the upright antique mirror dazzles
and gilded golden framework razzles
and i look into it and smile
look at that image it is beautiful
it is mine and i bow before
all it asks i shall do
and all its being i adore
for as i craft my vision statement i can only confess
that i shall do all that my image demands of me
for it is mine
see how beautiful this garden
grows underneath my feet
in the beneficence of my majesty
i laugh aloud with this image that laughs with me
for the foundation of my joy is that gilded mirror
which imprisons my very soul
in pride refusing to remember
that image bearer signifies
i am verily not my own
there is another

the branches bare wave in the breeze
early morning’s kiss in fog descends
and as i walk through the sleepy courtyard
all i can do is think of what came before
a momentary song, a crumpled piece of paper
a notebook half written in my pocket
what more can i do now than lift my voice
and pray
and seek in thought for that peace
sweet as honey on the bread that i had for breakfast
oh no matter that the air is damp with seaside humor
and that the tune from last week’s show
keeps dancing in my head
for i look to a higher hope than which i can rest my
hand upon
and in these pages now i write of all i’ve thought and said
aware that these represent but a leaf upon the wind
a sharp intake of breath as i consider eternity
and nothing more is mine now than that which was given me
so under this sun i sit in this waking courtyard
meditating as i think on the absence of that veil
and the lingering joy of that one epoch defining tree

There is a verdant reckoning with the asphalted symphony
or so it seems as she reaches down to experience
in silent wonder
the new song that has unexpected sprung from
chaos –
and in a leap she echoes the refrain
trembling awfully
in symmetry balancing on
metal ties binding metal rails
now her hand strains for faint heard melody
stars upon stars in milky kaleidoscope
incomprehensible candles lit
a bridge to whisper underneath
her breath
a gasp a prayer as she underneath her window sits
tagging home at last in humble harmony
this grand yet simple reckoning with holy writ

in the chill of night rests a longing
and my soul cries out to one
who is
and then though the path is narrow
and the briars and thorns threaten
to tear my clothes and rip my skin
i fear not
and look ahead to those green pastures
and quiet waters by the fruited trees
the forever presence of my Lord
even now shimmers the same as i kneel
and consider what it is
to be wholly at rest in him

the white chariot rises into the heavens
in the mirror of my dreams
and now my heart hums a new song
as i ponder the deep thoughts
of eternity
and so while i wonder of why and whereof
is the mist through which now
i walk
it is alright
it is ok
for see the lighthouse beckon
see the signal raised
there is more beyond than
mind can fully reckon
there is a land
which shores
i strain to see
and for a moment
in the corner of my mortal eyes
i catch a glimpse

misery filters
through the bar’s smoky haze
even though the music
proclaims triumphant rage
then again she smiles
what a sight to see
no matter this tawdry locale
perhaps there’s beauty in
this moment between you
and me

in torrents falls the rain
rat a tat tatting on
cathedral roof
and in response candles
flicker
as on our knees we pray
and ask God’s grace
upon us
as we bow our heads
this day
and dust falls from the high up
rafters
as thunder joins in on the chorus
oh Lord forgive our pride
as still in beneficent fashion
the water falls in buckets

oh wow
where does your poetry come from
she says with innocent wonder
in her eyes
and i take a quick breath
for she thinks the light
is mine
bonfires in the night
but who writes
the song that sing the stars

i like riding the underground when i don’t have anywhere
i particularly need to be
and i can relax and look at everyone else
and write the stories of their dreams
for some of them hold shopping bags
and some look at their phones
once i saw a woman cuddling with her husband
as they talked about their newfound home
and i once read over the shoulder of someone
texting with her best friend
talking about her trip back to London
and how she wishes she could stay in France
oh yes i know i’m a bit too nosy
but aren’t we all to some extent?
we are interested all in one another
which doesn’t stop me getting annoyed when
the young man muscles past me to get off
but then i laugh as i recall how i do the same
and all the times i’ve almost missed my stop
for i just like writing stories in my head
little snippets of each person’s day
i wonder if anyone is writing stories about me
a girl with a red winter hat
and oversized hoodie that goes to her knees