Logos

The aspirant, green, to the Lord doth say
according to my justice, by your hand grant me pay

For the Law he doth count a thing known to himself
as a writ profound, sitting high on El’s shelf

But the Law is to song as a bird is to flight
its contours distinct, but its course, beyond sight

To the aspirant, then, frustration is had
when he weighs his own deeds on a scale, good or bad

From their law naught but shame do the arrogant receive
but the humble grow richly if only they believe

For Grace comes by faith, as St. Paul does attest
The Song called by Logos, of itself, grants them rest

Dispensation

St. Peter’s dome is girded round
with carven shapes, their form profound

From underneath, its awesome swell
wrought with pains too great to tell…
bespeaks of order, grand and pure
the weight of time its beams endure

Atop the dome is fixed the Cross
From age to age it greets the lost

The cornerstone is Jesus called
and by His word are men enthralled

Yet Logos reigns beyond the base
The work entire is had by Grace

For whether in power he makes the Earth
or grants to man the gift of birth…

Christ himself obeys the Lord
and makes his Will a thing out-poured

Guilty

When off to academe I went
with promise and twinkling eye
I thought all kinds alike to me
but my thinking was awry

For when I had occasion once
to speak among my peers
of matters plain it seemed to me
no cause for strife or tears…

they said my words would not be heard
my thoughts worth less than chaff
The lack of pigment in my skin
had somehow earned their wrath

This accusation, new to me
was wholly strange and foul
My kin were stock in ancient lands
on grounds both rich and fallow

They came here Poles, they came here Greeks
they came here Slavs and Swedes
Many were poor, many were bent
and many were Catholics, indeed!

But when the rich in academe decided we were white
it was then in our own neighborhoods when first began our plight

Will to Action

Action is the key
From action do we flee
Ineptitude strikes each man in his turn

Though it makes a demand
by action, we stand
and by action the fetters are burned

Pointed action of body and mind do attest
to strive is far better than to coddle one’s rest

So before you are taken by death and decay
before the ashen Keeper with you has his way…

Direct each organ to work for the Good
Every man of strong will has been what he would

The Ten-Thousand Things

There once was a greybeard who looked at the world
“The ten-thousand things!” he spake, lips unfurled

He knew that his number was silly and trite
but a Truth he embedded in his verbage that night

Every bit of nature has presence in its time
but the ten-thousand things change their shape..
as a rhyme

The leaf that today is trod underfoot
in a day might be burned and turned into soot

But the leaf is a leaf for today and all time
and the soot will be soot in its day..for all time

The learned might name the greybeard a dunce
but every leaf, every frog
is ten-thousand things..
All at once

True North

A gift was given
The world was riven

A spectrum profound
I’m ripped from the ground

The gates begin to widen
A new Cosmos to stride in

I seek forbidden rites
The soul is aflight

The Christ spoke it true
Hundreds have been made new!

Afore the Nazarene
A host were made Clean

But my ego interfered
The intellect not reared

I thought myself tall
But in truth, I’m very small

The ego beaten down
My intellect, but a clown

Having realized my plight
God’s Grace is the Right

Knowing the fleshy course
His Grace is the Source.

The Banyan Deer

The deer had a chief in the green banyan grove
His ego was bloated with self-loving throes

He thought to himself…
my antlers are fine
my haunches are hard
and I have a keen mind

His long days were spent eloping with does
and taunting young bucks, in the green banyan grove…

But it once came to pass that he fell fast in love
A doe struck his heart like a dart from above

Not a fortnight had passed, and she carried his fawn
He’d sired three-dozen, but he thought them cheap spawn

This time, however
his soul felt a pang

The mother, he loved
and the fawn would bear his name

Yet on a day long ordained
before the hour of birth-pains
five hunters drew near to the grove

Bows at the ready
their hands naught but steady
the hunters came stalking the does

They found her alone
She stood like a stone
the mother who bore the chief’s fawn

By design, he was near
His heart filled with fear
at the sight of five bows that were drawn

She dared not to run
Her limbs had gone numb
She knew not how to process the danger

But the chief was abhorred
He’d seen this before
To the threat, he was ought but a stranger

Heedless of pain
or the danger to himself
afore his love, he sped, and there reeled

In this circumstance
he’d give her a chance
by using his body as a shield

The darts were then loosed
deadly as any noose
They punctured his body with ease

His scream split the air
It raised hackle and hair
The lament unbuckled her knees

It was then that she ran
there outpacing every man
She’d be damned lest her fawn see his life

He watched as she left
there gasping for breath
the Chief who ran not from the scythe

Yet amidst his sharp pain
he felt peace all the same
For once, his intent had been pure

Though spilling his blood
the earth turned to mud
his demise was now all but sure

He then gave up the ghost
His psychic-nature did boast
a vast myriad of thoughts and impressions

From this life, and that
he swirled in a vat
of images, sounds, and reflections

Then, in a blink
his mind on the brink
the Lord stood before him, as one clothed

His voice came as water
the tidings of a Father
To this One, the Chief was betrothed

He stammered in speech that he knew not before
To him this new Lord was a thing of adore!

“My Master” he said
there nursing his dread
“For your servant, what doom do you plan?”

The Lord broadly smiled
His voice, soft, as a child’s
“My son, you’re now fit to be Man.”

One Spirit

The Master beheld the pain in this world
He sought to assuage it with power unfurled

It wasn’t as if the pain was apart
He felt it Himself, right down to his heart

To the blind, He gave sight
To the lame, He gave limbs
The poor and needy, He counted as kin

To the sick, He gave health
To the dead, He gave life
To the mad He gave freedom, and ended their strife

But the pain never ended
What more could He do?
The suffering of man, He felt through and through

He wanted to end it
put it soundly to rest
Perhaps He could do it by taking on death…

The root of all suffering was karma, was sin
He knew how to sponge it, how to burn it within

If any had faith, His power they could use
But to heal so many, His body they’d abuse

If that was the price, “So be it,” He thought
He’d give life and limb to see it all stop

For the renewal of Earth
for the joy of each soul
He’d take on their karma, their sin, and their woe

I feel quite the same as Jesus once did
The suffering of others is a thing I would rid

But my strength and my faith compares not to the Christ
If he is a Lion, I fall with the mice

The death of this one that I call by first name
Is the price that’s required if I’m to master God’s game

With ego in balance and conceit in a vise
with a measure of time, I too will be Christ

The Proxy

Call me the proxy
I’m a fiddle with strings

Contemplation is the luthier that makes me to sing

Of all the thoughts, impressions, and trifling things
spinning round my head
in constant concentric rings…

There’s not a one may boast on any account
Mighty God alone is the prodigal fount

God’s Basin is like an imperceptible abyss
When I receive naught from that ocean, I know something’s amiss

And the moment I attribute His Grace to myself
it is then I abuse my spiritual health