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Andrew Fort May 12
The river is quiet
with velvety darkness.
The moon leaves her perch,
the clouds as her garment.

A trail of dreams,
lucent with meaning,
battered, not broken,
follows, careening.


He rowed through the bayou,
  Searching for the stars;
But the branches of the cypresses
  Had captured them in jars.
His little iron lantern,
  Flick’ring kernel of light,
Won’t discern though it burns
  Gold as sylvite.

You saw him there,
  A statue of wax;
You took your hammer
  And shattered the glass.
Though, like a bird,
  He’d molted his cloak,
You remembered the password—
  To which he awoke.


You did not know (for how could you?)
  That I was all alone.
But still you deigned to look at me
  And bind my broken bone.

My anxious wings had taken flight;
  The perch bore not a trace—
You taught me how to not recoil
  When human hands embrace.

You didn’t know what you had done.
You didn’t know what you had done.
You couldn’t have known what you had done.
  But thank you anyway.

Oh, Jonathan—
May your heart enfold:
Can’t you see your gold?
Can’t you see you’re gold?


The constellations still evade—
  I’ll climb the tree.
Keep ascending; no dismay
  (This I decree!)
I’ll catch a star, I swear, some way—
  On wings of chim-choo-rees.
But if I die before that day,
  Will you take one home for me?

. . . . .

There in that desert,
Hot as the stars,
I played my harp
And you the guitar

And with the smell
Of creosote
On the cool wind
You shed your coat.


Wending through the branches,
  Aloft in the sky,
Laughing and joking
  All through the night,
You found your love,
  To my great delight—
And when you pair embrace,
  I can’t help but sigh.

Let me bear that spear
  Thrown by your dad.
(“Don't worry or fear;
  The blood’s not so bad!”)
No!—could you have been saved
  Had I been there in time?—
For I’d rather brave
  That dagger in your spine!


Jonathan, my dearest friend,
  Won’t you lift your eyes?
Though you bleed and from there grieve,
  The seed of God’s inside.

I see your fear, though not so clear,
  For you take care to guard.
But you will neither raze nor pierce
  Your son where you’ve been scarred.

You hardly know how much you’ve grown.
You hardly know how much you’ve grown.
You can’t imagine how you’ve grown.
  But you have. You have.

Oh, Jonathan—
May your heart enfold:
Will you see your gold?
Will you see you’re gold?

. . . . .

The grass may wilt and flowers fade,
  But He steadfast remains.
And though carved ice resigns to melt,
  It runs into the lake.

For what are we but jars of dust?—
  Made that we may bear
The image of Him who painted us,
  Who deigns to hear our prayer.

We do not know where we will go.
We do not know where we will go.
We can’t begin to fathom where we’ll go.
  But—know it’s not in vain.

. . . . .

When moths at last consume my clothes,
  Will you remember?
Where stone-faced, dusty night arose,
  Will you remember?
When light endures its final throes,
  Will you remember?
Should I be lost within this grove,
  Will you remember?

When street-doors shut and grinding slows,
  We will remember.
Though hunters maim and shades enclose,
  We will remember.
All praise to God—the veil’s deposed;
  We can remember.
Because from death the Son arose,
  We can remember
  He will remember.

When, from my grave, the cypress grows,
  You will remember.
And when you sleep 'neath mountain snow,
  I will remember.
The epilogue eternal goes—
  “We shall remember!”
Forevermore we shall compose,
  cleansed by the ember.


      Oh, Jonathan—
      May your heart enfold
            (And should I be told?):
      Do you see your gold?
      Do you see—you’re gold?
Á Liam,
mon ami—
mon frère.
.
“A friend loves at all times,
and a brother is born for adversity.”
Proverbs 17:17
God
What is it?
No one knows
But everyone has an idea
A summary of the book of Job
Differing sins bicker amongst
Each other as to who shalt
Permanently shape me
After their ways and until
The end of my days.
Nay!
Let thy ways oh Yahweh
Become my second nature
That I may breeze through
tempation with ease.
When the mountains are melted,
The host of heaven dissolved and
The heavens rolled together as a scroll
And all the host fall down
The streams turned into pitch
It shall not be quenched night nor day
The unicorns shall come down
And the bullocks with the bulls
The cormorant and the bittern shall possess it
The thorns shall come up in her palaces
Nettles and brambles
It shall be a court for owls
There shall the great owl make her nest
And hatch
The vultures shall be gathered, every one with her mate
None shall want her mate
They shall possess it forever
Generation to generation
They shall dwell therein
Birds rule. Even the Bible says so.
The Bible is the historie of man,
And God and man, and God as man on earth;
The true account of how the world began;
The treasure map that leades to love and mirth;
The looking glasse wherein is seene the faire
Image of God, and all man's ugly sinnes;
The written word of God for ev'ry heir
Of saving grace who runnes the race and winnes;
The booke of lyfe writ in my Saviour's bloud,
Dictated in the Spirit's whisper'd breath;
The foil for ev'ry curse; the cure for death;
The greatest booke about the greatest good;
The pasture for the sheepe; the sheepfold ****;
Manna from heav'n; the ladder up to God.
Tick tock, tick tock:
God has the pow'r
To bust the clock
And break the hour,

To stand the sun
Still in the sky
Till Joshua's won
His victory.

Time will disband
All flesh that's grass:
Time is just sand
That passes glass.

With much ado
A year's begun,
But nothing's new
Under the sun.
Out of the depths I cry
To You, Father of Lights!
My God, who reigns on high,
Out of the highest heights,
Please, God, look down on me
And turn to me an ear,
That You a son may see,
His supplications hear.

Were You each sin to count,
To weigh, and make us bear,
Who, Lord, could stand th'amount
To shoulder where'er they err?
No one.  But God forgives.
Fearsome, the Lord God reigns.
With sovereign pow'r He lives,
The pow'r to whiten stains.

I wait for You, O Lord:
O Lord, my soul will wait.
My hope is in the Word,
And so my hope is great.
And more, O more than they
Who watch and wait for morn,
My soul awaits, I say,
Awaits You, unforlorn.  

Israel, trust in Him:
Redemption plenteous
For all your evils grim
He offers in overplus.
Israel, hope in God,
For God is merciful:
He will not spare the rod,
But covers it with wool.
Elaenor Aisling Dec 2021
In the night
Memories drift like the hair of a drowned man
The waves a callous lullaby
curling around the body of his sleeping wife
the unburdened curve of her hip against the moonlight
The drift of her breath in the dark
Coursing to match the sea wind
That sings across the lake’s dark mirror.
Her black hair spills across his hands
Ensnared, he pulls her in
To the harbor of his great shoulders—
It is the same
As it was on their first night
she is warm, small,
still smelling of the almond blossoms
she gathered in twilight.
But tonight, his impetuous heart is awake
Moving between the woman in his arms
And the messiah in the next room
the love he bears both
At once consuming
And unbinding,
his heart a stone
On which they both
rest.
Lily Oct 2021
I close my eyes and
Try to imagine all the
Impossible things—

The things that God has
Done that I simply can’t wrap
My little head ‘round—

The continents He’s
Designed, the canyons forged and
The rivers that He

Made to flow, all the
Flowers He taught to grow that
Bloom in their seasons.

The world sings of the
Power of God, of the One
Creator of all.

This world He did sculpt
All for us with His perfect
Paintbrushes of love.
inspired by my personal Bible study today in Genesis 1! :)
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