Alone again
in the nochturnal
hours,
with pen
in hand,
as the music
soothes
an awakening
soul.

Every day
I drink wine,
break and share
bread
with my family.

It is not a ritual
but a simple blessing
and comfort -
a communion of necessity
and joy.

2 girls
full of joy,
linked
arm in arm
and dancing
down the road -
not knowing
yet
what the future
has in store
for them.

O! Sacred Muse
where is Your voice
in this dry
and empty
desert of immensity?

In dark isolation,
this winter's morning,
the heart yearns apparently alone
while the mind remains vacant.

Havig put the radio on
music from a requiem
seems to add to a soul's distress.

I place my pen on the table again.

Up there,
above the crowns
of darkened bare wintry trees
the rabbits delight
in all the joys of good conversation.

They are no more afraid
of eavesdroppers
or of the colour
of their coats.

Your heart here
is like a beacon
guiding burdened mortals
from the surfaces of ever darkening waters
to the shores of a safe place of shelter.

For Marie Shine.

Where the winds blow;
where the roads roam;
where the sun drys;
where the waters flow;
where the mountains soar;
where the towns lie;
where the oceans swell;
where seeds grow;
where the rains fall;
where the flowers bloom
You are there!

King of the night
with no servant in sight.

Most lights out
just me up and about

I stare at the snow
in between handling
my precious words with care.

Seeds that must grow and grow
in the springtime of my soul
being laid bare.

I am
going
to Your
house
to
receive
You
into my heart -

that
I might
translate
something
of
Your
ethereal heights
into
everyday
life.

Today
in the dry harbour
of my mind
the words
lie on their sides
incapable
of setting to sea.

Precious
the days,
the hours
and the minutes
for the creation and cutting
of verbal diamonds
and rolling rhythms
in Your name.

The race is on!

To
people alone
in single rooms
and countless cities
listening to sad music
with heads resting on hunched up shoulders.

I have a friend
who can't read or write.

I listen to him.

He always
hits the nail on the head!

I'm
a fool , a fool,
a fool
with a pen;

sometimes
a happy fool
with a pen,
with a pen
in his den.

Sometimes
a happy fool!

Presently
You will come
into my famished
heart.

Help me, then,
times
without number,
to reflect
something of Your            
more than ultra radiant
light

in an opaque world.