Poem #12

Old man wiser than
His old age
In the high desert
Among serpents and sage
One hand pagan,
Other hand is Christ’s;
Alone in the desert
For his last rites.

On him is the earth below
The sky-sign upon his chest
He stands; his breathing stills,
Preparations for final rest.
He chants the new child inside
Falling into a trance
Before him an Angel appears
As they begin their dance.
Angel throws him into the wind
Wizened hands holding fast
As the mountains rumble in the storm;
Sky to earth with lighting cast,
Night on the plain filled
Darkness and the cold
Still and silent plain, he mutters
“Lord have mercy on my soul.”

Poem #11

I sat silent for
A hundred years, my
Solitude broken by a
morning laugh with
the dishwasher
humming and a pot
Singing tea.

I picked up my briefcase
and my helmet to
Fight a war, only a
Whisper this morning to know
What I’m fighting for.

Returning only at night
And riddled with
doubts but delivered from
harm– for sleep, quiet darkness
and the ending of loneliness.

But as I slept,
I dreamt, I
Woke to self-lonely cell
And a narrow bed
Without another hand to
Turn out the light and
Whisper goodnight.

Poem #10

Mother wipes her hands
On her apron, and falls into the dust
Father sets his axe into a stump,
He kneels, crossing himself, and
Kneels to kiss the earth
Mingled with ashes.

Sparks in the skies, fires
Dance along the winds,
Four horsemen have ridden
Flaming steeds,
Fire from the south
And western smoke
Fire from the east
And northern smoke

Fathers, together with staffs
And an axe
Mothers, together small bundles
And nothing left to bear.

They gather slowly in the hills,
Mist encroaches, obscuring
The sunrise.
Rainshowers vanquish embers
Of the home.
Father says home is no more
But mother suggests
She is here. Nodding they walk on,
Descending in immortal coil

Fire from the west,
Smoke from the east,
Fire from the south,
Smoke from the east,
And ash covers all.