Steven's Poetry/Writing: March 2006 Archives

Another from the Retreat


Be My Lord

In the Glory of the night
be my Lord,
in the beauty of the light upon the waters,
be my Lord,
in silence that is not silent,
be my Lord,
in the stillness that is ever-moving
be my Lord,
in the chill and dark
be my Lord,
in the cold that is cold to me alone,
be my Lord,
in the shade beneath the hollow-bellied moon,
be my Lord,
in the shade of broad branched trees at night,
be my Lord,
in the memory of sound,
be my Lord,
in the lights of passing boats,
be my Lord,
as I slip beneath the black waters,
be my Lord,
in cricket chirp and frog song,
be my Lord,
in the promise of the light
be my Lord.

Let there be no other for me,
in our walking let it be our footsteps alone
that bend the blades and thresh the air,
let my song be a song for you and no other,
let my Lord have no others to stand beside Him.

Oh my heart be silent
for just this moment
and hear his breathing,
the sweet breath of hay-mow breeze
is not sweeter than the gentle
stir of his hushed breathing
in my hair, and in this breathing
be all my heart can want,
all my soul can see.
Be my Lord.

© 2006, Steven Riddle

By the way, I will note that I didn't claim they were good. But this is a way of marking them so that I'll come back and revise--if the spirit leads.

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Hosea 2:14

allure and lead and speak
her her her
into the desert/speak to her heart

How do I hear you
when I am so ready to speak?

I have no ears for listening
when my heart is loading up words
that will spill-a cataract-out of the tomb of my mouth.

I stuff my head with the sounds
of my own broken words
like bottleglass on a fence top
they are enough to keep all out.

Oh my heart is full to breaking
full of myself, my thoughts, my ways.
It is not a tender place but a thicket
and forked and poisonous as an adder's tongue.

And still it keeps filling,
filling until bursting--
bursting completely
with my self.
Bursting with the poison of the self.

How can I hear you over
the chirrupping, clattering, clanking,
drumming, roaring, droning,
humming, buzzing, chiming,
ringing, three-ring circus I laugh and call myself.

© 2006, Steven Riddle

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About this Archive

This page is a archive of entries in the Steven's Poetry/Writing category from March 2006.

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