Breathing the Breath of God Now

Breathing the Breath of God Now

From time to time we encounter people, even among our own family and friends, who suffer long bouts of physical decline. In recent days, some, known to me, have come to eternal rest after a time of lung diseases.  This poem grapples with some of the hope.

Scene: Near Sebastopol NSW during ‘burning-off’.

Breathing the Breath of God Now

In memoriam

He’s breathing the breath of God,

Like a soft summer breeze,

Walking where angels trod,

His lungs all clear of wheeze.

He’s resting the repose of peace,

No flail and no more toil,

From the pain he has release,

In God’s harvest from the soil.

From soil of a life spent,

Within family and the farm,

Now to be sent,

To a land where there’s no harm.

Somehow the memory lingers,

Among others of slim and slender frame,

He’d passed on his lengthy fingers,

To children who bore his name.

He’s seeing not as we see now,

As he sees face to face,

There’s no furrow in his brow,

Before the fullness of grace.

Simon C.J. Falk  3 February 2018

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Unhinged By The Lost Moment

Prompted by an excellent post on A Rose Is A Rose called The One That Got Away

Unhinged By The Lost Moment

 

Unhinged

By the words

‘the one that got away’.

Unhinged,

Unmoored,

Cast adrift,

Upon a pond,

Pooling grief

That had

Been forgotten.

Questions opened

Up

Like fissures or chasms,

Swallowing all sense,

Into trenches

Deep

Within

The pool.

What happened?

Where

Did they dare to go?

I may not know.

 

Wait for me.

I did not

Then.

But,

Since then,

I have oft waited

On an answer.

 

 

Simon C.J. Falk 6 August 2017

 

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Poets Gone to the Great Rest

Poets Gone to the Great Rest

 

They are

Gone

Yet

They remain,

In their words

That soothe

Our pain.

In our memories

Word pictures

Compose

Our imagination

In repose.

Their language

Stays,

It forms the

Grammar

And vocabulary

Of our days.

For them,

No composition

A tribute makes,

For in our redactions

Stare many mistakes.

But we are

In part,

Shaped by them,

We are

the better

for the craft

of their pen.

 

 

Simon C.J Falk   6 October 2016