Before the sun

Before the sun

the daystar rises;

newly bright herald

noelling the world

with its singular song.

A solo note

for stunning day

winging angel messages

to a waiting world.

 

Earth, bated breathlessly,

waits, sighing,

carpeted with tears

robed with fear

in seasoned flood.

 

‘Fear not’

the glistened shine

of wings.

‘Fear not’

the unexpected word

piercing darkness

with the torrent of Light.

 

Behold

for you

in silent

ambush

the Word

becomes

flesh.

 

 

I heard your silvered words

 
I heard your silvered words,
soft tongued and eloquent,
gentle on the battleground.

 

The wounded gathered round,
dragging their brokenness,
shell shocked and damaged;
dreams dismissed to bedlam
as thunderous life blasted and screamed
in a clamour of uninvited voices.

 

Eager ears and searching minds
scrambled to your touch,
bringing their wounds.  
Open sores at parade ground attention
to be dressed by healing syllables,
soothed, made whole.

 

Rabbi, teacher, your words leave no scars,
no irritating itch of knitting tissue
nor reminding hurt of bruise or blemish.
Bandage and sling,
splint and brace
pile high beyond this tent of healing;
testament to those who overhear your conversation.

 

I heard your silvered words
on this hill,
as we munched loaves and fish,
but fed upon you.

 

I heard your silvered words
on another hill, a darker vista,
as our eyes feasted on the hate of man
And you taught another lesson:
“Father forgives”.

 

Stars are for lovers


Stars are for lovers,

was it ever so; trysts in secret

span the dark encompassing.

Stars are for moments,

snowflakes in the skies

melting with the dawn.

 

Stars are for lovers,

was it ever so;

for love places them there.

So with that single star,

redemptions light,

that draws inquisitive strangers

to an alien land

and a greater love.

 

Stars are for lovers,

shadows of loves ‘greater light’

reflections of a wondrous night

and choir-lit hillside

resounding with glory.

The ghosts return(tsunami revisited)

The ghosts return

embodied in restless minds,

encased in feared remembrances.

The ghosts return

with every glance at the broken landscape,

with every sight of sea-wrecked lives,

with every sadness of loss.

The ghosts return

the night-madness of distress

clouding each sunrise

with watery graves,

a never receding

unclean tide.

The ghosts return,

they bring them,

they carry them within.