Someone smarter than me can tell me if this is a poem or what.

Proverbs 18:2

The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliver;

My God, my strength, in whom I will trust;

My buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.

The horn of my salvation.

The horn of rescue.

The horn of the infantry are here.

The bugle of the cavalry coming over the hill.

Roland winding his horn and hearing, o blessedly near! the answering clarion.

The bell of the boxer’s round is done.

The church bell, the evening bell, the day is over.

The last trump.

Your surprised laugh when you find it all worked out in the end.

Your home greeting–Daddy!–at the end of the day.

The blessing of burden

Lowing,  the oxen

pull steadier with the load

The first sea breeze when you crest over the sand dune,

The smell of the pines when you come up from the plains,

The first ‘Daddy’ you hear when you step ‘cross the threshold,

These treasures rest in my goodly store.

Send me as envoy to the Great Cham of Tartary,

Invite me to dine with the underhill King . . .

What to me, Cham, thy peacocks and ivories?

What to me, elf, thy revels and lights?

I shall desire and I shall find
The best of my desires;
The autumn road, the mellow wind
That soothes the darkening shires.
And laughter, and inn-fires.

White mist about the black hedgerows,
The slumbering Midland plain,
The silence where the clover grows,
And the dead leaves in the lane,
Certainly, these remain.

-thus Rupert Brooke

My children, my children,

my jewels of my heart.

Time, death, and distance

will ne’er long us part.

The one Lord,
from the two branches hung,
three days in the grave,
the four quarters saved

I was reading D&C 1 and felt a General Conference Doggerel coming on.

Lord, I come to you with but 10 sins

Or if you press me, how ’bout just one sin?

A faint little sin, like it hardly had been.

And the Good Lord said, divide it by ten.

(more…)

Inspired by Rozy, I wrote a poem in the style I call General Conference Doggerel, though bluer.

(For you single people, sorry. Your display of the nameless virtue is honorable.)

Here goes.

(more…)

I love you like a bushel of apples,

like late harvest peaches still warm from the sun.

I love you like dew on the pasture,

like home Sunday dinner when the churching is done.

Old friend, old friend.

We knew each other best

when we first knew each other at all.

(more…)

The flower of the pear-tree gathers and turns to fruit;
The swallows’ eggs have hatched into young birds.
When the Seasons’ changes thus confront the mind
What comfort can the Doctrine of Tao give? (more…)

From mysliveroflife.blogspot.com

In Spring the gardener finds out death.
He finds which limbs did not o’erwinter.
Some stems twig and bud and bloom,
Some stems splinter.

I lost a limb some seasons back,
Of my flesh, my firstborn daughter.
Time dried the break, but I still lack
The fruits–a moiety of laughter.

(more…)

Heaven Haven, by Gerard Manley Hopkins: (more…)