Thrush's Refrain

The air roars with your thunder.

The sea boils with your waves.

The sky is shrouded.

The stars grow dim.

Your anger simmers

For your justice demands it

But still your hand is stayed.

Hear O people's the warning,

Heed O nation's the call,

You who believe falsely,

You who believe not at all,

For the day of the Lord approaches

For the daughter and enemy alike.

Think on your time and ponder,

Consider the works of your hands

And the secret whispers of your heart.

No deed has gone unnoticed,

No idle thought ignored,

Though they reek of sweat and acrid soot,

You sons of disobedience all.

Hear O deniers of diety,

Hear O 'people of grace',

Grievance soars like the bird on high.

It's stench rises from foul fen.

Pride! Pride! In haughty hearts

Which love everything but the Lord.

"Return to me you children, 

you lost nations and erring tribes.

For you and your children I have waited

Until the times is complete."

The mountain and field stand ready

They ache for consolation.

As dry canyons yearn for the raging floods

So the earth awaits return.

The cries of the afflicted ascend.

They are not unheard,

Those who suffer indignity

Through oppression or indifference.

Cry out pardon for arrogance.

Plead for mercy from sin

From hearts which have sought only pleasure,

From pride which innoculates from shame.

The song of the thrush rises-

Heed this late refrain

Dripping with finality.

Return for the day is waning

The forest thrashes in tumult

As the winds of reckoning blow

The reapers are at attention

The call of justice cannot be denied.

Joy

The sentiment of joy is

not the absence of sorrow

but the exertion of faith;

the rejection of despair;

born not of plenty but trial

and knowledge of the nature

and character of God, who

though we prove faithless, remains

unremittingly faithful.

1944

Once

men and women forwent sugar and tires,

gas and flour

for the sake of the common cause.

Now

my afternoon is spoiled

by the line at the self-checkout

and intermittent Wi-Fi.

XVI. Perseverance

Walking alone the dusty aisles

among the oft-neglected tomes

one hears a soft melody;

the lullaby of perspective,

of place and transience.

The grass withers and the flower fades.

The story and songs of a thousand fathers and mothers

moldering in vapid succession, each crafted,

in their age, with loving precision,

left now like the oaks

which tower over the emerald-crested

mounds of the ancients

---unmarked and unnoticed

Mayhap we are best

the flickering, waning flame

lest we rest upon our tin-plated towers

singing ballads to our own gaudy magnificance

with gleeful barbarism.

Down tumbles Babel.

and return we again to dust

No. Infirmity and insignificance birth in us a new humility.

The crumbling page only stokes the coals

of eternity languishing beneathe

the gauze and glamour of desire;

the facade of accomplishment.

Better that we sip the bitter dregs of mortality

than learn the terrifying price of vanity.

Better that we as beggars 

thinly sup our days

and close our eyes as grateful debtors.

The grass withers and the flower fades

and kudzu enshrines the tombs of kings.

Though bear we the brunt of this duality,

living with consternation until we sleep

and dream

yearning for final consolation,

the resolution of creation,

our eyes eastward to the crowning dawn.

XV.

Have you, like a child,
cast a leaf into a stream,
only to wonder
where the swift currents take it?
So my voice upon the wind
is swept away
and returns no more.