Blog Archives

Christ in the Garden

Image

Reply

Midnight Garden

Christ in the Garden

Be with me.
Be with me,
In the Garden of Gethsemane.
Be with me,
and take my hand.
Here in the garden,
we will walk together
hand in hand.
Be with me
Be with me,
In the Garden of Gethsemane
I only ask
you open eyes
and do not sleep.
There’s no need to speak,
only a simple willingness
of feet,
and in your heart,
I will give you rest.

Be with me
Be with me
In a silent midnight prayer
in the stillness
of the midnight air,
as moonlight
illuminates our lines
in this silent Garden
for all time.
And we will not forsake
each others In this life ,
till just before the early morning breaks.

In the Garden
love
there’s a tree that blossoms,
only once at night,
Both red and white,
And its beauty blossoms down
towards the ground.
I will take you there
And we will water it

with all my flowing blood,
with all eternal love .

Be with me,
Be with me,
In the Garden of Gethsemane
and we will travel,
back to hanging gardens
Of the East,
And forth to courtyard gardens
of the West,
And to that wonderous garden
held in by walls of cedar plank,
where we will finally
Be free,
And Be at peace,
to wrap robes
round fragrant trees.
Here passion
will be buried deep
And there will be
only you and I
in purest love
The love most pure and sweet.

Be with me,
Be with me,
and we will see
Jerusalem
from mountain slopes,
and water olive trees,
with crimson sweat

and bitter tear,

while
resting on a sacrificial altar stone.
Be with me,
Be with me,
In the garden
if you can,
for this night only
I am here, and
All alone this darkest night a Man.

Be  with me
and contemplate, finally embrace,
the Love that flows
here freely
in the Gardens of Gethsemane
my Love.

And when the time comes,
That we must part,
Hold and remember
I will always be
Set deep in your heart,
Here in the stillness
Of the Gardens of Gethsemane,
My love.

From “Dreams for a Saturday Morning” by PWChaltas

Rabbi Did You Say

Image

Reply

Rabbi Did You Say

Rabbi Did You Say

Rabbi ,
did you say
you have spoken
with Messiah ,
and that in time
he will come ,
on Ariel’s passing ,
whose brain
now
but a grape
squeezed ,
to dark ink ,
sweet ruddy wine,
long picked
like a saffron rose
from a stem of thorns?
Did you draw the
crosses in your
prayer book ?
In your recitations,
and your songs,
Illuminate us
with his presence,
righteous
transforming lion
of the creator,
as you tell us
of his footsteps
on the plain and
in the dawn ,
overshadowed
by the dark
blossom
of His bosom’s Love.

Final Song

Image

Reply

Final Song

Orpheus stands
lyre in hand .
He disappears into the trees
on meandering path .
And in a quiet grove
while singing to the birds
& leaves ,
his beating heart
is ripped apart
by frenzied
feline fingers .
His blood
is spilling on to ground ,
as white lilies
drown ,
in the final sweetness
of his song
under arching
weeping willows.
By moonlight
he will walk ,
light as
coloured wings on air ,
back to the riverside
for a final ride
to meet
awaiting love
on the other side .

By The River Shore at Night

Image

Reply

By the River Shore At Night

The full moon was pillowed
In the glow of cloud
Iluminating the river shore,
as Orpheus plucked
his heavenly resounding string.
The boatman
tired
had given up his rowing
And taken up the sale of books,
and other things.

So Sidhartha
approached
from darkness
from the shelter of the many trees,
to take up the boatman’s mantel
first asking for a balaclava
to sheild him from remembrance,
from the cold
and the familiar,
To take up the oar, the boat,
their travels,
back and forth.

“My country is not so cold”
he said
“and I’m not used to chill.”

“In the countries where I’ve lived
the owners of the lands
are wealthy
and the people suffer still.”
So I’ve come here to the shore
to ferry,
to forget
troubles and desire,
to listen to the music of the waters
and to heal,
receive,
repeat and mirror
the placid rivers aid,

To put my faith in the One,
once again
To strum the water
with new found ancient oar,
To ferry the disenchanted,
the broken hearted,
the heroes,
the lost and the forlorn,
Some wrapped in white
linen sheet,
Some on bed of flowers,
Some on wooden barge
lit by single flames,
Some reduced to bare
And pristine bone,
to the golden islands,
or to the other shores.