Monday, November 26, 2012

The Spring

I can take you to a spring
On the borders of an old lawn
In the Island hills,
Lost in bushes above a small pool,
A woodland pool
That revels overgrown
In repose of lilies,
Reflections of clouds
and never goes dry,
Fed by a seeping spring.

Above, this spring rises
In a small stone cistern
I stumbled across,
Now clogged with moss and dead leaves,
Branches, mud and forest mold,
beside a rusty lamp post
Deep in the trees.

Whose were the hands
That laid the stones,
The dream of it,
Who remembers the purpose
For which it was built?

Yet a debris fettered spring
Begs to run fresh again,
Boiling up from its caverns
Fresh and clear.

I remember asking ,
Those dry and thirsty years ago,
Of one in a desert, fasting,
He gave me a long drink
from his flowing crystal spring.

I have never been thirsty again.

Now contemplating this choked place,
Something of flowing
In me needs,
More than understands.

Something human longs,
Needs the world
A garden paradise,
Where every spring wells
Feeding streams,
Fresh and cool and clear,
Where no one ever thirsts again.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Stable Studies

My little free ebook of Christmas poems, always growing a little every year called Stable Studies for December.  Please download and enjoy!

Sunday, November 4, 2012


You squeeze cement like a sponge
Grace like oil wick rises
Storms of electrons
At your fingertips ignite
A quiet flame
The light of the world