Imprinting

When I was born

I looked up into her eyes

and I dwelt in love.

 

She held me

in her arms and close

to her breast.

 

Her skin was cool,

my thoughts were warm;

at peace and in comfort.

 

Soothed by the maternal

hum and thrum

of her heart.

 

Through water the Lord

led me in

from my wandering.

 

He led me

into my heart,

where peace blossoms.

 

I see His beauty

and understand;

I am cradled in mercy.

 

My thoughts are stilled;

I can hear, and feel, and know,

the birthplace of Love.

 

~FS

August 3

Three things upset the balance of the body’s temperament: lack of restraint in our diet, a change in the weather, and the touch of the demonic powers.

The person who listens to Christ fills himself with light; and if he imitates Christ, he reclaims himself….

Rancor is the soul’s leprosy. The soul contracts it as the result of disgrace or punishment, or because of suspicious thoughts.

~St Thalassios the Libyan

A Call To Arms

Lord God disturb the peace

that my complacency enjoys.

 

Bring war and unrest

to my world-weariness.

 

Mercilessly stab the heart

of my selfish complaints.

 

Bring death to the nest

where anger sleeps within me.

 

Cut off the head of my pride

and cast me to my knees.

 

Do all of this I pray

that I may find freedom,

and see clearly,

Your Kingdom.

 

~FS

Keith (A Man of Silent Sacrifice)

At just nineteen he took possession of a mighty B-17,

The Army Air Corp’s durable workhorse

Continental Europe’s liberating air force

The bomber known as The Flying Fortress,

He signed his name on the dotted line, to pilot this war-machine.

 

No longer a boy in Forty-three, he took to the skies in battle,

On December 5 to Paris and back

Then Kiel, Ludwigshafen and Osnabruck

Ringing in the New Year over Cognac,

Five missions into a long campaign, he’s a man not easily rattled.

 

A man of silent sacrifice

Of the special ones who fly

Young men who defend us

War eagles of the sky.

 

A modest spiral notebook logs the record of his tour,

In columns, names and dates and years

No embellishments or fanfare

Thirty missions in European air,

A marathon of horror that most men could not endure.

 

The logbook doesn’t tell the tale of the courage, fear and loss,

Friends like brothers gone too soon

Flak and Messerschmitts at noon

In dense fog the barrage balloons,

Nor does it mention his receiving the Distinguished Flying Cross.

 

A man of silent sacrifice

Of the special ones who fly

Humble warriors who protect us

Liberators of the skies.

 

His was the lead position, throughout life as in the war,

Husband, father, grandpapa

Honor, duty, fidelity

Service was his earthly call,

Giving all on every mission, and leaving nothing more.

 

Upon his final flight from earth, the stars bright in the sky,

The moon casting the fields aglow

Cultivated row upon row

Stars above and stripes below,

Our nation’s banner, as God’s creation, enfolds him in its glory.

 

A man of silent sacrifice

Of the special ones who die

Our fathers who watch over us

The sentinels of the sky.

 

~FS

War

I witnessed two altercations;

a theme with variations.

 

Men fighting o’er a patch of pavement;

Dogs fighting o’er a piece of excrement.

 

The stakes seemed about equal;

The contestants pitched in battle.

 

With fury they attacked;

Each on the others back.

 

Autos jockeying for the pole position;

Canines chewing on an old emission.

 

Skirmishes with a tragicomic ending;

Car crashes and a lot of foul digesting.

 

As I mentioned I saw two battles;

and the stakes were nearly equal.

 

~FS

The Well-Dressed Man

Today I saw a well-dressed man,

in all the proper brands.

 

His backpack made by Arcteryx,

his shirt and coat made of Spandex.

 

A water bottle in one hand,

a coffee mug the other.

 

His feet adorned by Adidas,

his eyes RayBan made sunglasses.

 

His hair was clipped and cropped just right,

his skin the proper hue.

 

His pants were neither loose nor tight;

all done, no more to do.

 

A modern symbol of perfection,

with just a hint of intimidation.

 

An image of success.

Designing to impress.

 

Awed I was it must be admitted,

but also very irritated.

 

The effort I admired,

but it also made me tired.

 

While in my angst he took a call,

and clearly it was trouble.

 

His entire demeanor took a fall,

he’s simply not a god at all.

 

In his disgrace I felt my shame,

my judgement and my blame.

 

This man who so well dresses,

betrayed my prejudices.

 

Repenting of my first condemning,

vowing for a life amending.

 

No matter whether prince or pauper,

All men deserve my love and honor.

Her Name

Her name

meant stability,

solidity,

to me.

 

Like something granite;

Mt Rushmore.

Or something tectonic;

Australia.

 

Now I see

her name.

I remember she has gone:

my mind stops.

 

If minds

could lose their breath,

mine would gasp,

and struggle to restart.

 

Conceive the inconceivable;

Australia sinking,

Mt Rushmore dissolving.

Has she truly left this earth?

 

Her name

engraved in granite,

her soul,

amongst the stars?

 

Woman

as grass and shadows,

is timed to wilt and fade,

by the measure of the sun.

 

Earth

abiding still,

yet timed as well,

awaits a similar fate.

 

Granite melts

in fervent heat.

Her name

eternal memory.

 

And both will be

remade,

as Christ

returns again.

 

~FS