Why people rode west

When wondering
Why people rode West,
I ask horses.
For once I knew bright wanderlust,
Tears when sun wove down to flax—
But now I stay, as statues stay:
Sleepwalk.
Yet mustang herds in picture books
Choose godly mud, swim
Through oceaned fog as rivers
Under Utah stars—
So I mount my mare to rise
To fields of blistered sky,
Scale a cliff of glass or grass—
Let September sun trade places
With life in stirrups' muddy tread,
Nails pushed full of dirt and sand,
Living unasked.

No one sees you cry when it rains

When I want to shut off
                          shut down
Love—
I step outside, for no one sees me cry
When it rains.

Approaching Christmas

I.

June. Sun. The first day for wearing grass-bale gloves.

The hay is flowing west, sad teary-eyed

Under forest’s farewell breath of blessing.

II.

I waltz with rakes, alfalfa does aerials.

Clover sways to the music, free, and swinging

Her violet skirts, while the mourning dove cries merrily.

III.

Sleeping bales are dreaming on their stubbled bed.

The perfect ones to be cut apart, a sacrifice, and broken

Bales I rattle, scatter, rip, and shake—back onto the queue, to be gift-wrapped.

IV.

Horses will gather, under the tree, and open an intertwined gift

With gratefulness, lifting out clover, letting her dance, sing one last time, an artist

Painting her sunflowers, like Picasso never could.

The wanderer's prayer

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

~J. R. R. Tolkien

Cantique de Noël: A direct translation of "O Holy Night"

This is a direct translation from French of the song, "O Holy Night." I love it this way...

Cantique de Noël

Midnight, Christians, it's the solemn hour,

When the God-man descended to us

To erase the stain of original sin

And to end the wrath of His Father.

The entire world thrills with hope

On this night that gives it a Savior.

People kneel down, wait for your deliverance.

Christmas, Christmas, here is the Redeemer,

Christmas, Christmas, here is the Redeemer!

The ardent light of our Faith,

Guides us all to the cradle of the infant,

As in ancient times a brilliant star

Conducted the Magi there from the orient.

The King of kings was born in a humble manger;

O mighty ones of today, proud of your grandeur,

It is to your pride that God preaches.

Bow your heads before the Redeemer!

Bow your heads before the Redeemer!

The Redeemer has overcome every obstacle:

The Earth is free, and Heaven is open.

He sees a brother where there was only a slave,

Love unites those that iron had chained.

Who will tell Him of our gratitude,

For all of us He is born, He suffers and dies.

Fare thee well

Farewell, my sister, fare thee well.

The elements be kind to thee, and make

Thy spirits all of comfort: fare thee well.

~William Shakespeare

 

 

"She Walks in Beauty"

I heard about this poem only just this evening, when my friend mentioned it by name. With a name like that, I thought, it simply had to be wonderful.

And I was right.

"She Walks in Beauty"

By Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!