+Seraphim (seraphimsigrist) wrote,

TRANSFIGURATION POETRY READ IN NYACK ON AUGUST 16



1.FRANK PALMER PURCELL
.

Metro North

Dark moon and bright sun set together
Behind Bear Mountain, West Point,
The far shore of Minnewaska.

Black fire consumes
The relics of mortality
Dissolving water into air
Reducing the mineral residue
To a white powder.

Thanksgiving Eve.
The world outside the window
Of the Northbound express
Is poorer by one quintessence
Spirit form returned to the Source
Whether on the urban highway's verge
Early last Saturday morning
Or in afternoon hospital room
After the anointing.

There will be no night on the whaler
Reading Moby-Dick
No drinks in the Irish literary bar
No intense conversations
On the movie that opens tonight
Of Jung and Spielrein and Freud
No special reason to log on
When you get up in the middle of the night
No familiar icon in the chat window.

But what must be written you still must write
Though the intended reader be missing;
You must and shall find another.
Those few strange words that were spoken
In the last dark of the moon
Will find their interpretation
In the heart's healing.

II.ELAINE LUX
.

1.TRANSFIGURATION

To be a community
Radiant in love
And compassion – part of the
Now we live in, and yet
Spanning centuries in
Fellowship with others
In tune with
God’s spirit: This
Unlikely configuration of the
Real and the ethereal, the
Abstract and the earthy; of
Thinking and creating, of reaching
In and reaching out
Opens us to the privilege, both temporal and
Numinal, of abiding in and with The Holy.

2.Fire of Your Love

Touch me with the burning fire of your love;
Cleanse me with its purifying heat.
My heart, burdened by its humanity,
Longs to be free and in flight with you
In spiritual skies azure and airy
Where breath is easy and hearts open.

Let me know you in my inner parts –
Let me love you fully and freely:
Lift my heart-wings that they may better fly
To you. Sing in me a new song of praise –
Such melody I’ve never imagined,
So sweetly will it come upon me.

Let my spirit rise magnificently
To its heritage of grace, and lead me
To waters green and pure
Where I may drink of you,
swim in you. I longFor inspiration
and invitation, Not just perspiration –

I long to be one with you but feel
Fragmented,
Only partly
Present.
Unite my heart, O Lord, to know you,
To love you, to live, to soar. Alleluia.

3.
the night beforre

still trying to pick some samples
out of a hazy maze of so many
all vying to come out of hiding
and burst into sound
for living ears.

how i wonder at what the years
have produced by way of paper
and ink
and whether this is all
my life has meant.

4. HOW TO WRITE A POEM

Touch the taste
Of salt-water.
Wade in the shallows of sorrow’s sea
Ready to swim
In the tossing tides
Terrible though they may seem
Even now – if called.
Awaken.
Play with a filament of light wave.
Open to its ebb and flow.
Emerge from undulating emotion and breathe.
Mark your life upon the sandy shore.

5. His Music, At Last?

Shaken to the inner recesses, I listen, atremble,
Ahum with poignant, but barely audible, sound,
The very bones of my being blown through,
Like an oboe winded by a breath
Other than the breath it is accustomed to breathe,
The very nerves of my being bowedinto life,
Like an old violin awakened into vibrato eloquence
By a master whose touch is skillful, yet strange.

What is this music I hear, emerging from the inner chambers,
The lone, quiet air lingering in my inner ear?
Is this yet an earthly melody, wrought and offered in his praise?
Or could this be, at last, the score composed and orchestrated
By the man of sorrows for the instruments of my being,
And has he created me for these very notes?


III FRED ARZOLA
.

1.streets littered with gold today

streets littered with gold today
leaves after the rain
much like my soul
48 years.
hence

not bright
and crisp on the branch
sodden on the ground
yetlove peeks forth
and rain is heard again

what a lovely mess I see
piles to the right,
bare to the left
much like me
much like me

2.light blue skies today

light blue skies today
chimneys standing tall
no white smoke this morn
back to ponder more

bushes in the breeze
soft and far they bend
much like the journey
tilting back and fro

hunched over the line
straight sight at the go
mile twelve of the race
some roads yet to know

rain clouds up above
shadows overhead
crooked path behind
a weight we all know

occasional joys
friends pass us by
the stretch for the line
inspires and mocks

Yet what is the choice
the sight at the go
knows nothing but hope
it pulls at the heart

dark blood at the end
i begin to see
yet i cannot yield
mile twelve of the race

what choice do i have
i wipe off the red
it pulls at the heart
the path at the bend

seductive
impulsive
reflective
the road

but forward I go
the darkness pulls me
with candle in hand
a hope filled naive


3.prayer fades

prayer fades
the noise of life
words all fail
silence says all
fills my soul
the silent words


4.the tower disappears in the mist

the tower disappears in the mist
as I sometimes wish I could

my body exposed
my thoughts hidden
connected
separated
shown
concealed
is my life

i share what I want
what I need
what I must

but the hidden
is the real me
burried
for some to see
dost thee.
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