Failing them for fear
our oft desolate dreams
its becomes us a sensual search
for simple significance...
personal significance
Beating bushes
blazing trails
firing hills
and failing them all
for fear of failing
and a rhyme and resonance unrealized
Sift the ash of our ruin
What pearl of great price pristine
'neath unsullied skies
survives our stately scourge?
What is there left
having burned our bridges
fired our fields
having wasted ourselves for naught?
Looking within has yielded no fruit
no rhyme nor resonance
And failing ourselves within
what then lies without?
ELAshley
101507.082411.6
Nearer Too Empty
full, empty, empty, (full
and prostrate heavenward)
counting anxious minutes
full, empty, empty, full
(five, ten, fifteen)
an anxious watch of
hands too slow
minutes too creep
too full unempty
full, empty, empty, full
empty to weakness
and weak presage wellness
cleanliness nearer too
godliness
empty, full, full, empty
prostrate heavenward
(counting counting counting)
and nearer too empty
ELAshley
121407.041506.6
and prostrate heavenward)
counting anxious minutes
full, empty, empty, full
(five, ten, fifteen)
an anxious watch of
hands too slow
minutes too creep
too full unempty
full, empty, empty, full
empty to weakness
and weak presage wellness
cleanliness nearer too
godliness
empty, full, full, empty
prostrate heavenward
(counting counting counting)
and nearer too empty
ELAshley
121407.041506.6
Going to Ground
In Memory of Christopher Scott Gailfoil, 1964 - 2007
Harbingers a knockin’
Dead leaves clatter chatter down the road
Cold dead knuckles a tick tick tockin’
All of my heroes goin’ to ground
There was time green and shining
Cool pressed smooth clean linen white
But time, come a time, come a chimin’
And all of my heroes goin’ to ground
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
All of my friends are goin’ to ground
Insistence come a callin’
Layin’ to waste my palette of dream-soft dreams
It’s a thin tuft scrabble to keep from fallin’
All of my friends are goin’ to ground
Where is the time green and shining
Cool pressed smooth clean linen white?
And Time, now time, comes a chimin’
And all of my friends are goin’ to ground
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
All of my heroes goin’ to ground
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
All of my friends are goin’ to ground
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
All swiftly goin’ to ground
All of my friends are goin’ to ground
All of my heroes goin’ to ground
Everythings goin’ to ground
ELAshley
120107.105852.6
From my blog post:
Harbingers a knockin’
Dead leaves clatter chatter down the road
Cold dead knuckles a tick tick tockin’
All of my heroes goin’ to ground
There was time green and shining
Cool pressed smooth clean linen white
But time, come a time, come a chimin’
And all of my heroes goin’ to ground
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
All of my friends are goin’ to ground
Insistence come a callin’
Layin’ to waste my palette of dream-soft dreams
It’s a thin tuft scrabble to keep from fallin’
All of my friends are goin’ to ground
Where is the time green and shining
Cool pressed smooth clean linen white?
And Time, now time, comes a chimin’
And all of my friends are goin’ to ground
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
All of my heroes goin’ to ground
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
All of my friends are goin’ to ground
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
Swiftly unwelcome
All swiftly goin’ to ground
All of my friends are goin’ to ground
All of my heroes goin’ to ground
Everythings goin’ to ground
ELAshley
120107.105852.6
From my blog post:
Something just spilled out of me this evening... lyrics to a song in my head in under five minutes. There was a melody when they came, but it has left me-- this has always been the case; I have always had to fight for the melody, and I have not always won. But here is the song nonetheless... not as I heard it in my head, but its pale mute caricature...
Dearest Mary Angel,
What if Time were not one thing; A singularity, but an entity and a plurality? What if Time were not linear? What if Time were but a tool in the hands of a mad god? That like a cloth it is composed of warp and weft and so could be manipulated to the designs of the weaver. If Time is but a thread in a bit of cloth then it traces itself back and forth over the same ground, building upon itself until the resulting weave becomes a pattern of infinite complexity.
For someone who stands outside of Time and not bound by it's constraints, the fabric of Time might seem a beautiful thing, a fitting garment for a god, such as one who might use Time to torment the soul who is bound by the constraints of passing Time. Might not even Santa then be able to deliver gifts to every child, for every year that they believe in him, in one single night?
If Santa were the shuttle moving through the warp and weft of Time, and because it is but one nights work, however long the night may be, what would it do to the mind of a man so cursed?
What follows is a poem I've written, thirteen stanzas of thirteen lines each, about just such a man, doomed to fly throughout one eternal and torturous night, unable to catch the sun, and slowly going insane.
The Patron Saint of Insanity
It will never end,
the tearing of veils
Ripping the fabric of space and time
His dementia unbound ~
This mad eternal journey...
this single night...
this one endless night
for the patron saint of insanity.
Tattered vermilion, sooted ermine
and the wailing and biting of winds,
Their moaning and screaming
in ears that have forgotten the sound
Of human voice and laughter
It will never end,
this tearing of veils,
and his own mind ~
"Why? Oh, what and how
is the when and where of my purpose?
Forever drawn, hungry,
and thirsting for answers!"
screams the Patron Saint,
and screaming cracks the whip in his hand
o'er the heads of eight demon stag,
their cloven hooves clicking,
and drawing sparks
upon the plane of this one endless night
It will never end,
the tearing of fabric ~
There is but one bolt
and Hell hath perverted
both weft and warp
And the Patron Saint, the shuttle
by which the mirth of children is wove
"Just once!"
screaming to whatever god will listen
"Just once to plunge knives into breasts!"
His madness but a petty gods' whim
and knives but whimsies
pulled from the sack
It will never end;
his madness, the voyage, the whimsies ~
Flying madly,
rooftop to rooftop,
the cold death of winter
burning madness to the bone
And if veils be torn,
they are certainly torn here ~
The agonizing press of turgid flesh
forced through pipes and chimneys,
the pain flesh torn on stone,
and the imperfection of steel
gouging his flesh
It will never end,
The similarities ~ the sameness of it all
Evergreen false or true,
milk and cookies,
"No feast there!"
Only scents seem to change
Pheromones ~ joy, sadness and decay
even fear, that too
For the patron saint of insanity
no choice exists but to enter
thrashing and screaming
in mindless horror into every den,
and another veil torn
It will never end
The sack filled with whimsies,
ever full ~
Relentlessly so,
and bulimically poised,
routinely vomiting
‘neath each dead or dying tree
to the delight of starving ingrates
young and old alike
and blissfully unaware
of the patron saint,
the mad endless voyage,
or his insanity
It will never end,
the tearing of veils,
quickening dementia
and slipping unseen
into havens washed,
set against the intrusion of madness ~
But there he stands...
"How many more?”
the patron saint screams,
“Will not anyone wake?"
voice tortured and desperate
poised over the dead in sleep
~ but none ever do
It will never end,
and peering into the sack
for knife or ax,
poison or gun,
and the sack smiling, mocking
and hideously laughing,
continuing it's vomitous endeavor
to fill each sock to bursting;
candied canes,
gingerbreads and whimsies
And the patron saint screams again,
"Awake! Fire! Foe! Awake I say!"
but like graining sacks of rot, none ever do
It will never end,
the curse never lifted
To each house
ten times ten-thousand times, and
the gluttonous child ungrateful, never sated…
"Perhaps this child will die
that I need never visit here again!"
But the veil is already torn
and each one dead
sees ten more born in its place…
The curse calls to him
pulling him up through the pipes, to the sleigh
and the stamping hooves of reindeer dead
"Will it never end?"
the patron saint screams,
insanely and joyously cracking his whip
and the mad voyage beginning anew
weeping to freeze
And burning the mask of his flesh…
Cackling and cracking,
cracking and cackling,
endlessly moving between the weave
of dusk and dawn
~ the sun become a fable
"Yessss! The sun! I must catch the sun!"
cracking the whip to shatter the night
“It will never end,
this one maddening night,”
but a light glimmers in a crazy eye,
and screaming sings out,
"On Comet! On Cupid! On Donner and Blitzen!
On Dasher! On Dancer! On Prancer and Vixen!
Catch the sun! Catch the day!
Dash away! Damn you all! Dash a-way!”
The horizon brightens fingernail thin
knuckles whiten, crack and bleed
gleaming hope blisters within him
but the curse pulls him screaming
down into darkness again
No, it will never end
Another rooftop,
another veil torn,
another vomitous endeavor in hand
The sack full,
and the patron saint despairing,
pulled screaming down
through pipes dark and cruel,
to the heart of hearth and home
and the sickening taste of milk and cookies,
wishing for but one sharp knife,
the sack retching and purging
steaming ribbons and bows
So it never ends...
and it's back to the sleigh
and eight demon stag
The tearing of veils,
and hope rekindled
in the heart of the patron saint of insanity
The cracking of whips,
the mad chase through eternal winter's
freezing winds,
and biting cold,
to catch the sun and end it all,
and screaming in rage
"Damn you all and to all a good night!"
ELAshley
Written between
January 1, 1999 & February 3, 1999
"Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!"
Revised:
031101.122103.1
Revised:
071401.014321.1
Revised:
122801.123431.1
For someone who stands outside of Time and not bound by it's constraints, the fabric of Time might seem a beautiful thing, a fitting garment for a god, such as one who might use Time to torment the soul who is bound by the constraints of passing Time. Might not even Santa then be able to deliver gifts to every child, for every year that they believe in him, in one single night?
If Santa were the shuttle moving through the warp and weft of Time, and because it is but one nights work, however long the night may be, what would it do to the mind of a man so cursed?
What follows is a poem I've written, thirteen stanzas of thirteen lines each, about just such a man, doomed to fly throughout one eternal and torturous night, unable to catch the sun, and slowly going insane.
The Patron Saint of Insanity
It will never end,
the tearing of veils
Ripping the fabric of space and time
His dementia unbound ~
This mad eternal journey...
this single night...
this one endless night
for the patron saint of insanity.
Tattered vermilion, sooted ermine
and the wailing and biting of winds,
Their moaning and screaming
in ears that have forgotten the sound
Of human voice and laughter
It will never end,
this tearing of veils,
and his own mind ~
"Why? Oh, what and how
is the when and where of my purpose?
Forever drawn, hungry,
and thirsting for answers!"
screams the Patron Saint,
and screaming cracks the whip in his hand
o'er the heads of eight demon stag,
their cloven hooves clicking,
and drawing sparks
upon the plane of this one endless night
It will never end,
the tearing of fabric ~
There is but one bolt
and Hell hath perverted
both weft and warp
And the Patron Saint, the shuttle
by which the mirth of children is wove
"Just once!"
screaming to whatever god will listen
"Just once to plunge knives into breasts!"
His madness but a petty gods' whim
and knives but whimsies
pulled from the sack
It will never end;
his madness, the voyage, the whimsies ~
Flying madly,
rooftop to rooftop,
the cold death of winter
burning madness to the bone
And if veils be torn,
they are certainly torn here ~
The agonizing press of turgid flesh
forced through pipes and chimneys,
the pain flesh torn on stone,
and the imperfection of steel
gouging his flesh
It will never end,
The similarities ~ the sameness of it all
Evergreen false or true,
milk and cookies,
"No feast there!"
Only scents seem to change
Pheromones ~ joy, sadness and decay
even fear, that too
For the patron saint of insanity
no choice exists but to enter
thrashing and screaming
in mindless horror into every den,
and another veil torn
It will never end
The sack filled with whimsies,
ever full ~
Relentlessly so,
and bulimically poised,
routinely vomiting
‘neath each dead or dying tree
to the delight of starving ingrates
young and old alike
and blissfully unaware
of the patron saint,
the mad endless voyage,
or his insanity
It will never end,
the tearing of veils,
quickening dementia
and slipping unseen
into havens washed,
set against the intrusion of madness ~
But there he stands...
"How many more?”
the patron saint screams,
“Will not anyone wake?"
voice tortured and desperate
poised over the dead in sleep
~ but none ever do
It will never end,
and peering into the sack
for knife or ax,
poison or gun,
and the sack smiling, mocking
and hideously laughing,
continuing it's vomitous endeavor
to fill each sock to bursting;
candied canes,
gingerbreads and whimsies
And the patron saint screams again,
"Awake! Fire! Foe! Awake I say!"
but like graining sacks of rot, none ever do
It will never end,
the curse never lifted
To each house
ten times ten-thousand times, and
the gluttonous child ungrateful, never sated…
"Perhaps this child will die
that I need never visit here again!"
But the veil is already torn
and each one dead
sees ten more born in its place…
The curse calls to him
pulling him up through the pipes, to the sleigh
and the stamping hooves of reindeer dead
"Will it never end?"
the patron saint screams,
insanely and joyously cracking his whip
and the mad voyage beginning anew
weeping to freeze
And burning the mask of his flesh…
Cackling and cracking,
cracking and cackling,
endlessly moving between the weave
of dusk and dawn
~ the sun become a fable
"Yessss! The sun! I must catch the sun!"
cracking the whip to shatter the night
“It will never end,
this one maddening night,”
but a light glimmers in a crazy eye,
and screaming sings out,
"On Comet! On Cupid! On Donner and Blitzen!
On Dasher! On Dancer! On Prancer and Vixen!
Catch the sun! Catch the day!
Dash away! Damn you all! Dash a-way!”
The horizon brightens fingernail thin
knuckles whiten, crack and bleed
gleaming hope blisters within him
but the curse pulls him screaming
down into darkness again
No, it will never end
Another rooftop,
another veil torn,
another vomitous endeavor in hand
The sack full,
and the patron saint despairing,
pulled screaming down
through pipes dark and cruel,
to the heart of hearth and home
and the sickening taste of milk and cookies,
wishing for but one sharp knife,
the sack retching and purging
steaming ribbons and bows
So it never ends...
and it's back to the sleigh
and eight demon stag
The tearing of veils,
and hope rekindled
in the heart of the patron saint of insanity
The cracking of whips,
the mad chase through eternal winter's
freezing winds,
and biting cold,
to catch the sun and end it all,
and screaming in rage
"Damn you all and to all a good night!"
ELAshley
Written between
January 1, 1999 & February 3, 1999
"Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!"
Revised:
031101.122103.1
Revised:
071401.014321.1
Revised:
122801.123431.1
Obsession, Seduction -- A Candle Lit Parade
Light a candle on the doorstep
Let its flicker light the way
Turn out the porch light
~Let the candles light prevail
Say goodnight now to day
Light another in the front hall
Let its presence force a smile
Wondering where you are
And what you have in mind
Aching for you all the while
Light of candles on the staircase
Each step taken amid their glow
Follow the perfume
You left floating in air
To that place I’ve come to know
A single candle on the top step
A single stocking laid with care
Silk and satins strewn
~A candle lit parade
To your bedroom waiting there
Open the door to see you sleeping
Dozing naked in the light
One hundred candles
Making love to every curve
Of your soft skin in the night
Leaning in to kiss your shoulder
Brush a hand across your thigh
Whisper I love you
In your pretty little ear
And hear you softly sigh
Then draw in to your embrace
Take me deep into your soul
Let me fill you
Till spent and weary
Your womb burning as coal
Let the candles burn till morning
Let them burn while we make love
Nestled in your arms
I pledge my life to you
Sworn upon stars above
Could I ever be without you?
My heart find strength to beat?
When every waking thought
Is bent upon your love
When next our desires meet?
ELAshley
September 6, 2007
Revised:
103007.125206.6
Let its flicker light the way
Turn out the porch light
~Let the candles light prevail
Say goodnight now to day
Light another in the front hall
Let its presence force a smile
Wondering where you are
And what you have in mind
Aching for you all the while
Light of candles on the staircase
Each step taken amid their glow
Follow the perfume
You left floating in air
To that place I’ve come to know
A single candle on the top step
A single stocking laid with care
Silk and satins strewn
~A candle lit parade
To your bedroom waiting there
Open the door to see you sleeping
Dozing naked in the light
One hundred candles
Making love to every curve
Of your soft skin in the night
Leaning in to kiss your shoulder
Brush a hand across your thigh
Whisper I love you
In your pretty little ear
And hear you softly sigh
Then draw in to your embrace
Take me deep into your soul
Let me fill you
Till spent and weary
Your womb burning as coal
Let the candles burn till morning
Let them burn while we make love
Nestled in your arms
I pledge my life to you
Sworn upon stars above
Could I ever be without you?
My heart find strength to beat?
When every waking thought
Is bent upon your love
When next our desires meet?
ELAshley
September 6, 2007
Revised:
103007.125206.6
on Fearing
We are young yet
And knowing for true
That youth is squandered on the young
We are wise enough to see it
And young enough to guess
That there is still time
Perhaps not for all our dreams
But time enough
For the ones that matter
Time enough for the ones that
Rarely see light of day
~The ones we tuck perpetually
Into bed,
"Shhh now, go to sleep little one,
Your time will come..."
And when time has come
Will we throw open windows...
And let our dearests
Drink in the fresh, bright day?
Will we encourage our dearests
To run through the grass
And play?
Will we sit back
And let our hearts desire
Have its day in the sun?
Or will we
In our wise, age’d youth
Caution prudence
And tuck our dreams
Safely back in bed?
ELAshley
043002.071530.6
Revised:
103007.121033.6
...for Paula R.
"No Backspacing..."
And knowing for true
That youth is squandered on the young
We are wise enough to see it
And young enough to guess
That there is still time
Perhaps not for all our dreams
But time enough
For the ones that matter
Time enough for the ones that
Rarely see light of day
~The ones we tuck perpetually
Into bed,
"Shhh now, go to sleep little one,
Your time will come..."
And when time has come
Will we throw open windows...
And let our dearests
Drink in the fresh, bright day?
Will we encourage our dearests
To run through the grass
And play?
Will we sit back
And let our hearts desire
Have its day in the sun?
Or will we
In our wise, age’d youth
Caution prudence
And tuck our dreams
Safely back in bed?
ELAshley
043002.071530.6
Revised:
103007.121033.6
...for Paula R.
"No Backspacing..."
One-Hundred Years Entwining
Will I sleep one hundred years,
My first night ‘neath your summer eaves?
Will I shed one hundred tears,
Sorrows clatter like autumn leaves?
Away from me ~ forever away
Your lips brushing my tears away
Fall into slumber, the sleep of peace
As in your arms I lay
Will I dream while embraced in you,
Coupled neath linens clean and new?
Wakened to find my dreams come true,
And lost within your eyes of blue
Sing to me a familiar song
Lips brush mine ~ our breath a song
Like the gentle susurring sea
Rock me soft the whole night long
One hundred years may each night seem
Forever may each day so be
And parting, but a shadowy dream
That has no life in the love we see
Smiling true in eyes bright and shining
Lips caressing ~ wet, soft, and shining
Shuddering, and rising again to fall
Held in your embrace entwining
Will I sleep one hundred years?
Hands brush all my cares away?
Sorrow erased and gone my fears?
In your arms, and in peace lay?
Time and love will tell
Time and love will tell
ELAshley
18 March 2002, 1:10am
Revised:
102907.022026.1
103007.012656.6
010309.011016.1
091109.110403.1
1122209.031102.6
My first night ‘neath your summer eaves?
Will I shed one hundred tears,
Sorrows clatter like autumn leaves?
Away from me ~ forever away
Your lips brushing my tears away
Fall into slumber, the sleep of peace
As in your arms I lay
Will I dream while embraced in you,
Coupled neath linens clean and new?
Wakened to find my dreams come true,
And lost within your eyes of blue
Sing to me a familiar song
Lips brush mine ~ our breath a song
Like the gentle susurring sea
Rock me soft the whole night long
One hundred years may each night seem
Forever may each day so be
And parting, but a shadowy dream
That has no life in the love we see
Smiling true in eyes bright and shining
Lips caressing ~ wet, soft, and shining
Shuddering, and rising again to fall
Held in your embrace entwining
Will I sleep one hundred years?
Hands brush all my cares away?
Sorrow erased and gone my fears?
In your arms, and in peace lay?
Time and love will tell
Time and love will tell
ELAshley
18 March 2002, 1:10am
Revised:
102907.022026.1
103007.012656.6
010309.011016.1
091109.110403.1
1122209.031102.6
Without Excuse
It is spinning
Uncontrollably, or seeming so
Finite eyes cannot grasp a pattern
Finite minds cannot fathom the depths of hue and timber
If there is a pattern
We are too close to see it
Too close to the fire
There is too much comfort in glowing embers
Tended with patient mindless devotion
That the depths of cold empty space between us
Might seem less
Empty
Finite, yes—our human capacity
For perception
Bound by a spectrum
But an atom’s breadth wide
Yet this is the lie we tell ourselves
The lie we have come to believe
For we have no wish to step back
And search for patterns
We cannot acknowledge what cannot be seen
Right?
Or mere rationalizations
That do more to call us by name
Than the names we call ourselves…
Faithless…
That is what we are
Knowing deep within
The shape of patterns within the world
Like lace
To acknowledge the lace of our lives
Our meetings and partings
Seemingly random—yet not
Is to acknowledge patterns
We’d just as soon not recognize
That we own more control
Over unfathomed depths of locus—
We control more than we like
Like more than we wish
Wish less than we could
We stab out our eyes
To avoid seeing
Drive spikes through our ears
To avoid hearing
Cut out our tongues
To avoid confessing
Yet the world still spins
Truth still works the shuttle
Of Life’s warp and weft
Leaving us in the end
To understand our ability to work the loom
Is not hampered
By self-mutilation
And we are then left without excuse
ELAshley
051507.021212.1
Revised on:
052407.120559.1
Uncontrollably, or seeming so
Finite eyes cannot grasp a pattern
Finite minds cannot fathom the depths of hue and timber
If there is a pattern
We are too close to see it
Too close to the fire
There is too much comfort in glowing embers
Tended with patient mindless devotion
That the depths of cold empty space between us
Might seem less
Empty
Finite, yes—our human capacity
For perception
Bound by a spectrum
But an atom’s breadth wide
Yet this is the lie we tell ourselves
The lie we have come to believe
For we have no wish to step back
And search for patterns
We cannot acknowledge what cannot be seen
Right?
Or mere rationalizations
That do more to call us by name
Than the names we call ourselves…
Faithless…
That is what we are
Knowing deep within
The shape of patterns within the world
Like lace
To acknowledge the lace of our lives
Our meetings and partings
Seemingly random—yet not
Is to acknowledge patterns
We’d just as soon not recognize
That we own more control
Over unfathomed depths of locus—
We control more than we like
Like more than we wish
Wish less than we could
We stab out our eyes
To avoid seeing
Drive spikes through our ears
To avoid hearing
Cut out our tongues
To avoid confessing
Yet the world still spins
Truth still works the shuttle
Of Life’s warp and weft
Leaving us in the end
To understand our ability to work the loom
Is not hampered
By self-mutilation
And we are then left without excuse
ELAshley
051507.021212.1
Revised on:
052407.120559.1
Dogs Day
..::In Eight Parts::..
Part VII
"Pitch Gives Light to Glimmers"
It comes ~ it comes!
The labor of hope
Whence glimmers of light
Down the long corridor
Spark like embers rising
From the ash of our burning
Birthed from pain and
Brought again to life alone
The world has not changed
But I certainly have
The leash is slipped
And I have run
It comes ~ it comes!
Glimmers bright
Like the midnight sun
On frost
Caught in the fur of a dead seal
And the seal now shattered
Its water broke
New eyes upon an old world
Looking upon a world ever changing
Where I have not
Yet the leash is slipped
And I must run
ELAshley
083103.115136.6
Part VII
"Pitch Gives Light to Glimmers"
It comes ~ it comes!
The labor of hope
Whence glimmers of light
Down the long corridor
Spark like embers rising
From the ash of our burning
Birthed from pain and
Brought again to life alone
The world has not changed
But I certainly have
The leash is slipped
And I have run
It comes ~ it comes!
Glimmers bright
Like the midnight sun
On frost
Caught in the fur of a dead seal
And the seal now shattered
Its water broke
New eyes upon an old world
Looking upon a world ever changing
Where I have not
Yet the leash is slipped
And I must run
ELAshley
083103.115136.6
Dogs Day
..::In Eight Parts::..
Part III
"Light Gives Way to Pitch"
I can’t seem to understand
Why the shapes and colors have changed
And I can’t hear
No matter our cries
The familiar shapes of brothers unchained
Where is the world I knew?
Bathed in warmth tight pressed and secure
Heartbeats resounding
A fluid comfort
Brothers and sisters all clean-slated pure
Oh, for the slip
Of the chain and we run
New and untroubled
Beneath the bright summer sun
Oh, for the leash
Our protection and lead
But oh, for the slip
Of the chain and we run...
I don't understand the light in my eyes
Why shapes and colors should exist at all
Why everything now
Wide open and wild
And the newness of brothers unchained
And oh, for the slip
Of the chain and we run
Long limbed wastrels
Playing in the sun
Oh, for the leash
And the warm caring arms
That hold us tender
And keep us from harm
As we run
Let slip the chain and we run
Oh, for the slip
Of the chain...
We run
ELAshley
090405.012120.1 / 1st five lines
121511.125600.6 / remaining lines
Part III
"Light Gives Way to Pitch"
I can’t seem to understand
Why the shapes and colors have changed
And I can’t hear
No matter our cries
The familiar shapes of brothers unchained
Where is the world I knew?
Bathed in warmth tight pressed and secure
Heartbeats resounding
A fluid comfort
Brothers and sisters all clean-slated pure
Oh, for the slip
Of the chain and we run
New and untroubled
Beneath the bright summer sun
Oh, for the leash
Our protection and lead
But oh, for the slip
Of the chain and we run...
I don't understand the light in my eyes
Why shapes and colors should exist at all
Why everything now
Wide open and wild
And the newness of brothers unchained
And oh, for the slip
Of the chain and we run
Long limbed wastrels
Playing in the sun
Oh, for the leash
And the warm caring arms
That hold us tender
And keep us from harm
As we run
Let slip the chain and we run
Oh, for the slip
Of the chain...
We run
ELAshley
090405.012120.1 / 1st five lines
121511.125600.6 / remaining lines
Untitled
I was given an orchard
To tend and to manage
Many long years ago
That has since grown savage
I cared nothing for pruning
Neither harvest nor toil
I cared nothing for weeding
Or tending the soil
Yet as day lay setting
I survey what was mine
And there'll be no breads
Or late summer wines
For the grain fields have perished
The arbors are thin
No figs on the bough
'neath these gables of sin
I'll reap what I have sown
Which is little of worth
For Him who so gifted me
With rich fertile earth
I must seem ungrateful
With so small a yield
Of the promise of bounty
From orchard and field
Pitiful in comparison
To His mercy and grace
I am filled with shame
To be given a place
As a welcomed honored son
Oh, what mercy is mine
To be so utterly loved
By One so graciously kind
ELAshley
071207.075430.6
To tend and to manage
Many long years ago
That has since grown savage
I cared nothing for pruning
Neither harvest nor toil
I cared nothing for weeding
Or tending the soil
Yet as day lay setting
I survey what was mine
And there'll be no breads
Or late summer wines
For the grain fields have perished
The arbors are thin
No figs on the bough
'neath these gables of sin
I'll reap what I have sown
Which is little of worth
For Him who so gifted me
With rich fertile earth
I must seem ungrateful
With so small a yield
Of the promise of bounty
From orchard and field
Pitiful in comparison
To His mercy and grace
I am filled with shame
To be given a place
As a welcomed honored son
Oh, what mercy is mine
To be so utterly loved
By One so graciously kind
ELAshley
071207.075430.6
Her Name is Hye Jin
Her name is Hye Jin
The compulsion that draws my eye
And thought. Sermons notwithstanding
Prayers offered heavenward
The shaking of hands in greeting
The constant prayers that I sin not
In thought
Her name is Hye Jin
What am I to think of singleness?
Forty-six years of singleness
How do I continue to await the Lord’s good pleasure
While Hye Jin sits a mere three pews forward?
What is concentration if not the constant struggle
Of focus, and how do I concentrate
On messages
On prayers
When every other thought aloud in a room of outward prayer
Is, within her own hearing, desperate appeals to God
To guard my heart from sin?
Her name is Hye Jin
The impossible eventuality
Whose hand in mine, in innocent prayer
Perhaps overheard every appeal I made to our Lord
That I sin not
In thought ~ And as He inhabits our praises…
Her name is Hye Jin
ELAshley
010107.010440.1
With the scent of her skin all too fresh in my mind.
Help me Father to ward my thoughts!
No revision necessary!
Personal Note: In full confession...
She is perhaps 20 years my junior, and if I ever needed the prayers of my brethren in Christ it is now.
Matthew 5:28
----
This constitutes ELAshley's official New Year's poem. Not the typical fare for a New Year's poem, but... this is where I am...
Sincere and honest prayers are greatly appreciated.
The compulsion that draws my eye
And thought. Sermons notwithstanding
Prayers offered heavenward
The shaking of hands in greeting
The constant prayers that I sin not
In thought
Her name is Hye Jin
What am I to think of singleness?
Forty-six years of singleness
How do I continue to await the Lord’s good pleasure
While Hye Jin sits a mere three pews forward?
What is concentration if not the constant struggle
Of focus, and how do I concentrate
On messages
On prayers
When every other thought aloud in a room of outward prayer
Is, within her own hearing, desperate appeals to God
To guard my heart from sin?
Her name is Hye Jin
The impossible eventuality
Whose hand in mine, in innocent prayer
Perhaps overheard every appeal I made to our Lord
That I sin not
In thought ~ And as He inhabits our praises…
Her name is Hye Jin
ELAshley
010107.010440.1
With the scent of her skin all too fresh in my mind.
Help me Father to ward my thoughts!
No revision necessary!
Personal Note: In full confession...
She is perhaps 20 years my junior, and if I ever needed the prayers of my brethren in Christ it is now.
Matthew 5:28
----
This constitutes ELAshley's official New Year's poem. Not the typical fare for a New Year's poem, but... this is where I am...
Sincere and honest prayers are greatly appreciated.
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