A Wave and Good Bye
I leave my cot and walk the beach, barefoot,
My feet laved ling-ringly by the latest wave,
Broken along the sloping shore, as it returns.
My print is there, I know, upon the silken sand;
I felt the pressure of my being make its mark
Upon the yielding surface of the smooth wet mat,
And stepping back a pace, can see the dent I made.
But still I must not estimate above its due,
The influence that I have had upon this strand,
For though I build with busy hands a castle here
It may well be tomorrow's walkers on this shore
Will find no trace of it, for like the tide,
Responding to the hand that made the waters stir,
I come in -- I go out.
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The Defyer
In life an atheist was he,
Devoid of any Christian faith;
Proclaiming loudly, confident,
There was no God.
In death he took his rest in stone,
More thick the world had never known,
And this engraved: "No judgement day
Will break this pod."
Below the words a crack appears
And struggling up, a young green tree
From seed long since interred, that shows
God does not nod.
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Recipe For Writing
Take a spot conducive to reflection--
on the state of man
perhaps the total universe--
or even just a rose;
add pen in hand that flows
and paper white on which to write.
Stir the brain to brilliant thought
in words not so arranged before;
remain until the wick tips over
in the candle's way,
till stupefying flesh,
o'erwhelmed by sensing soul, takes flight.
After you are satisfied
You've brought to birth a holy thing,
count good your work
if, from a thousand particles of dust,
you've inbreathed life to one small phrase
and penned it into sight.
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