Earth.

I would that all eyes open to this
cloud-tumbling, wind-waving, pink-hued, scarlet-blazed, sun-sparkled,
gurgling, tumbling, surging, pounding, mirror-reflecting,
tendril-gripping, needle-leafed, tree-towering, cacti-flowering,
rose-scented, daisy-drenched, nectar-dripping, bee-buzzing,
bird-filled, insect-littered, mammal-cluttered, fish-crowded,
spinning, revolving, space-floating, voyaging
uniqueness,
the planet earth,
shared home of all life,
living our brief moments in peace as caretakers,
tending, beautifying, sustaining,
handing it to the future
so that they too, in their brief moments,
can live in, gaze on, be inspired by, sing praise about
or wonder in awe upon
its great, complex and diverse magnificence.

Quest.

Some build their ships of death
and load them with their precious things,
others sail towards a golden realm,
a world of art they call "Byzantium",
all searching for some distant shore,
setting their minds on realms invisible,
choosing to chart a mysterious sea,
the unknown vastness of the spiritual.

That self-same spirit has set me to wander,
throw my heavy pack upon my back,
and set out for some unseen place
along an undulating, winding track,
making foolish turnings, carrying weights
which impede or render willingly blind,
but adding delights found along the way,
in essence searching for truths of the mind

and in so doing, seek transformation,
for though the journey's end inspires,
this road is more about a personal quest
to shed the mind of selfish desires,
low things like hatred, strife and envy,
replacing them with the pure spirits of love,
joy, compassion, mercy and gentleness,
qualities not of earth but from above-

a quest towards a state of becoming,
sadly so wretchedly incomplete
that the mind could easily in despair
stop, give up, concede defeat
were it not for the end of the road,
the sustaining goal for which I search
includes a future of glory, joy and peace,
created not in heavens but here on earth.

And if this modern world of discovery,
in its quest for knowledge and the physical,
scoffs at such dreaming as foolishness
and seeks satisfaction in realms material,
I still turn my head to those ancient hills
in grand, ambitious spiritual yearning,
and in this beautiful earth continue to walk
as if life is a momentary sojourning

where there is no abiding place,
not when there are torrents of grief,
where sorrow mourns, mortality reigns
and humans cruelly inflict arrogant beliefs.
I then will walk, will continue to wander,
on paths which in challenging undulations wind,
searching for peace, truth and transformation,
desiring the journey's end to be a state of mind.

The Narrow Gate.

"Enter by the narrow gate....For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few." Matthew 7:13-14

The beautiful gate swung open,
all I had to do was ask,
then entering through its narrow way,
embrace its wonder, accept the task

and set my feet steadfastly upon
a path made deep and smooth,
where much love and care ensured
all impediments were removed;

a beautiful, deeply polished way
from many walkers gone before,
come from nations over all the earth,
from near-at-hand or distant shore,

all walking towards that shining grace
that I'll call it the light of dawn,
where multitudes of angels dwell
with the assembly of the firstborn,

where the King of Glory reigns,
in joy, love, hope and peace,
a place beyond all pain and tears,
a place where praise will never cease,

a place made open by the man
who walked alone long, long before
with such strength, love and self-denial
it fills my mind with love and awe.

I've seen Him set His face to walk,
lift up the shame-filled harlot's head,
touch a leper, heal the sick,
raise a widow's son from the dead;

I've come to know He is the door,
come to see He is the road,
come to understand as well
it was He who bore my heavy load,

because the pack that I do bear
is weighty with objects that retard-
vanities, pride, selfish desires.
These I have longed to discard

and replace them with the fruit
so freely strewn along the track-
love, joy, peace and patience-
a sustaining lightness in my pack,

and I have come in hope to know
that citizenship in that beautiful place,
the promised city, the journey's end,
is granted freely through faith and grace.

O yes, the journey's end that I desire
though not within my strength to fulfil,
is Yours to give in love and grace,
so help me to surrender to Your will,

and leading, guiding, help me to walk,
directing my steps along the way.
O take my hand like a little child's.
Let Your grace transcend my clay.

The Transcendent Surge.

Sometimes, when the heart is heavy,
the world of wonder and beauty can seem
little more than a vast, pitiless sea
with dark waves rolling relentlessly on,
great, towering crests and troughs
carrying only strife, struggle, injustice
and a squalid, petty, deceiving tide
of narrow self-interest. Then
I reach for your hand, feel its warmth,
sense a strange, mysterious connection,
the greater sea of lives intimately shared,
and buoyed by a wave of love, hope and joy,
surrender to its greater, transcendent surge,
letting it take me wherever it will.

In the Nursing Home.

That great gift-giver, Time,
Has brought them to a point
Where they shuffle slowly in their frames
Or sit quietly in their chairs
Sustained by remnants of memory,
Waiting for they know not what.
Weep for them, shed your tears,
But in this life of vulnerable mortality
Time has gifted them abundance of years.
The weight of Time's gifts has bent them,
Carried them at last to the great, dark portal
Through which all life must flow,
Carried them ceaselessly along
With one final gift to bestow,
The release into serenity,
Into quiet, conscious-less eternity,
Time's final gift of letting them go.

the spider's web

the spider's web hangs
in silky soft symmetry
laced with sun and dew.

I search for words

I search for words for earth's mystery
but they, like mercury, slip away,
or lie, too dense, like heavy clay-
what remains are haiku, mere slithers of day-

So...

         a microcosm-
         dewdrop's quivering glisten
         on silvered soft grass

         inevitable-
         the slow fluttering spiral
         of single spent leaf

         o now gaze upon
         this stunning white flowering
         on bare winter's branch

For youth, death and rebirth
these will suffice-
but not for sun, moon or sky,
nor love, hate, fire or ice.