About pwchaltas

Willing Servant to the Word and Art ..Wherever they take me.

A Gilded Summer Meditation in 3 Parts

1/
So many summers
Passing
Renewing
Reviewing
Repeating

A rejuvenating
Laying of a gentle
Touch and waste
To skin.

2/
Summer days,
When the heat
And the light
Shine,
rise white
on city pavement,
And persistent
memories
trick
the mind,
Without the
luxury of repetition;
Simply a lingering taste of
The summer wonder
Of green childhood.

3/
The poplars wave
And clap
A flickering Gold and green
A rustling sound
In balm of sunlit wind.
The grasses
Genuflect
Bowing tasseled
heads,
To ground,
And high up
green and
Sky bound,
Golden
Boughs sway
In overarching
Gratitude
of
The boundless brilliant sun.

Reinterpretation

Call it a a “translation” or reinterpretation of an ancient poet and one of his works:

Your love leads me
along the treed and verdant paths
Along the babbling brooks that speak of vast and endless silence.
I often walk with eyes closed
My blind steps treading
on right roads,
hearing only your music and your name to guide me,
to the sacred destinations of the heart;
And even though at times
I walk encompassed by the depths of darkness,
The darkest forces
Of the night
my faith
and
your example guide me
To leave me no fear.
And so the bountiful tables
Are often spread out before me
In the midst of all the many that would harbour me ill will;
That would see me harmed and lowly
to placate troubled souls.
Your gifts are many,
rich,and blessings;
a finger dipped in oil,
an abundance
Of the flowing fruit of vine;
Your well springs of
Water, life, and wine
Cupped
revive me
I seek, I walk,
Sure footed and
certain
In your paths of goodness
and compassion,
To arrive,
And rest finally
in the unending
mansion habitations
of your love.

The Boatman Disappointed

The boatman

Has grown a long
grey beard,
Like a holy man, a monk
With a tall hat,
And a strumming
Ancient oar.
He waits today
and the fates
Declare
there are no takers,
For the journey anywhere,
And just before I’m ready
To pay his fare and more, to distant shore
He overturns his boat
On sandy shore,
and disappears.
Somehow, sometimes,
we all retire and disappear

instead of waiting,
To succeed,
Just before the next new
Traveler
Is about to pay;
But tomorrow;
Tomorrow is yet
another day.