Life's sometimes hundrum haze
and maze of tangled thoughts
are now and then lit by illuminations
fleeting through the lens of revelation's eye;

like a full-moon in June fringed with
a late-night-hot-navy-blue satin sky
or an expanse of shimmering water
dotted here and there by an odd-dark-green island.

Waves and leaves rustling in the contented sphere,
radio-voices and soft music floating over
the air-waves travelling from a distant dwelling;

the identification of a wild plant or flower;
your only child putting his big toe in his mouth.

Miracles without grandeur,
miracles of simple import
with no screaming white gulls
spoiling the tranquil view of the sea's horizon.

Where to go from here
on this most intimate journey
towards eternity?

I do not know
but my faith remains firm
in trusting Your most precious wisdom!

Purpose -
to bring something
into existence
baptize it with a name
and bless it's frail tangibility
with an aura of poignant grace.

Yet again
the stars
are out
in all their
stupendous
glory;

as ever,
a silent
fireworks
of constant
dismay,

while
You knock
on the door
of my heart.

Please enter,
quickly,
that I
might
convey
to the world
with candlelike
signals

something of
the joys
of Your
workings
in, through
and  around
humankind.

Sounding
deep and deeper
into a myriad of memories;
into the archives of the mind's tomes;
into the roots and foundations
of a flowing and alternatively stagnant consciousness;
into the labyrinths
of emotional conflicts and behaviour;
into why there is anger, bitterness and contempt
and in the next beat love, compassion and even laughter.

Sometimes with daunting deduction there is a revelation
springing forth from the secret realms
of the subliminal self.

The hundrum existence of millions of lives suddenly ceased
as did their obedience to the drudgery of habit -
taking to the sea, to their gardens, to boats, cool drinks,
sun-tan lotions, ice-creams, cool dresses,
to light and shade as dictated to by desire.

Sand scorching to the naked foot glitters like gold for the having
and every square of every town shelters under a haven of umbrellas
and lazy liquor assisted sensuous talk.

The farmers work on a Sunday too
and weekend traffic jams sweat it out
to the blaring of radio cheerfulness in the extreme.

Spotless blue skies progress to star-lit canopies
and barbecues are the dominant feature of the early hours.

Sun and good humour, honest abandonment, salads and heavy foliage rule.

August sunlight
coupled with carefree breezes
flit through the well dressed oaks
outside of my rectangular window

and illuminate a stopgap
in the ongoing transience
of the seasons and time.