald
It's good to know that
There is something we
Can agree on even if
Its not that you really
Won the presidency.

Life is a poignant tale. Travels
Faster than the speed of light
leading fools to dusty death
I trust  S, meant that in a
Kindly way.  It is not our
Choice, poor players to be
Otherwise.  From the dark
Of earliest beginnings to
We get to Now faster than
A speeding bullet traveling
Through times tunnel but
Tomorrow is yet a ways
Off we think. It is more
Powerful than a thundering
Locomotive that goes thru
Everything to get you
To the end who knows
Where or when.  What
I mean to say is that
I was young once like
You and it all passed
In a moment in the great
Fire leaving only the ashes
Of knowing it was gone.
But when it's gone
It's gone.  Gone to
Memories all.  Even
Unto that original
Darkness from whence
We came  and if it should
Last a million million
Years till the light comes
To your eyes again.it will
Seem like only yesterday
You passed away and were
Born again today.  It is
Not within the power of
An ordinary man to do
All this but any super-
Man like you or I Yes
We could do it.  Dusty
Death Hell no not us.
Not forever.  The Bard
Be ****** The comet
Will return and so will
Mark Twain and the
Baby Jesus too   Just you
Wait and see Even S.
No matter what he
Said.  There are more
Things under heaven
and Earth than are
In your philosophy
Alas poor Horatio
I knew him well
So maybe we can
Both be right but
Yesterdays comet
Is gone and life is a
Poignant song that
Is famous log ago.

It is hard to explain-The busy
World becomes more alien
You are no longer a part of
It-In truth it was never all
But the stranger in you is
Larger now till it is largest
You do not notice until you
Bump up against the world,
The normal seems so strange
It is a great pretense to know;
A self agrandisement, and
Vanity of knowledge-Un
Aware that all is passing
Away.  This you see more
And more but the World
Cannot Cannot admit it
Is only playing. Play is
For children is it not?
We  who are better know
WE Know; and must be taken
Seriously.  Such is the
World that with all of
Its might it thinks it is
Right.  Has the right
To be the lawgiver of
Reality; and woe to you
If you get in the way.
Alas poor Jesus, poet
Of the living gospel
You did not go along
It seems you are ever
More with me now.
And the Kingdom of
God still so far but more
And more all that matters.
It is hard to explain but
There must be Another place
Something every child knows.
There must be another place

Like any writer I am
Concerned with the
Right word but only
So much if it eludes
Then I count it love's
Labor lost and it is
Only right for love
Should not be a bit
Of labor I am told.
Anyway I believe
That the ill fitting
Word can even at
Times work better.
Like the boy who is
Wearing his older
Brother's handme-
Downs may look
More winsome to
The loving eye who
Sees knowing life's
Struggle- understands
The child's goodness
Better than the tailor
Fit could express it.
Sometimes a little
Play a;  little wobble
Is best.  I am told the
Earth's orbit shows a
Small eccentricity that
It will probably grow
Out of just before we
All crash into the sun
Until then I say we can
All be write as we are.