The Alter

You’re the love of my life,
So i’ll make sure you’re my wife,
Forever. Till the end.
I know where we’ll meet,
At the alter, in such a heat,
At the perfect moment.
You’ll make me all sappy,
God knows I’ll be happy,
And it’ll last.
We all know it makes sense,
I was never on the fence,
We’ll get there.
So when the clock strikes three,
I need you there: for me.

‘Come Lord and Lift’ by T. Merrill

Come Lord, and lift the fallen bird
Abandoned on the ground;
The soul bereft and longing so
To have the lost be found.

The heart that cries—let it but hear
Its sweet love answering,
Or out of ether one faint note
Of living comfort wring.

This is one of my favourite poems by a contemporary poet. It is a breathtaking cry of compassion for a fallen creature, and metaphorically for ourselves. What do you think?

Do you agree?

He who draws delights from sentiments of poetry is a true poet, though he has never written a line in all his life.

What is writing?

Sitting at a keyboard and bleeding.

Back to the winter theme: ‘Icy Lanes’

Ice had covered the long darkening lanes,
Masking the treacherous grey tar and panes,
Spreading so far, nothing fled its frost.
And now the cold has caught us: at a cost,
Crystals and diamonds shall soon become coal,
As sure as hell, the ice will take its toll.
The innocents are falling and slipping,
Finding out, too late: the ice is cunning,
But even then, when it’s dwindled and doomed,
We see liquid limbo, and we’re consumed.
I sat in the gutter on soggy spit,
But I felt the splutter of iced-up shit.

‘Winter Stars’

Winter stars and northern lights
Accompany us every night.
Wondrous comets and dancing sights
Give us a hint some nights.
Little lanterns so high above,
There! Can you see them?

Purple clouds and misty streaks
Give us a wave, most weeks.
The vault of heaven at its peak
Sometimes sighs when we speak.
Circling planes so high above,
There! Can you see them?