Three Poems

“A Woman’s Heart”

We move together, and I love your
venerable countenance.
Shining a breath, passing, yet never
will I forget.–

The glowing austere of holiness, or,
the way my mind was lit

aflame: sudden bursts of transcendence,
angel light, nether worlds–destroyed

shattered in Beauty’s eminence. Love

now restored.

All speculation will not slay this

that is,
the glory underneath,
the Greater than the Sun.

A woman’s heart shews forth, and
dispels deceptive will.

A partial, yet complete act
of God’s aesthetic fill.

“Memories that Wander”

Recalling a melodious pitch,
or forms of movement, thus
Swarms of creatures the mind adventures,
the swooning of the thrush

And while I beckon hitherto,
ineffable thoughts I ponder:
the motive of a person’s word of deed
when that one says, what’s wrong dear?

Further, have I not known
the brilliance of mind on earth–
the one that makes me move in glory,
and relinquish undue search?

If not, will I declare
I must continue onward
And love that which is from above–
those objects and things we ponder.

Memories that wander
stay of place in some sweet nexus
A taste of pondering eminence
a taste of Nature’s Sexes
And while I sit, I wait 
for Heaven’s inspiration
to be greater than the vile amorous
to rejoice in my long sation.

Memories that wander
stay of place in some sweet nexus.

“Honesty’s Power”

Power. Resentment to serve glory’s end: Reborn, Reserved, Restrained. I not falter.
And in Principles of Honor, Our conjuring sage does kindly say:
Blindly a word presents as it may.
Yet further, he says, in the way of his Way:
Yey, Of Absolutes,
do we hear amidst prayer? Or sonnets of kinds—
(they speak deep within)—
and kinds stir the weak to keep their sweet sin. Yet of a form?
A transfiguring figure—It hacks where it pleases, and It means dismember.
I hope, says teacher, I hope of pray
I hope of pray that be the Way: For Honesty need not be in word of anger’s rhythm,
for Honesty’s good perception
never shall whist-men.
As that one says:
“What is credible is hidden”—
But a spiritual heart detects, in truth
the Condition of his sung-kin,
Rale not along mean-minds
neither hold their place at moment
Missing a mark will only torture,
and leave a mark of torment.
And we say of present turp’tude:
God be for, thus Evermore
His covering we shall keep;
And never lose the breath of faith,
the breath that Jesus weeps.

Never lose the breath of faith,
the breath that Jesus weeps.