Let US Pray Feature

 

 

Joseph Farley, US   Free Verse At Every Moment   This is a good day for prayer, As is every day. What words we say in our hearts May not be the same, But the feeling that is there Is held in common For as long as breathe Remains in the lungs, And consciousness Requires conscience.     Christian Koans   What is the sound Of three nails being hammered? If a man cries out in agony From a cross on a hill And there is no one to listen, Did he utter a sound? And if a man shouts In the darkness, “Let me in! Let me in!” Who will open the door?     Adoration   billions of galaxies with billions of stars make losses and accomplishments on this small blue world seem insignificant, yet as one prepares for the last journey that could be a beginning but certainly is an end, it still brings some measure of solace to look back on the firestorm of youth when love burned bright, maybe not enough to be seen on other planets or even beyond closed doors, but enough to leave sweet scarred memories in neurons of a troubled mind counting the hours still left before testing the waters of oblivion.     The Gift Of Prophecy   The prophet lonely in the desert shouting and pounding sand, who will listen to the wisdom? Who will listen to the warnings? Cassandra has given up her role to become a runway model, in New York, London, Paris, Tokyo, but there are plenty of others willing to point to the sky and show what pieces are falling. Part of the time they are on target. Today steer passed the mall on your way home from the movies. Drive to the desert or some other wasteland. If you cannot find one, search inside your soul for the wasteland within. Sit alone and listen for voices in the stillness. Who is that who is shouting? Is it you? What truth have you found? And will you share it with the rest of us?     The Journey   I have gone to the mountain top. I have gone to the valley. I have crossed the frozen river. I have forded the raging stream. I have walked through the briars. I have climbed majestic pines. I have hopped over the fire and left it all behind. I have journeyed always thirsting. I have slumbered in the ditch. I have felt the sun upon me and burned with reddened itch. I have wallowed in the paddies. I have swum in the bitter sea. I have done and I have gone. I have striven and I will strive to reach that golden somewhere while I am still alive.     Look Homeward   Going home is all we need, but home has gone. Where can we go? All we can do is journey far by bus and car and well worn shoe to a place we can not find, but hope to reach real soon.     All The Trappings   The furniture is mean and hates me. It insists on being owned. I would prefer to be rid of it, and turn all rooms into meditation space. The “others” will not have it. They desire things. I desire the “others.” So I am doubly trapped, and must listen with each inward and outward breath and each recited mantra to snarls and curses from the bric-a-brac.     In the Hermitage   Isolation is a romantic notion expressing love for all and everything sent like roses from long distance. Better not seen or heard, anonymous, near non existent. Only when we are alone can we truly appreciate an empty room. Only when we are alone can we recognize who is missing.