The Child Asks Why

it is addressed thusly:
To the old at heart and callow in mind; The a-theist, the a-gnostic and the talkative.
it reads:
Another shouting voice is heard
Louder than the Kingly word
But such is all with selfsame violence
For every din blocks out the silence.



it is addressed thusly:
A poem which needs a response.
it reads:
is anything here now freely chosen
or are our fates there simply frozen?
No! So I've now in this matter
looked thereon, and chose the better.

As I chose a year ago
I will choose again
If she who read reads now
Let her say, amen.


The Wait

it reads:
When the heart waits for such decision
The body's pains, the cruel incision
Stings although no wound be drawn
And still minutes and hours drag on.


Criticisms of the Tragic Conservative

it is addressed thusly:
With condolences to Jeremiah
it reads:
A new jeremiad is seen arising
No one rejoicing, no one crying
This one has a choral setting
Wolves own teeth, they now are whetting
a postscript is here written:
a pass-word:
second terrace yet gadarene marketplace


Too Much Information, HTML 5 Edition

It reads:
I'm rather recommending number 5
4 now sleeping, is not so alive
'neath the deluge hold out your cup
Only a moment, and it will fill up.

A postscript is here written:
A pass-word.
google introduction to html 5


Remembering Ascetical Advice

It reads:
Heavy are the hours of night
Nor short are they for lack of light
Beware forgetting how to sleep
While in this flesh, your life He keep.


The Seed Must Die

it reads:
Said Fiachra, 'why dig you there?'
To Phocas, with dirt-stained hair
Said as he bore the tears of martyrdom,
'no staff have I the earth to drum!'
A post-script is here written:
A pass-word.
st fiachra orthodoxwiki


On the Necessities of a Tired Man

it reads:
A thought of morning coffee
Is not one often thought as lofty
Though when traffic's threats are thick
May excuse my magnifying it.


Sincerely, Your Thistle

it is addressed thusly:
For the Queen of the Arti-chokes
it reads:
Why do you cling?
I asked the burr
For which it had no answer;
It simply had a lot of things
That hook and snag and sting
And resist the weather.

The thistle then
No harm intends
With double hooks and halberds;
It needs to stick in
For until when
It needs to hurtle groundwards.

"I'm not garden variety
Of the parasitic sobriety!"
Thistles' barbs are not thorns,
You and I for tea
A prickly society
Call off now the battle horns!

This little burr
Is a traveler
Of the most tactile sort I'll grant you;
So I must aver;
His motives mostly sure
To be getting where we're going to!



it reads:
A perfect case of when words meet
Like a lovers at a diner eat
Where joins the things celestial
With everything adorable.
a postscript is here written:
a pass-word.
limit roche wiki


Zero Hour

it is addressed thusly:

An ode.

it reads:

Of the nights there are so many
As only one at a time
This night can be as any
Before was light, before was time.

But yet before all of these things
A dread great depth of Void
What is the Nothingness to things
That in idling, He was alloyed?

What is this shade but ere a Light
That is as darkness, as pitch
As black infath'mable night
(Sight or blindness? Which?)

Where beyond no reasons reach
For too simple, far too strong
Is He for all, and for each:
(Speak then, not too long)

Tell me then a story
For only stories tell
Tell it short, no allegory
And always tell it well.

Let us speculate a bit
And say that light came first
The lightest of the elements
Blinding as a burst

Over above the water there
(Keeping with the verse)
Sudden, daylight lightnings tear
Across the universe!

Earths of many rise and fall
Among the waters cosmic
Heavens, firmament and all
Sensational and seismic!

From dust and seas of voided night
Arise the many worlds
Waters up and O, aright!
Dust like clouds unfurled!

Many germs about the place
Those seeds of every kind!
A many colored living face
Rooted rocks entwined.

Now before the many lands
A lighted sky is scryed,
Cast across by cosmic hands
A host all far and wide!

A sea of stars, the firmament
The waters up above;
Sail them by centuries went
Ceaseless, ebbing love

Now before the host we see
A rippled righteous life
The white and moving sea
Waves its wooing wife.

Across the plains of purple there
Sighing like the trees
Songs of no man's tongue do bear
The windings of the breeze

But among the rocks and rills
Crawl things small and great
An army of mouths (save the gills)
And those mouths, they ate!

So how would end this oddly song
Except within a bower
Man and wife and Lord belong
And end the Zero Hour.