The Lesson of Saint Francis
We are all animals in
Beauty, here:
And we need guide each
Other to
A pilgrim path
In walking with the saints
Who would eschew
The capital s
Service is ennobled
(As are all better things)
When we love
To give away
What we have
To share with
All other creatures of
The Earth—
The sky, what’s
Under the water,
And what dances upon
The surface
In the measures and the
Rhythms
Of creation
Saint Francis and the Animals
(4 October)
Eight hundred years
Ago in the
Middle part of Italy,
A person walked and others
Walked with him
But when he tried to preach
No one would hear;
So he spoke his message
Unto the birds
The raccoons (in my telling)
And all things that crept
Or flew through the air
He would return to people:
He visited the pope
He met with the sultan of
The Muslim warriors who
Fought in Jerusalem,
Because he hoped
That peace as a cause
Might overwhelm
The rest
That keeps
Getting in our way
A Birthday Imbiber
(in blogosphere cyber)
A year and not brighter
No vision of lighter
A groan in a rhymer
Who needs a pun-timer
The ducks who are eider
And eight-sided spider
A sugar- and spice-r
A little enticer
Each one is a-finer
Than my poor one-liner
Say ee-ther or aye-ther
And make me a scythe-r
So stop, exerciser
The next year be wiser
Monday Duo
What shall I write about?
What shall we talk about?
It is Monday
Though any day is fine
Monday morning, of course,
Lends itself
Toward silence and slow
Moving
Maybe coffee later today
And conversation
Would be just right
Will you join me? I know I’d
Like that
The privilege of your company,
Quieter delight in your
Companionship
Cyrillic Alphabet
Here’s what I know, which
Isn’t all that much:
Cyril and Methodius travel
To Russia
To send a unifying story
Into tribal affiliations that
Have been
Sibling-folk murdering each
Other
For their difference
Here’s what the pilgrims
Found
In talking,
That no one knew the word
Each one uttering only
What each knew
And deadly ignorance
Who could hear?—there
Was no way;
Placing sectarian evangelism
Aside (though not
Unloading their first
Purpose),
What the saints gave first
Was language
In a unifying word
All could
Listen to at last
When the target is no longer
Blank, rather filled
With shapes
And hues
Of understanding,
Denial in killing becomes
A challenge
In Impossibility
All stories were told,
Fables had new morals;
All the letters are now legacy,
Spoken with
Living breath each day
The saints are capitalized
I don’t know how
Much they care
And people are
Still talking, if
Through veils sometimes
Fall into Night
Having slept late,
Perforce,
To my condition
It’s too soon
Now, the three-o’clock
Time when
The day turns
As it must
Toward autumnal
Night
And we notice,
If subcutaneous,
The knowing
Sense of
This;
Inside autumn leaves
We face
Alternatives:
To go dry-wilting
Into brown days
Or to
Flame like novae
In glory of
Expiring red,
Yellow tears or
Tears,*
Last bright orange
Bleeding
Dwindling into
Joyful or stressed
Evenings
Of our
Distinctive seasons
*reader’s choice
My Try
(exercise for ears and eyes)
Like a dog
Keep a blog
Keep the faith
Like a wraith
Like the sun
When it’s done
With a nod
Turn to God
Need help
Like a yelp
Break hate
Like a plate
To the guv’
Give love
Be tired
When we’re mired
When we’re bent
Like a scent
Holy dent
Let’s repent
As we meant
And relent
Hobbit’s Birthday Note
(from in the trunk-folds of an ancient tree)
For all friends of dwarves and elves
Of your esteemed and genial selves,
Tomorrow we’ll hold mirth at bay
To celebrate our Baggins Day!
As antique as this parchment found,
Tradition of who’ll buy the round:
Mechanics, lords, and love-you-all
To join us on first day of fall,
To watch and wary by the end—
He’ll disappear, our Bilbo-friend!
clcouch123 
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