We live because we’re breathed by sacredness

Before we go to bed we vegetate
No need for teacher but a compost heap.
And as we vegetate, we drift to sleep
While in our dreams our little mind debates

But mostly we’re unknowing in this dark
Where God himself may manifest at will.
His dazzling darkness makes our souls be still
And wait for strikes by living ,glowing spark.

But in the morning ,we come back to strife
Take up our work and suffer every stroke.
From sapling to the oldest,strongest oak
Each must choose again its proper life

Every look we cast at others strikes
Reflects and shows us what we have become
And when there is no movement, we are done
Our mind and heart have chosen what they like.

So in our end we vegetate again
And no more rise to labour in the day
We fertilise the fields passed on our way
We show the end of woman and of man.

A daily round becomes our life and death.
We live because we’re breathed by sacredness

Mothers claim they stimulate,incite

 

I​n ​April  days transcendent is the light
The air is sharp  the wind breathes out  cold sea​
The ​afternoons are longer​, spacious bright

​W​omen fear to go out  it when it’s night
More ​are murdered in the home at tea
In ​April we ​ ask questions, seeking light

​Wearing​ summer dresses ​,​​ girls delight​
​ But ​leggings are the fashion or tight jeans

The ​afternoons are ​glowing​​ ​ with lust bright

 

​ 
Mothers claim they stimulate,incite
Their teenage sons, now sprung like mattress seams
In ​April  who appreciates the light?

Porn is common​, so are leggings tight​
Hormonal heights cast shadows in between
The ​ scruples of the church, the Zeit geist

We  might  see other worlds,  Shakespearean  themes
And pass the summer  drifting in deep dreams
I​n ​April we  reinterpret  the new light
​The ​afternoons  make screens  blind,  readers​ rhyme

Or sheltering  god in the weeds?

I’ve been reading the News
And the book reviews
Drinking more tea as I read
Shall I buy one more book
I should never look
Thinking  of  others in need
Donating to  orphans
Buying  new saucepans
Or sheltering  god in the weeds?
I’ve steam cleaned the kitchen
Till the fleas  started bitching
Now I’ve straightened the steamer’s new lead
I’m late having coffee
An hour or so roughly
The clock changing never appealed
So I must get going
The  morning is cunning
Thinks I have time under heel