Still Time.

The day is almost gone.
It is the dying of the light.
Behind the last rays of gold
is the mystery of the night.

Yet amongst these fading fragments,
the remnants of the day,
is still the opportunity
to redirect the feet of clay;

time to walk a better way,
time to be gentle and kind,
time for beauty, love and truth,
time to grow in spirit mind,

and if there is a grand summit
existing beyond the night,
seen only by the eye of faith,
veiled for now from mortal sight,

there is still time to hope in faith,
still time to run the race,
still time to reach out the hand,
still time for God's good grace.

Tree.

Tree.

(for Ikeogu Oke)

Although they spread deep and wide
from before measured history,
these ancient anchoring roots
are still the one great tree.

Although it towers, twists and turns,
is marked and scarred for all to see,
this changing, gnarled and mottled trunk
is still the one great tree.

Although some bend to touch the earth
whilst others soar in elegant beauty,
this vast spreading tangle of branches
is still the one great tree.

Although they blossom, bloom and droop
in cyclical, never-ending creativity,
these flowers, fruit and seed
are still the one great tree.

So too we who dream and love,
who share the common bond of humanity,
who have hearts, minds, hands and voice
are still the one great tree

Some branches may be full of thorns
but others grow in truth and poetry.
They raise their voice to sing
that we are all part of the one great tree

and in singing, rejoice,
in pureness of heart and simplicity,
across the deserts and mountains of this earth
that we are all part of the one great tree.

Earth

Earth.

I sense beneath the skin of ground
a mighty heart in rhythmic beat,
feel its vastness and its strength,
a pulse of life beneath my feet,

Sense an exhalation of breath
scud the clouds and sway the leaves,
form the ponds, rivers and lakes
from deep communion with the seas.

I feel its wind song in my heart,
a slant of light inside my brain,
inhale scents rich like heady wine,
absorb the soak of steady rain.

Know it holds me in its arms,
hear its blended sounds rejoice,
and to the songs of bird and breeze
In simple praise add my small voice.

It holds me, sustains me, gives me life,
richly enfolds me all around
and will still hold me in its arms,
even when I am in the ground.

Yet deep within my heart and mind
I sense a greater, cosmic force
behind and through and in it all,
the one great true eternal source.

This Ocean, So Deep and Vast

This ocean, so deep and vast,
Is rarely calm or quiet.
Rippling wind, zephyr and gale
bring troughs, crests or cliff-pounding roar.
What can we do who are held in its tide
but take courage and surrender to its flow,
knowing that in stillness and storm alike
richness and beauty abounds.
Let then this immensity
take me where it will.

Frog Song Haiku

evening chorus,
ecstatic cacophony
of frogs praising rain.

I Know the Renewal in the East

I see renewal in the east,
the water rising from the sea,
the rain that falls from tumbling cloud,
the bright new flush from seed.

I see the momentary eastern blaze,
the transient dew of dawn,
the setting sun's fading glow
reflected in the morn.

I watch the river's rush and flow,
the rapids running free,
the current and the torpor,
the dispersal into sea.

I feel the dapple and the dark,
the sunshine and the shadow,
slanting columns, backlit clouds,
laughter, love and sorrow.

I sense the weight of night,
its embroidered velvet mystery,
the trek of stars across the sky,
the incomprehensible eternity.

Come, Hold Me

Come, hold me,
for the world is so mingle mixed,
so contrastingly, proportionally fixed-
pain flooded, beauty buoyant,
achingly sad, fleetingly joyous,
poignantly littered, pathos strewn,
touchingly tender, savagely hewn-
for under this blue, beauty-laden sky
we laugh, labour, mourn and sigh,
seek answers to an unknowable why,
see much to make the tender heart cry-
so hold me. Make all seem bright.
Tenderly grant me your sweet respite.
Bathe me in your wonder and light.
Momentarily wash away the night.