Already in August

Fall comes again

In measured steps

We walk woods without boots

Yes sturdy prescription shoes

Wind, cool air seeps again

To our wisdom of days growing

Shorter already, we listen again

Whistle of some birds flying south

Does Ruby Throat hum

Into shallow sky?

 

We know others perform

Squirrel, raccoon, rabbit storing

Away unlike some human

Hands depend on others

To bring about change

Cannot come of hands,

 

Wind whipping with single

Winter long predicted,

Purpose day, night, evening

Morning star comes later

In revolutions cut short

Born of planet around star,

 

My dearest mentions no Jesus

Cross, clothes divided among

Soldiers who gamble for last

Property of His, and Sky grows

Dim, curtain rent asunder, graves

Opened as dead walk again,

No spirit ghost these from

Jewish hallowed sanctified

Ground, thunder calls “It is

Finished!” Falsity is Autumn

The longest winter lasting

Into war, individual decisions

Turned again to spring?

 

Words proclaim in Jewish

Psalms, mighty Temple, rebuild

Me in three days, descent

Into death, full sacrifice

Again in Solomon, Issah

All foresee complete

The Risen Messiah,

There Emanuel set free

In every Gospel, folded into Acts

Because this spring, tongues

Of fire follow above Languages

Then spring, into life

Everlastingly faith for those

Proclaiming, those who do not

See. repeats the cycle of war,

Gone to those who accept

Eternally His Peace.

Published by elgwyn

I was a University and community college instructor before retiring. I also worked in fast food restaurants, and retail stores. I am an ordinary man writing for because I want to write and because my education prepared me to write; BA English lit, MA English, EdS higher education, and MFA creative writing, free verse poetry and essays. Blogs are an answer to high-priced self-publishing. Walt Whitman had to self-publish his first 1000 copies of the 1855 edition of Leaves of Grass because in 1855 poetry did not sell. Most poets make a living in other ways than writing. Wallace Stevens was an insurance executive, and TS Eliot was a banker. Many writers teach, and always there have been writers who have written because they needed to express their thoughts and feelings. They wrote not necessarily to make money but to express "the old universal truths of the human heart" according to Faulkner. Here I reach a wider audience I missed than by self-publishing, and I stand a better chance to reach a wider audience for less expense than self-publishing. I self-published my first books, Winter from Spring, and Meditations on Gratitude; poetry and photo books which were easier to self-publish than to seek a not to seek a publisher company. This blog allows me to write for an interested audience because I write poetry and personal essays. I write for a friendly audience and present to you a slice of my writing. Perhaps you will enjoy what you read.

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