Tuesday, April 23, 2013

In Boots


In Boots

I love the boots the women wear
                These days, few and fleeting as they are,
And as temporary as the leather is
                Buckled, wrinkled, strapped, knee high with flared
Tops, like the boots of Wellington’s heavy cavalry
                At Waterloo.  One is overwhelmed by the
Charge of their beauty; the flashing of brass and steel
                The rippling of manes and plumes and pennants
Lance and sword tips glittering.  Sabered, speared, trampled
                In some sunken lane in the rolling Belgian
Countryside, rich with crops, little stone cottages, and
                Red and yellow flowers.  And the ruddy girls who say, “Oui,”
When asked for a drink of water, or of wine, or a kiss. 

As temporary as that, and the life of a Napoleonic
                Infantryman, or the fashions of this season,
Or breath, and the joyful hope of morning.
 
I would have told the barista at the
Argo Tea Café at the corner of Madison and Franklin
Just east of the Chicago River that her charcoal
Boots were lovely, but the children would have looked
At me askance, despite the oil paintings of
The buildings of the city hanging on the walls
The blue of the October day, the freshness of the
Lake air and the thrill of crowds, cameras, and rich stone.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Revelator - Josh Garells



Revelator

Had a dream I was alone
A vast expanse of complete unknown
Sea of glass so clear it shown,                        Like gold
Then a voice like thunder clapped,
As a dead man I collapsed
“I am the first, I am the last,
Now     rise      my       son “

Then behold ten thousand kings,
And every creature worshipping
Every eye was on one thing,                           One man
He’s like a lion like a lamb,
As though slain he holds the plan
To make war and peace with man,
And reign        on        earth

Holy, Holy, is the One,
Who was         and is,       and is to come
In a robe as red as blood,                               He comes forth 


Ride like lightning in the sky,
On the war horse he draws nigh,
The same one we crucified,
Will                  come               again


Josh Garells

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Out of the Sonoran




Out of the Sonoran

When the iron bed
                Forged of the iron law
Affords neither refreshment
                Nor sleep, and pain flares
Like a blood red dawn,
                Space is created
In the unseen realms of the heart
                And of the spirit for
The Spirit to speak.  A reminder of
                Frailty, of sin, of dust.

The Wind stirs up clouds of glassy ashes
                Splintering the light of sun, moon, stars
Into crimson gemy flashes.

But out of the blazing glory
                Of Unapproachable Light, out of
Sunrise in the dun of sage and the desert
                Ochre of Zion’s arches
And the verdure of saguaro covering the Sonoran

Steps the daughter of Zion
                Black haired princess of the wilderness,
Long tresses drifting through her eyes,
                Dark and deep and cool as the
Pools of Heshbon, glory of Sihon
                Firstfruits of the promise
Yet to come, beyond the Jordan.

All in white, adornment knit by
                The vast, exacting, diligent hand of Love,
Pure Bride, adorned, bejeweled
                By and for the hands of the Crownless One,
Once and coming, mighty, King,
                Immortal, invisible, only wise. 

Nard and myrrh flow down the paths of the Wind
                The current of the drifting air
Fecund with the glittering motes, diamond dust
                Harbinger of the coming
Rain.