Across the fading valley
The silver bay shines,
effulgent edge
under twilight hills.
Confined
flat waters
cut a thin line
beneath dark heights.
Saw-toothed ridges
rip thin clouds
to ragged shreds —
the plunging sun ignites
the resplendent light
of love
for this sad, winter world.
In the psalms of night birds
in the bright morning trees,
I hear your song echoing,
overwhelming me.
Always above me,
around and below,
inside me your love’s
a constant glow.
In warm summer’s ocean,
in the soft breath of night
I sway in the rhythm
of passionate life.
night rises
from dark soil
slowly filling
the space between
slender blades
spreading its
ink over windows,
eaves, still trees
until the earth
becomes one
with the
stars.
late in the day
the shadows grow
night rises, upwelling,
overwhelming
delicate myrtles –
roses drowning
in the darkening tide.
(7 July 2015)
Evening star rising
into day’s fading sky,
alone, serene,
and wondrously bright,
surpassing dark hills
to cerulean night.
(7 May 2012)
The setting sun spills
over rolling brown hills
glancing back for one final flashing.
Then night’s black wind
heavy day’s veil rends
with a gale from the sea coldly piercing.
When warm day is done,
cool night’s just begun
its lusty old song sweetly calling
the cricket and linnet,
and bold frog in the thicket,
and dim trees gently swaying.
edge of night,
cold consuming
blackening hills,
clears barely
the deepening ridge
bright tears –
star of the sea.
“There is not a flower that opens, not a seed that falls into the ground, and not an ear of wheat that nods on the end of its stalk in the wind that does not preach and proclaim the greatness and mercy of God to the whole world.
There is not an act of kindness or generosity, not an act of sacrifice done, or a word of peace and gentleness spoken, not a child’s prayer uttered, that does not sing hymns to God.”
Thomas Merton, “Friday Psalm Prayer,” A Book of Hours
night rises
from the still-warm earth
climbs rough trunks to
higher planes
to where leaves still burn
in golden flames.
sky is slate
trees like surf
rolling waves
rush in
converge
night’s rising
the earth unfurls
darkness filling
the waning
world.
poems 