Bagpipes

"The pipes, the pipes are playing..."
The music of my soul,
Chords that fall like raindrops
         from mountain crest and castle wall,
Wild notes from highland battles
         echoing both victory and defeat.

"The pipes, the pipes are calling..."
To my genetic roots;
Recalling ancestral memories
         from glen and moor and bog,
Memories of Gaelic gods and goddesses
         worshiped in Erin, in Scotland, in Man.

"The pipes, the pipes are marching..."
To a new song in this day,
To a song of unity, faith, and freedom,
A song that all humanity can sing.

I also posted this in the journal, Writing in Snow, located in the folder Awardicon Items, located in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

The Joy of Finding Baha'u'llah

The joy of finding Baha'u'llah
vibrates through my soul,
reverberates through my mind,
shattering doubt and fear,
and regenerating love and faith.


I also posted this poem in the journal, Writing in Snow, located in the folder Awardicon Items, in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

Beacons

Stars twinkle,
glittering diamonds
in a black velvet sky.

Planet burn holes
in the ebony blanket of night.

planes fly
across the firmament,
their precious gem lights
beacons guiding the mind
to a conclusion.

Each item
has a specific attribute
identifying it to the observer.

Each is a beacon
to the poet's muse.

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Dream About Going Home

There was something different
about the room,
a fundamental change in the arrangement
of the furniture
and other objects.

Everything appeared
to be in its proper place,
but something
had shifted
or been moved.

It wasn't
on the conscious
or visual level,
but on the subliminal.

A millimeter change
in the placement of the furniture.

Or was I
the one who had changed
in the decades
since I last visited
my Grandmother's house.

I've also posted this in the journal, Writing in Snow, under the folder Awardicon Items, in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

One Hundred Words

I reread the words I'd written,
I listened for the voice of fear,
and found it expressed in each line.

I heard the question
reverberating through my mind:
Can I write two hundred words?

Did I detect
the voice of terror echoing
between the line?

Were those tears I heard,
in the unwritten words?

One hundred words to motive.
One hundred questions asked.
Can one hundred questions be answered
in one hundred words?

I also posted this in the journal, Writing in Snow, under the folder Awardicon Items, in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

Valley of Fire: A Memory

Age after age the
desert wind whispers through red
stone canyons. While grain

upon grain desert
sand moves against sandstone cliffs.
Carving images in

the stone. Images to
which we attach names. The Bee
Hives, Elephant Rock,

et cetera. Names
and images which the coming
aeons will erase.


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Three Onenesses: Water Flows

God is one!

Composed
Of two atoms of hydrogen and one atom of oxygen
Water flows

Religion is one!

Water flows
Across the face of the planet
Two atoms of hydrogen and o ne atome of oxygen
Descends in torrents
From the clouds of mercy

Humanity is one!

Fresh or salt
Rain or standing
Water is composed
Of two atoms of hydrogen and one atom of oxygen

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Walking the Dog: A Memory

Energy leashed
tugs at the brown leather strap
pulls me forward.

Distracted
by the scent of another
on a blade of grass.

Specs
deposits her own scent
before moving on.

 

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Is It Writer's Block?

Sometimes,
I don't know what to write
because my muse has taken flight
across a foggy lake of
"I don't know what to write!"

Is this writer's block?
Is this the voice
of my inner critic
attempting to block
my creativity?


I've also posted this poem in the journal, Writing in Snow, under the folder Awardicon Items, in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

Motivation

Inhale the fragrance
of motivation and accomplishment:
a busy day.

I also posted this in the journal, Writing in Snow, under the folder Awardicon Items, in my writing.com portfolio. Write On @ Writing.Com!

Summer's Arrival

Summer arrived
eight days early
with triple digit temperatures
that cause power bills
to rise
toward the national debt.

Air conditioners hum,
their songs echoing
through the neighborhood,
while excessive heat warnings
are sent to smartphones.

I also posted this poem in the journal, Writing in Snow, under the folder Awardicon Items, located in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

Jonah in the Belly of the Whale

Averse
to obey God's command
darkness envelop

the being
swallowed by the leviathan
of self.

Stomach acids digest
self's outer layer,
leave,

the inner kernel
on its knees
begging for salvation.

I also posted this in the journal, Writing in Snow,  under the folder Awardicon Items, in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

I Write of My Beloved

I write of my Beloved
Through whom my fingers bend
To pick up my pen!

I write of my salvation
Using ink drawn from my ow2n veins
To document my liberation!

I write of my pain
Caused by my ego's attempt to gain
My soul's allegiance!

I write of my fears
Caused by the disempowering years
In Self's prison!


I also posted this in the journal, Writing in Snow, under the folder  Awardicon Items, located in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

Writing Poetry

I am compelled to write!
The words come to me as lovers;
As lovers they tantalize and seduce,
Making me their willing slave,
Until I master the art of their seduction.


I also posted this poem in the journal, Writing in Snow, under the folder Awardicon Items, in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

Am I Asking The Right Question?

We ask questions all the time:
Who, what, when, where, where, why, and how.
The answers come in various forms,
though they are often not what we want
or expect.

Are the questions
we ask God and ourselves
meant to elicit the answers we want
or the answers we need.

I find myself asking, "What am I doing wrong?"

Doesn't this suggest that I expect
to take the incorrect action?
On the other hand,
if I rephrase the question
it becomes "What am I doing right?"
Now I'm preparing my eyes to see reality.
God put within me,
within everyone,
a s park of divine light.

Rephrasing a question refocuses it
on either the positive or the negative.
It lets us see both what needs fixing
and what is well done.
God loves the individual and humanity,
has a plan for each person
and for civilization:
There is always something the individual is doing right.


I also posted this in the journal, Writing in Snow, under the folder Awardicon Items, in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

At the Beach: In Honor of World Ocean Day

Like battalion marching to war,
Transporting victims of slaughter,
Waves are marching into the shore.

Pushing lathered whitecaps before,
swells transport debris and water,
Like battalions marching to war.

As birds echoing the breakers roar,
Scavenge the sea edge for fodder,
Waves are marching into the shore.

Suffers paddle away from the shore,
Advancing past the breakwater.
Like battalions marching to war.

Billows recite ancient sea lore,
As tourist ramp in the water,
Wave are marching into the shore.

Disgorging refuse on the shore,
The sea returns our waste water:
Like battalions marching to war,
Waves are marching into the shore.

I also posted this in the journal, Writing in Snow, in the folder Awardicon Items, in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

My Sanctuary: The Writings of Baha'u'llah

In the words of Baha'u'llah,
I find a fortress safe and strong
where the cares and strife of modern life
neither linger nor belong.

His words inspire my heart to find
the love that hate conceals,
His pen inscribes upon my spirit
the faith that tests reveal.

His verses are my sanctuary
bestowing peace on mind and soul,
His sacred scriptures God's book of laws
to which obedience is my goal.

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Judgment Day: A Description of Dawn

Prior to dawn
the darkness deepens,
as if gathering its strength
to fight the light.

Dawn comes
its rays of life
send darkness scurrying
and ting gray-white the morning sky.

Life's rays paint
the sky in shades of purple
streak the clouds
with pink and red.

The sun ascending
in silent glory
blinds the ravenous birds of night
and inspires the nightingale's song.

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Feast of Light

Life is renewed,
and creation reborn
for Christ ha returned
in the Father's Glory.

Stalactites of light
shine with crystal radiance,
while grandeur is reflected
from radiant stalagmites.

Stalagmites and stalactites
glitter in the darkness of matter
proclaiming the joyous news.

Silence transcends
for an abundance of reasons say:
That God's Promise is fulfilled.

Splendor's shadow hides
in the radiant reflection
of the Lord of Host
and the King of Glory.

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After Midnight

After midnight
the seconds become minutes suspended
on the event horizon of a black hole.

A black hole that pulls
and stretches the minutes
into hours longing for dawn.

After midnight
the mind falls
into a cogitative languor
waiting for the hours
to be pulled into days.

Days overflowing
with the agony of months
stretching into years.

After midnight
the eyes stare into years
elongating into decades.

Decades pulled
second by second into centuries
that are pulled minute by minute
into millennia that are stretched
hour by h our into aeons.


I also posted this in the journal, Writing in Snow, under the folder Awardicon Items, in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

Trust God

Place your trust in God
Move forward toward your goal
God is sufficient

 I also posted this in the journal, Writing in Snow, under the folder  Awardicon Items, in my writing.com portfolio.Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com

Saturday

A beautiful day
Bright sun, blue sky, and white clouds
Wind moves tree shadows

 

I also posted this in the journal, Writing in Snow, under the folder  Awardicon Item, in my writing.com portfolio. Visit My Portfolio @ Writing.Com