Delight the Spirit feels in constant burst:
Delight in Three, delight in all that’s good.
And as the Son descends, is born, is God,
Delight the Spirit feels at last, at first.
Joy of Spirit fractures Earth’s rehearsed
Ways of being happy. Earth gives a nod
To God, then walks the path that Adam trod.
Spirit breaks the world’s disguising curse:
Where fair is foul and foul is fair, it sounds
Like clanging noise, but hear the rhythmic joy
That dances in between the plaintive theme.
The theme of joy is shrouded, yet abounds;
It sleeps within the heart of infant boy
And whispers in the truest child dreams.
Flights delay; schedules must be rearranged.
Pause in the park; there is nothing else nearby;
though sickness and tiredness lag our legs
and this message must be read, that query returned.
All the dead time of the week, all these fragmented moments –
purpose evades when we have no control.
Yet moments ripple when we detour through trees
to watch Creator’s joy in the brilliant green
of a duck’s hidden wing.
I gather moments like raindrops,
these microscopic buds of spring
tricked by sun
to come out, one by one;
how hesitant can be
the grandest glimpse of things
I catch the way your moments dance
from distance –
yet close enough to ring
the shadows into song
in soft, legato days of praise.
how hopefully we hold
in tentative expectancy
You hold our hope in moments of joy,
What we do not expect
grips tight. I neglect
too soon what we know. Let go
that pass. Joy is forever,
the things that stir our hearts in song.
How long? How long? I drag my voice.
I cling, I waiver, I thirst, I desire –
My spirit shall rejoice.
In silence, in hum of background noise,
I stretch my neck from familiar mire –
How long? How long? I unravel voice.
The wait, the weight of hidden joys,
When all my sky clouds round and gyres –
My spirit shall rejoice.
Expectancy grows numb. Life silences choice.
Better to shake, better to blaze on fire.
How long? How long? I unfurl my voice.
Complacency leadens; I wave but cannot hoist.
Yet what is lost? the dove’s coo enquires.
Can the spirit still rejoice?
The soul’s pivot; heaviness gathers poise.
Let anchored hope never expire.
How long? How long? Lift high your voice.
My spirit, my spirit shall rejoice.
Obedience is a crown of thorns.
The earth’s the Lord’s;
He does as He pleases,
and it pleases Him to wear these thorns.
Joy set before Him, He endures;
joy not instantaneous, I yield.
Obedience is a crown of thorns,
and I despise this crown.
Go into the wilderness; see
all earth’s kingdoms laid at your feet.
The dilemma lies: your feet will crumble beneath the burden;
the true crown comes with thorns.
God does as He pleases and
it pleases Him to wear this crown.
Joy set before Him, He obeys;
the meek will take the earth.
arpeggio-dances, impossible harmonies,
the sound as simple as the wind
yet execution like a fear -
fingers always forgetting how,
only ever stumbling on
success. Evasive moments of
perfect beauty capture souls
yet pass with sudden fumbles and
flustering confusion when
the movement of the hands cannot
so perfectly attune the spheres
as in the neat, transcribed intent.
Still, when all's aligned,
however brief, the sound
sings and motions, like
silence, like heart,
mouth, deed and life in tune,
the dance exact.
The joy remains.