CIRCADIAN RHYTHMS

Evening heralds nightfall
Like thoughts before words;
Night begets morning
And not after its kind;
The sun rises and sets
Always from east to west;
Sleep forces my eyes shut
Holding captive my mind!
 
Daily repetitions
Are the rhythms of life
Each cycle pulsating
The beat of life’s great heart
The tick-tock of time’s clock
From Eternity’s past
Till Forever’s future. 

WHEN I FRET

When I fret ‘cos of tomorrow

Worry and grow sad with sorrow;

And when my confidence doth fail

While fears and challenges prevail;

When I feel like a total wreck

Plunged deep in problems to my neck;

I muster courage and belief

Look heavenward to seek relief,

Speak in faith to the Lord my God

And soon abates the whelming flood.

When I keep the spirit aglow

And through storms my words to Him flow

He restores anew my treasure

Satisfying beyond measure.

      HERE I STAND

Here I stand, alone

In complete denial

That all labour is not gold;

 

Here I stand, grieving

No succour from gnawing trauma

Last glimmer of joy waning;

 

Here I stand, stripped of honour

All life’s work hardly tipping the pan

Scaled against a litany of dreams;

 

Here I stand, deceived by hope

Wondering why great efforts yield little

The many tomorrows produce meagre fruit;

 

Here I stand, mystified

Staring at the mirages of life

Seeking my place in creation’s purpose;

 

Here I stand, again trusting

Believing in tomorrow’s promise

Taken in by others still standing.

WHEN GOD IS SILENT

A time comes in your existence

When all fails and God is silent.

Left alone through your experience

No friends call, and God seems absent.

You grit your teeth to restrain words.

Food in your mouth becomes gravel

One day your hope picks in men’s words

The next, on your knees, you grovel.

Resentment mounts; Christian ethics

Put to the test.  Feeling hated

By all, you wonder if God seeks

To shame you so. What’s more, sated

With galls and bitter herbs, and mocked

By those who once sought your counsel,

Your mind in anguish becomes locked,

Almost locked to timeless counsel.

When God’s silence is a torture

When worries like the ocean’s waves

Swell, and alone, you them nurture,

And worry whether God still saves;

Darkness your world, the heaven brass;

Succor’s not found and no one cares.

The valley’s deep, grace turns to grass;

Know this:  God is there and still cares.

He shows up and never once late.

Rest, for in silence He yet speaks;

Don’t you faint, just trust and wait:

Your deliverance He always seeks.

                  DAY AND NIGHT

I like to watch the skyline
See the sun dip, Day merge with Night
The line of divide indistinct;
At dawn darkness dissipates
Pushed to the brinks by Day’s light.
 
I like to pretend Day is Night
Reverse their roles for a season
Focus the light on secret businesses
And scramble the times
For sleeping and schooling.
 
I like to imagine Day rules
Night, conquered, shows up no longer
But then, there will be only one day
No months or years to count
No dreams. No birthdays. No Christmases.
 
I like to picture Day and Night as friends
Hand in hand, showing up together
But will they ever see eye to eye?
They appear too busy, day and night
To notice each other’s needs.

Cletus And His Bottle

Dead drunk, his bottle

Tucked in his right armpit

Cletus rose turbulently, swaying

Dangling like a kite

Caught in the boughs of a tree;

Squinting in the even blaze, he

Let out a mighty belch. 

        Three wobbled steps; an abrupt stop!

        With forehead creased in a gaze

        He appraised the expanse ahead

        Recalling but one path

        By which he’d come half a day earlier.

        Now, everything was different.

        The bottle, drawn from its loft and

        Tipped for a swig, cleared the fog.

"He would not sow who observes the wind"

The journey home Cletus must make

Of the self-multiplying routes

Only one may be trusted.

With a silly smile

He tossed forward

But into the ditch he dropped

His bottled companion in tow

To wait in slumber for the rude tap

Of the sun’s sliver the next morn.

EPITAPH: To Love

Here lies Miss Lateen
Who came in at nineteen
At such a young age
On account of Tom’s rage.

She was his ere Tom’s chum
Stole her heart from Tom
Tom, moved by Love to save
Hid her in this grave.

Love is bitter-sweet
Hate, a willing help-meet
Though of common root
One the other must loot.

             THE SKY

The sky, youthful
At dawn, just before sunrise
The aged moon recedes in demise
While the day and the living arise

The sky, placid
Calm and lavishly tranquil
Casting warmth over the globe until
The hearts of earthlings with pleasure fill

The sky, mottled
Splotched with grey-white cotton balls
Positioned in the heavenly walls
Like works of art on gallery halls     
  
The sky, alive
With phantoms in ones and groups
And dismembered beings in gaily troops
Conferring and balancing like troupes

The sky, glaring
The sun as a fiery hearth
Glowers intensely at the lame earth
Yet makes food for man even in dearth

The sky, cloudy
Dark patches lining the west;
With age-old thunderbolt at its best
Pours rain till the rumblings come to rest

The sky, golden
The even sun crowns the day
Shaping twilight shadows long and gay
While clucking chickens soon roost or lay

The sky, star-full    
With countless sparkles it teems
Occupying the heavens with beams
Visiting from outer space it seems

The sky, starless
The moon is hiding indoors
Just as spookiness, like a knot, moors
A child, wide-eyed, with fright to the floors