Heaven Haven
I have desired to go
Where springs not fail,
To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail
And a few lilies blow.
And I have asked to be
Where no storms come,
Where the green swell is in the havens dumb,
And out of the swing of the sea.
— Gerald Manley Hopkins, 1844-1889 (pictured)
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Heaven is no haven for heathens.
No jews allowed in Heaven.
Hell Yeah!
— Joe Canuck
What world is this without winter?
No icicles, like diamonds glittering
sparkling jewels in the landscape
no ice skaters
like gracious swans on the pond
a dance to celebrate winter’s wonderland
No snow men to welcome you when you come home
after a day out chopping wood
for the hearth and fireplace
No children laughing, cavorting
creating snow angels in their innocence
No sled riding to make one giddy
No horse carriage rides in blustery winds
through evergreen forests
white and green
warmed by knowing
one is going to visit Grandmother
Hot chocolate awaitin’
and Grandfather with his tall tales of days gone by
to set your imagination going
and dream dreams you never thought possible.
Skies so blue, so pure
a Certain Light
that obtains not during any other time of the year.
The light of winter season has a quality
perfectly conducive to contemplation,
thoughts deep and profound
to draw you deeper into your heart and mind
and strengthen your resolve
to know the true nature of Life and God.
As one gazes out upon a landscape unadorned,
air so clean, so cold, so invigorating!
One sees the world the way it truly is
distilled to its very essence
and in that, too, is a certain Beauty,
and it certainly doesn’t behoove one
to disdain and scorn
the Glories of the vigors of winter.
These only serve to strengthen and enlighten:
the hardships that may come one’s way
as the winds blow fierce and pierce the skin,
there is always in the distance
sparkling diamonds, glittering Light,
and the crystal icicles on the trees.
No other season has the beauty
so unique, so pure, so clean
so distilled down to the very essence.
One sees truly the way the world is built
and the underlying shape forming all things
in winter’s Light.
There is Art
and the Art we see is architecture
God’s blueprint is there plain to see
in the bare winter landscape:
dogs in the distance barking,
the air so fresh and pure and invigorating
and children making angel forms
in the cold, in the snow.
In winter the light touches our world a certain way
what has been distilled down to its very essence
glistens and shines a certain way.
We can see God many times more clearly in winter’s beauty
one is drawn in, perfectly conducive to contemplation
to meditate on the nature of Life and God.
Winter is not without its merit:
thru the grey and dreariness
there are days truly glistening:
light shining and glistening and shimmering
as if the world was made
of the most exquisite crystal.
April 7, 2016 :
Uncle :
I sent you a [*POEM*] yesterday and it’s not up yet. How come? If you’re having a problem with my poem, tell what the problem is, and maybe we can work it out. While it’s true the poem I sent you yesterday is not up there with any of William Shakespeare’s poetry, the poem is a lot better than most others around here. I can’t think of any good reason for you to CENSOR my [*POEM*], so perhaps you’ll explain to me why exactly you’re CENSORING it. Maybe there’s a good reason to CENSOR it, but I don’t know what that good reason can be. Please let me know what exactly is that “good” reason you have to CENSOR the poem I sent in yesterday. I’m curious as to why you CENSOR so much.
To help you find my poem in Spam : It’s my [*POEM* ] inspired by Psalm 74.
@ TROJ
Yesterday’s spam posts were all deleted late last night Joe, so your poem is no longer there. If you still have a copy on file, repost it.
Great. Don’t get to poetry. Here maybe. This reads for lie-busting and over-turning, a clarion call. Written, ‘what do they want?’ and ‘how do we stop them?’ on a sheet. Been scaling a hoax. Read this, charge up a bit. Remember what. They must hate Hopkins, Bach, Bukowski, Patchen… any words that reach lovers. Life against their death-throws. Pump it out. Please. Helps – and juxtaposes all the, think, think, think – as we do. Discipline and poetry, that’s what. Tar.
888
I’m a wheel, I’m a wheel
I can roll, I can feel
And you can’t stop me turning
Cause I’m the sun, I’m the sun
I can move , I can run
But you’ll never stop me burning
Come down with fire
Lift my spirit higher
Someone’s screaming my name
Come and make me holy again
I’m the man on the silver mountain
I’m the man on the silver mountain
I’m the day, I’m the day
I can show you the way
And look, I’m right beside you
I’m the night, I’m the night
I’m the dark and the light
With eyes that see inside you
Come down with fire
Lift my spirit higher
Someone’s screaming my name
Come and make me holy again
I’m the man on the silver mountain
I’m the man on the silver mountain
Come down with fire
And lift my spirit higher
Someone’s screaming my name
Come and make me holy again
Well I can help you, you know I can
I’m the man on the silver mountain
I’m the man on the silver mountain
Just look at me and listen
I’m the man, I’m the man, give you my hand
I’m the man on the silver mountain
Lyrics stolen by : A thief in the night.
https://i.ytimg.com/vi/JS079o6lJUQ/maxresdefault.jpg
“I want to go back to my little grass shack
In Kealakekua, Hawaii
I want to be with all the kanes and wahines
That I used to know long ago
I can hear the old guitars playing
On the beach at Honaunau
I can hear the old Hawaiians saying
Komo mai no kaua I ka hale welakahao…”
And so castles made of sand, slips into the sea,
Eventually..