Starting Today

I know I'm such an irregular poster (but then, this is my personal space, so I post when I wish) but today I'm going to start the writing.

As a side note, I find it interesting that someone would take offense that the soul pervades the whole body. I get the distinct impression that my words are misunderstood, so I'll hold off on any kind of judgment (It's Lent, anyway.)

Also, Perelandra: Amazing. Lewis, how did you do it?



Keep Your Hands to Yourself, Please

Heavens or are they bowls?
God leaves the world full of holes
So leaky sods can beat the odds
And trickle down (and out?)

What it is in consistent
That makes men so insistent!
I'd swear my hair goes gray
On the day I get it!

Okay, okay I'm vaguest
On days with 'y', suggest
The prison isn't just so quite
Water-tight (or complete!)

This cosmos has got some leaks
(I don't mean mountain-creeks)
But although we go much the way
to the quay! (sea beyond it)

It's like a squeaky wheel
If you want the kind of feel
Double oil, trouble-toil the creak
Is way to deep (don't try to fix it.)

I'm talkin' about yo noggin
Which you keep keepin' floggin
You didn't make it, (take it!) and now
Say how you think to make it right?

Take this a poetic trial
Plant seeds for about a mile
Come November try to remember (hon)
Each one! You already know you can't!

Three words, habit, habit
Habit, while you can, grab it
Take hold, we're told and ride
and stride my shoes a bit.

Can't want what I really need
Or need what I want indeed
O What to, what to do, what
Oh that



Groaning, moaning my limbs
Seem to tell me my time comes
Soon, but not today. Dare I
Ask then, them whence
Comes complaint?

Silent, speech is of minds
My own and yours, years
To train them but flesh hath
Centuries to say nothing
And speaks slowly:

"Do you see that body
Oddly, underneath the sand?
Moses! Who have you slain
So to find freedom for few
And new life for none?

Withhold your hand and
Hear me, my words are few
Where speak I like Israel
Soliloquy! Ask not now
Why Earth crieth: Blood!"



Arise, O my soul
Though heavy beams
Crush thee darkly

Hear the voices calling
From the tombs calling
Calling back to me

O Sampson! recall
All will be torn under
And rent asunder

Why do you sleep
Deep, O written letter
Unspoken, blot of ink

Here the author's pen
Writes and writes again
But speaks not when

When shall I arise?
My eyes, I see the word
Written, 'here is I.'

The end draws near
And here I consume
My hours with why

The sense is pleasant
But sent yet young,
Still I am numb

The feelings become of worry
And hurry I must, one
Who sleeps, and run.

"Will I be confounded?"
Resounded, this spoken;
A spell was broken

Sightless thing where
Bring you this terror
Or this despair?

So as real is my climb
Hand over hand I climb
Light day, ancient world