POETRY

I have been a poet longer than a prose or fiction writer, but I was not sure whether or not I wanted to have a space here for my verse. As you can see, the "better angels" won. Poetry's inspirational nature is such that there have been times in my life when creative flow overwhelmed me and others when the muse turned mute. In any case, I hope these poems may inspire, comfort, or stir the heart of at least one soul.

Dominus tecum

Young eyes survey the mountain peaks Cheeks pink with Nordic air A child hears the valley speak *Blóm laden in her hair Young fingers find a hand to grasp The knight takes gentle care He lifts his little golden lass Upon his trusty mare “No elvish spell shall harm you now, There is no leering voice” But still remains a looming vow The future holds but choice ~ A maiden’s eyes crave mystery The wonder of the world A spirit yearning to be free By passion loose, unfurled A maiden’s hand in faith bestowed A promise made by kin But O, behold the unbetrothed Doth lead her into sin Who is to blame, the virgin lost? The pauper of a knight? Both away their honor tossed Now sin doth blind their sight ~ Dull eyes look deep into the dusk A will like iron bent A soul is left alone in dust Virtue all but spent “Consent!” she cries o’er childhood fields Her will it must be won But with a father’s reluctant yield, From blackest clouds -- a son A mother’s eyes in horror fall Wed wrongly under God And burdened by her bridal shawl A sprout bursts from the sod ~ So many years of passion spent And burdens seven-fold An eighth her mind securely bent Against her husband’s mold “Let justice be my vengeance!” Inconstant were her cries To lose her greatest grievance Made rivers flood her eyes As in that garden once he held The maiden in his cloak She clung unto the corpse and yelled Her bond to him now broke ~ A woman turned to God and asked, “Where do I go from here? My love has turned to coal and ash My sons -- my heart has seared” “Return to me,” a voice did sing, “I’ve long awaited you And bring to me your golden ring; Your heart shall burn anew!” ~ Old eyes survey the mountain peaks Awrinkle with love and care A child grown both wise and weak Lays all her burdens bare A wreathéd head now only veiled By motherhood and grace The Lord of all that night prevailed His gift to her -- His Face The pilgrim’s faith ebbed bright and dim But ‘fore she lay in tomb The Lord ensured reprise of hymn -- O, Dominus tecum!

A reflection on Sigrid Undset's Kristin Lavransdatter

Featured in Christendom College's In Corde magazine

I have left a light on in my house So that you may know I am home. I have lit a candle in the dark So that you may not blindly roam. I am waiting all the night for you And shall wait all through the day. I shall always be steadfast for you So that you may find your way. I have left a light on in my house And never shall it waver, For this small light within the night Is my promise as your Saviour.

Within the Saviour's house

Guardian Angel

2019 First Place Winner

Tenth Annual Gabriela Mistral Youth Poetry Competition

A guardian angel in disguise Who sees the world through a mother’s eyes... A presence unknown with a comforting smile A protection from pain-at least for a while... In shadows of loneliness Beneath cloaks of despair All at once will appear An angel there Asking for nothing at all in return Expecting, accepting nothing she earns When rusted chains choked all that was good An angel came doing all that she could Hoping her work might never be seen And offering a shoulder where weary ones lean Never once does this guardian Trouble her thoughts With affairs of herself- All is forgot Drying the tears of ones so unsure Holding back hers-though her pain is much more This guardian angel in disguise, Who sees the world through a mother’s eyes, Hides her sufferings both great and small All the while carrying the weight of them all ____ Oh cruelty! The angel’s wings are weary Let her rest from her flight Even the birds who fly through the dome Must regain their strength and travel home ____ So guardian angel in disguise Though you see the world through a mother’s eyes Rest your wings from harsh cold winds Rest your heart till the new day begins

Guillotine

Thunderous blankets of whitened breath Hail o’er a soaked and reddened earth. A city’s cry for a monarch’s death Has given rise to fury’s birth. A drop of hope falls from an eye, The last of any of its kind And tumbles down the rosy side Of cheeks which leave their youth behind. The fabled crime of kin now gone Condemn the sons bequeathed their name. As twisted justice springs its dawn The peasants place the olden blame. - What trouble has this lady caused? A flower’s stem still green? They pluck her with their bloodied claws Her virtues they demean! How come this gentle child must bear The sins of those ne’er met? How come the people flock and stare To hear the lockstep minuet? Two more, one more ‘fore she kneels Upon the wooden block. All fear and hatred she conceals As down drops copper locks. With one fell swoop, a flower dies Its stem is clipped and cut Ne’er again shall the child rise Her eyes forever shut.

What wild woodland creatures Are hidden in the thrush? What whisper wavers hauntingly Through the barren brush? What wanderer walks lightly On Time’s grey smoothéd steps? What wonder wrings this mind anew To challenge nature’s threats? - The thrilling thirst for sunlight Draws out the hidden heads The thistled thorns all strangled Reside not in their beds The threatening thumps of unknown beasts The thoughtless three-fold mysteries The darkened damp of guilded greens Ebb breathlessly with wakened beams - Cast cowardice cooly to the side As its own breath swoops o’er the path Curled, crouching calmly insects hide As tadpoles dance in raindrop baths Crushing, crashing capes of dew Drown banks in heaven’s tears Crimpson clouds cry hopelessly With love for springtime’s year - Mellow mannered mountains Of buttercups in fields Make murky mirrored paintings As fragrance valleys yield Mild melodies melt across The tops of twisted trees Mumbled murmurs move along The green and budding leaves - Blossoms budding bright lay ‘round As nature takes its course Beauty boldly breaks through scenes With an old immortal force

AN OLD IMMORTAL FORCE

Twenty Twenty

2020 First Place Winner

Eleventh Annual Gabriela Mistral Youth Poetry Competition

Numbered were the Autumn days And scarce was Winter’s chill The winding springs of time were set `Till chiming strokes rung still Unassuming figures browsed And drenched themselves in words Immersed were they in stories deep Reality then blurred What seer could see the irony Or oracle the fear? What prophet of predictions Could know the change in year? As scholars learned and read their works, Astonishing at first, Indifference told the telling tales - But narratives reversed Raskolnikov, where have you gone? Where do you hide the sin? Among the pages of a book, Or now the world we’re in? His thoughts - his only company Are now not his to hear Severed from our sanity We bear that slavish sheer When shall our Sonia bring the light - Our hope to carry on - When will the sickness of our world Be claimed as sorrow’s spawn? Though no crime was committed A punishment still reigns And the homes once sanctuaries Have emanated chains It seems that we are locked away And here in anguish wait Like Gregor waking suddenly To a sore and pesty fate A sickness has befallen us A bug unchaste - impure Yet which is worse - I do not know The ailment or the cure? Identities are so soon lost Among the wonderings Of what we are - and who we were - Or why we’ve useless wings The human race has undergone A metamorphosis Startled from our hazy dreams Spun by that skilled Morpheus And now with only kin to see We daydream deeper still And lost in abnormality Weakened is our will Marlow, take us in your skiff And weave a tale or two But let not all our hearts become Darkened through and through Think not too hard, think not at all And maybe it will fade The pounding of the peacefulness - The quiet plague’s parade To where does this strange river run - Who do we seek to find? Society is all but gone, As we have been confined Gazing out the curtained walls, We hear no sound, nor life The silence plays an eerie tune - A sickness for a fife The Fates must chuckle in their dark And dampened nest of strife Their sickened wreath of circumstance - Has turned a crown to scythe Yet let us pray not all is lost For tales are known to end And isolation cannot reap The flowers as they mend