Wild Place

Wild Place

The world’s a wild place

                Full of earthquakes, winds and fires

Where flames and tsunamis spin

                In the chasm between

Darkness and light.  We’re all living on razor wires.

The world’s full of dangers

                Dangers at home, dangers in far places

Riots, bombs, and bullets, in and out of school.

Dangers in the beauties of Mother Nature,

    Of miles and miles of

Lodge-pole pines, old and tall, dead of beetles,

                Sunny weather and warm winters.

Where majestic mountain storms create electric

                Power neither air nor ground can insulate

From the ragged bolt that ignites dry needles.

                Tree litter, the dung of a forest, lying waiting. 

The world’s an evil space

                Full of wars and hatred,

Arrows by day and the plague by night

Where lives lived well,

                And the best of strength and humor

Courage and righteousness, husbands, fathers, brothers, friends,

                Cannot stem the flood of flame

And we grieve, and stumble on in the grey

                Ash that remains

Where once walked trees, and men 

                Praying for redemption, eternity, and resurrection. 

But this is the red earth, Adam,

                Of which I am made.  I will not live

                                Would not, anywhere but here

And as a man.    Like him.    Like them. 

For Joel, on the line in the West Fork Complex

For the Granite Mountain Hotshots, down on Yarnell Hill

The Reality of God

The Reality of God

And it occurs, that, if in the reality

                Of God, yes and no are all yes

To those that love him and

                Are called, according to his purpose

And that ravens are important

                To be fed, and scorpions are not

Food for children, and Solomo

                In all the glory of his gold, and

Palaces, pools, and wine, women, and song

                Is in no way arrayed like

One of these, flowers of the field

                Children playing in meadows of

Green grass, shrieking, “My name is Gabriel!”

                (Love me) to all who pass running. 

That the last are first, and the first, last

                That, “Lord, Lord,” at the shut

Straight gate does not admit entrance

                And, “Go away.  Who are you?”

Is said alongside, “Come to me, all you who are

                Heavy….Rest.”  And “Except you become

As little children.”  Whose eyes are blue, and

                Patently selfish, and unable to wait

For the intense delight of the sweet

                Yet are able to sleep untroubled,

At rest in God, at peace with all the world. 

Even so, I will raise my sword with the common,

And grasp my bow of burning gold, to defend

Jerusalem’s green unclouded hills,

Killing without remorse, the children of other mothers

In the defense of those oppressed who have no hope.

I will resist, with Balian, bastard of Godfrey, the Saracen

On this the solstice of this year, the

Longest day, and shortest night, in the upper hemisphere. 

And walk leanly with my Lord, lean of body and of purse,

And rest in

The bosom of my Lover, where all secrets are known

                And spoken in the ear, on beds of colored linen

And silken robes, where no thirst of eye or hand is unfulfilled.

                And so too, among rocks, dry and red

And flecked with glinting lights and gems of blue or

                Yellow.  Where there is no bread, and thirst burns

And the Adversary prowls, with Words that Ring.

“Come, Raboni, you will feed five thousand; make now these

Stones to bread.” 

“Come, King, King of the Jews, Son of the Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea,

                Rule now these mighty kingdoms, glorious places.

Palaces of men and women, proud of strength and beauty.” 

“Come, Weak Child, cast yourself now on the graciousness of

God, who sends his ministers to bear thee up on eagles’ wings.”

No.  And a thousand times. It is not so.  Not now.

These words, this Word, I know.  Truth,

                It is not now.  The Word is yet to come.

The Word is yet to be, thou child of time

                And space.  All things are thine.

I hold the keys of death and hell. 

                I make war, and peace, with man.

I was, and will come, and reign on earth.

                Be, and I will be with you, until the consummation.

Live, and drink, drink deeply, and be satisfied

                Delight in overflowing abundance. 

The Day is coming, night shall soon be passed.  All will be.  Now new.    

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.

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

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.