Just a Thought

i’m running out of ink.
suppose i wrote with a toe in the sand.

Just a Thought

I wake to afterglow

A Late Walk

When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.

And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words

A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.

I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.

-Robert Frost

Images

ANOTHER and another
shiver shiv
red helpless forest
blue wind, clear trees
silver sunsets on the breeze

Thoughts On Risk And Reward

joy is handsome
kept in a glass case on the mantlepiece
of tomorrow
the next thought
the hills the vales the
ifs in the distance
grasped with two hands
and… and… and…

far wonders stolen by
DOUBT of absence
and speed
and rationality
and… and… and…

up down
dawn and dusk afford no passive
revolutionary
the shadow of the noose is
a thing to be risked,
the hangman’s smile to be cherished

To The Reader

How many times have i stood to bring storm flowers
to your door only to turn back in
my magnet
fear of rejection, pain, steel unknowing
of untried strength
of myself, my timid mountains
of what you hate and are sure to find out sooner or later,
troubled in my homely stanzas
intemperate in my dreams and doubts
so unlike you
so unlike you.

Finished Thought

In June
the young girls spread their leaves
beneath the golden question trees
grey clouds their eyes
their thoughts,
theirs sighs
a little less, a little more
than blessed assurance.
Fallen from grace
naked in our measure,
all tone-deaf angels we,
possessed of
spent ceramic fealty,
but baptised as the leaves
by the sun
christened
knowing they will die in
firey splendor
fallen on Autumns winds.

North Carolina Stream Of Concious

a little bittie of that blood-beating melodie
back back

straight up to the enemie to the friendlie
soundling
heat mountain
the mountain of smoke
refuge
sanctuary sanct u ar y

of fatherly outlook off often noting
the names of a thousand thousand
oh, those thousand encamped
about the faithful who happen only to be the
BAPTISTS

grown dont didnt up dangerous youth
back back
but dont worry,
i dont hold grudges,
not like an axe above my head, above your head.
no one listening

to the dying man
breathing solitude and pool water
under the oblivious sky
loving him from afar
like the pool, o the pool, the celestial blue
of the bottom of the pool
the bottom
the pool no no
BEGONE!!!
B E G O N E ! ! !

An Unfinished Thought

Young girls sigh and spread their leaves
Beneath the firey question trees.
Grey clouds their eyes-
Their thoughts, their sighs
a little less,
a little more
than blessed assurance.
All fallen from grace,
naked in our measure.
tone-deaf angels we,
possessed of
ash and spent
ceramic fealty.
Be baptized
as the leaves are baptized
by the sun each day
knowing they will die
in splendor, falling
on autumn winds. And may
your desperate smile be reminded
of this thought-
The meek own no more merit
than they ought.

How Deep The Fathers Love For Us

How deep the Father’s love for us, how vast beyond all measure
That he should give his only son, to make a wretch his treasure
How great the pain of searing loss, the Father turned his face away
As wounds which mar the chosen one, bring many sons to glory

Behold the man upon a cross, my sin upon his shoulders
Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice call out among the scoffers
It was my sin that held him there until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life; I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything: no gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ; his death and resurrection
Why should I gain from his reward? I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart: his wounds have paid my ransom

By Stuart Townend