Midnight Miracles Make Quiet Mornings

Midnight Miracles Make Quiet Mornings
Midnight miracles make quiet mornings.
Even God sleeps peaceful on the breast.
Restless nights result in dreamy dawnings,
Revelations ripe for sunlit rest.
Years of love lie drowsy, slug-a-bed.
Choices seem to snuggle, sleeping in.
Holiness is happiness instead,
Rich in all that gathers grace within.
In love of God or man, the Earth must turn.
Songs of angels come in troubled times.
The miracle of witness one must earn,
Moving to transfigure one's own crimes.
As faith and love require restful sleep,
So, too, must they their midnight vigils keep.
Mind Is Not the Medium for Joy
Mind is not the medium for joy.
Each word should be a bell within the heart,
Ringing like a wind-tossed, wave-tossed buoy,
Restless in the grip of polished art.
Years should be a cry of sculpted stone;
Christmases long past, an oak-voiced choir,
Harmonies that hollow out the bone,
Rich with longing, reckless with desire.
If meaning but had meaning, words would be
Salient as the resonance of brass,
Tearing chunks of glory from the sea,
Melting steel with love for things that pass.
All I would, I could to you convey
Should I find words that might such non-words say.
Miracles Have a Way of Making News
Miracles have a way of making news.
Even skeptics stare at parted seas.
Religious or not--Christians, Muslims, Jews--
Resurrection brings them to their knees!
Years ago, miracles were in vogue:
Christ and Moses wowed the willing crowds;
Holy icons healed both saint and rogue;
Rare wonders were ascribed to cups and shrouds.
In our time miracles are everyday,
So few can hope to grab us, or astound.
The mysteries that clutter up our way
May seem much more perplexing than profound.
And yet life is miraculous: to be
Surpasses any wonder we might see.
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May You Find This Christmas Inner Peace

 May You Find This Christmas Inner Peace
May you find this Christmas inner peace
Equal to the patient love you give,
Releasing all the pain you can release,
Renewing all the grace with which you live.
Yearnings may you turn to rhapsodies,
Choosing to find happiness in beauty,
Holding in their haunting melodies
Riches that sustain your sense of duty.
In anger may you find an evening star
Showing you the way to Bethlehem.
The angels that watch naked from afar
May you hear sing of who would none condemn.
As all you love are blessed in having you
So may you feel the joy in all you do.


May You Feel Such Love as Lights the Morning
May you feel such love as lights the morning
Even at this darkest time of year:
Rippling through your heart with little warning,
Returning you to wonder and to fear.
You cannot will yourself to feel such love;
Christmas is a gift of unsought grace.
However much you may your spirit move,
Redemption chooses whom it will embrace.
In you may there be radiance and beauty
Such that you might never hope to see,
Taking as its home some common duty
Made lovely by a will sustained and free.
As you become a vessel for this light,
So may you know its pain and its delight.

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The desperate song

The desperate song

Your memory of the night when I am emerges.
The River tied to the sea its stubborn lament.

Abandoned as the docks at the dawn.
It is the time of departure, abandoned oh!

Cold Corollas it raining down on my heart.
Oh, bilge debris, fierce Cave of shipwrecked!

You accumulated wars and flights.
Wings of song birds they raised you.

All you what you tragaste, as the remoteness.
As the sea, as the time. Everything in you was wreck!

It was joyful time of the assault and the kiss
The hour of the stupor that burned like a beacon.

Anxiety of pilot, diver blind fury,
turbid love drunk, everything in you was wreck!

In the childhood of fog, my soul winged and wound.
Discoverer lost, everything in you was wreck!

I made back the shadow wall,
I walked beyond the desire and the Act.

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