When weeps the time for passion’s flame
and moonlit stars don’t look the same,
it finds no place where clearing falls
instead, dark depths the heart does trawl.
Gardens, gone from bush to brush and then to hush,
have sung their songs of youthful blush.
To fight the mind’s cruel entropy
one serves the heart’s lobotomy.
But soon in life if not in limb
come moments still, one’s cup to brim.
And then, when whispers fend off shouts
no more weeps time, then, love slakes drought.
If we are made in God’s image and God sings, then we should be singing, too.
Revitalizing the Christian imagination through painting, poetry, music, and more
Ancient Wisdom for Modern Seekers
Writing from the In/Between
Spiritual Direction for Integrated Living
from liquid courage to sober courage
an anamcara exploring those close encounters of the liminal kind
Collaborating with the Muses to inspire, create, and illuminate
...in such kind ways...
"That I may publish with the voice of thanksgiving, and tell of all thy wondrous works." Psalm 26:7
Blog for poet and singer-songwriter Malcolm Guite
…in the thick of things
REFLECTIONS & REVIEWS
Seeking that which is life giving.
… hope is oxygen
Rob's Lit-Bits 
Bring on the slaking!
My wife, Rae, is writing a novel at the moment and is generally excellent with language. She had never heard the word before! I hope it makes sense to others. She’s usually on top of that kinda stuff!
That one I know, so all is well, Wordman…
Melody, your poetry always speaks. The words you choose are always evocative and meaningful. You’re more in a place to receive praise than give it. But thanks all the same.