This is a Place

This is a place
Where the faeries play
In perfect imperfection
This is a place
Where reality grows
In meaning and intention

woods 13

Cause like the wind
Is a record borne
Upon glorious exultation
Thought like the sky
Is the heavens sought
Above man’s lamentation

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What name by the same
Do the Druids go
This age’s contemplation?
This is a place
The invisible sing
In quiet adoration

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Listen if you will
For the woodlands speak
Of things not man’s invention
This is a place
Where the dreamers dream
Of angel-sweet intention

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Grasp if you will
Tales of wordless Voice
And wordless deep expression
Grasp if you will
The Tale of the Wood
By intuited impression

Day Prose

blog images Mary

Thank you for this beautiful dream, oh GOD
The morning birds
Singing, they greet me
The life of flower, fruit, mountain and bee
Leaves of purple, gold or pine
And with artist’s brush
Some powdered white
In confectioners sugared branches

The rivers that run wild
Their torrents of grace
Laugh like following, canine companions
And in a niche
There’s an entire grove

Filled with sweet oranges
We can eat all we want
Know the divine
That draws not a dragon’s breath

The spotless lady knows the way
But there for those that fear her
With angry thoughts
They do not want to know
The Father’s plan
Which is something good
To teach small children
When they startle awake
Arising from where they fell
On bruised and bent knees

Oh world meant to serve
To remind us of Eden
And remember life’s Maker
Until then our marvelous mystery
The day we return to You
Finally opening our eyes
We will also remember
All suffering and sadness
Undone
The day we return to Eden

Unwinding Keys

This is a philosophical poem I wrote about the terrorist attacks in Paris.  I think David Byrne’s music is a fitting orchestral accompaniment.

A headline in the news
They broke her eldest daughter
And victims were confused
With victims of the slaughter

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They spoke in ancient ways
With candles and with flowers
But refuge is not found
In stadiums or towers

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Mad world you are so cruel
She wants nothing of you
Mad world you are a fog
Very few can see through

(c) Frances Maynard; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

Mad world you grow so dark
Darker every minute
Surrounding her with words
With which they hope to spin it

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She gathers up her young
And runs with haste to refuge
See chicks escape the rain
While great beasts drown in deluge

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Can you hear her now?

She speaks in music’s silence
And paints a bright new world
An end to all the violence

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Mad world you are so cruel
She’s in her bridal chambers
Singing of His love
And children safe from dangers

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Children take these keys

It’s in the breach, remind them
Unravel to your birth
And in the light you’ll find Him

                                         paris-image-for-blog-lourdes

Father Christmas

“Those of us who remain hidden from everyone else, however, know that this world is wondrous and filled with mysteries.  We possess no magical perception, no psychic insight.  I believe our recognition of reality’s complex dimensions is a consequence of our solitude…

– Dean Koontz

 

To live in the city of crowds and traffic and constant noise, to be always striving, to be in a ceaseless competition for money and status and power, perhaps distracted the mind until it could no longer see – and forgot – the all that is.  Or maybe, because of the pace and pressure of that life, sanity depended on binding oneself to the manifold miracles, astonishments, wonders, and enigmas that comprised the true world.”             

– Dean Koontz

innocence

A gentle soul, a victim’s lot

He though he’d give respect

To the brother who knew not his

And for his self, neglect

 

Christmas said to a gilded duck

I don’t obey the man

And it’s not I who’s discontent

With dying words or plan

 

But greed and lust more gullible

Than innocent will scream

When found guilty of the theft

Of what the dying dream

 

For in the land of treasures lost

False pity’s strewn as true

And even victim’s refuse gifts

Of what they never knew

 

Father Christmas tell me then

Please, how to gift men’s hearts

So that their eyes may open wide

Instead of shopping carts

 

First, they must reassess their words

For worry isn’t love

True charity’s designed to heal

False pity is a shove

 

And though the state will oft neglect

A will they haven’t read

Honest aid won’t compensate

Kin seated ’bout his bed

 

Nor the girl who suffered much

From same false charity

But silent, careful words ring loud

Until the blind can see

 

Second, sleep where beggars sleep

And dine where beggars dine

Before you dispense men’s slavery

And call it treasures fine

 

The living cry, the dead don’t sigh

The dead don’t even weep

But those disdain sweet justice call

Will toss and turn in sleep

 

As for me, I make my way

Deliver Golden Light

To hopeful hearts who dream of heaven

And Christmas in the night

 

For though we visit and chat they’re not

The ones I’ve come to see

Translation belongs to GOD alone

And understanding is on knee

 

Rejoice then child, come take my hand

On this fine Christmas ride

And I will entertain with ghosts

Transfer safely, by my side

Raymond’s Song

I write this poem in honor of my dearly departed cousin Raymond, who entrusted with me the carrying out of his deathbed decree. 

For false relatives continue to flock like vultures over their would be victim’s heads, and some continue to treat me and their dying son and brother’s last words with as much ignorance as they would wish upon their victims. They have replaced their false sympathy for those who suffer with empty threats and promises, for now no one will pay them a false allegiance.

Yet they act as if dark deeds have never before been challenged.

They are all becoming like one troubled soul I know, who thinks the state can take away his earthly mansion, for not doing the bidding of an evil man. 

As for me, as long as I have a voice and live on this earth, I will continue to rejoice and sing Heaven’s Song.

For as Raymond said it, they don’t get it.

They just don’t get it anymore.

It is not us who are suffering.

Never was.

Never will be.

And never will be ever after.

 

Help of the helpless

My dear family

This is my deathbed


Fear not, abide with me



The dark shadows lesson

God’s means and ways made clear

Oh my sweet family

Awake, abide with me


For my dear Lord Jesus

Bearing gifts

He calls to me

Like Christmas morning

Rejoice, abide with me


This is no false vision

In Heaven I’ll awake

For no actions I have taken

For false or pity sake


Hear my Last Word 
and Testament

Heaven’s story I will tell

Trust is not forbidden there

False charity is hell


God does not abandon us

Or withdraw His Father’s Love

When we cannot do His will

As injured sparrow, lamb or dove


Renovate God’s mansions

Like flowers in the Son

Tether not the captives

The misfits that you shun


Long I loved you in life

No false attempt to charm

Ne’er false words spoken

To no gentle brother harm


Help of the helpless

Lean close  dear family

Abide with me forever

Lean close and hear and see


I have loved this life too dearly

Vultures pass not where I lie

I have loved this death too gladly

To speak error while I die


The motive of  intention

Will remain forever clear

Do not reward with slavery

Intervention do not fear


For at birth we are delivered

Through His Image all made same

But through death we are delivered

Wild and free God calls by Name


You are not the help of helpless

Nor the spouse to marry me

You are not celestial virgin

Infant born beneath my tree


Let us build the City of God

Make haste abide with me

Mother’s house is in the after

Abusers’ kingdoms will not be