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Lawrence Hall Jul 2019
Four Psalms to be Sung

             “Vespers each day has four psalms to be sung”

                                    -Saint Benedict

Soft Vespers is the evening’s liturgical hour
In the natural rhythm of each life
A song of the ordered world now hymned into
The verses of that Song He sings through us

This hour is given to us when sunbeams slant
Across the floor and up onto the Cross
And there we leave the labors of our day
Our works of hand and heart and mind and soul

Eternal truths chanted by every tongue:
“Vespers each day has four psalms to be sung” 1

1 Saint Benedict’s Rule, Ampleforth Abbey
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
Lawrence Hall Mar 2017
Grandfather’s Vespers

His rocking chair pendulums in the dusk
His coffee cup’s half-empty, what’s left’s gone cold
His newspaper’s folded and set aside -
In the evening light he doesn’t see so well

Mist rises from the neighbor’s new-mown field
Shy rabbits nibble along the old fence row
Grandchildren escape from supper into the yard
Chasing lightning bugs while Grandfather smokes

His rocking chair pendulums in the dusk
And so helps stabilize the universe
A response to The Butterfly Effect
Kevin J Taylor Oct 2015
Sometime around vespers or matins, still dreaming or about to—
swimming spaceless beyond the stretch where vision is blindness
where photons tumble like Phaethon from his chariot afire

Where time beats that archetypal
echo of rhymed nothingness
pulsing through ALL verse


Except to those returning soul-side
grooving to the hush between the beats—
the authors of such co-labours as these
Vespers, evening prayers. Matins, morning prayers, morning birdsong.

Phaëthon [fey-uh-thuh n, -thon] In Greek Mythology Phaëthon is the son of Helios, the sun deity. Phaëthon borrowed the chariot of the sun and drove it too close to the earth where Zeus killed him with a thunderbolt to save the world.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)

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