As My Oldest Leaves For College

Morning Commute

Alone at Sea

 Alone At Sea

 

Alone in my little ship

Tossed with bois’trous waves and wind

He rests in hinder part asleep

And wakes I know not when.

 

‘Neath cloudless skies we set the sail

And at his pleasure journeyed hence

Our aim the other side to pass—

He felt so near me then.

 

The ship now full, He sleepeth still

Whilst I labor sore afraid

Through years of troubled seas and dark

Few mem’ries linger of the shore

 

The wet and gloom drain aching limbs

I feebly cling to stern and oar,

Ever watchful for his stirring

‘Mid fear He wakes for me no more.

 

Wake, Dear Master! Wake! I perish!

Rebuke the winds and waves and dark

E’en thy censure would I cherish

To sense thy hand ‘gainst tempest’s roar

 

****

 

he did not wake.

he left me.

To face the threat’ning storms alone

I kept a faithful watch (and wept)

Confused why he had gone

 

Years later now, and still at sea

And somehow yet my ship afloat

I chart my own course toward the shore

In view of others’ kindly boats

 

I doubt now if he ever was —

That he was near at even tide

And yet,

I shouldn’t mind to see him there

When I reach the other side.

Post-Christmas, Part 1

Any stay at my parents' home seems to induce lethargy with respect to good habits (including writing). I have a glut of things I want to cover here, which I expect to do over the course of the weekend, pending Michelle's recovery from what may perhaps be a sinus infection.

First, a poem I wrote Michelle for Christmas, which I'm confident enough in (at least the subject matter) to publish to the world:

My heart to thee, my love, my queen
Whose absence I disdain
Whose presence noble kings might seek
Thy thoughts to entertain.

Thy beauty doth exceed the rose
Thy petals fairer all
That sunlight bends with hopes it might
Upon thy count'nance fall.

Thy fretting makes thee fairer still
To view thy furrowed brow
Demand perfection of thine acts
And grace in thee endow.

Whose children's glance delights thine eyes
Whose kindness quiets tears
Thine ears discern their faintest cries
Thy touch calms every fear.

Thy caring hands lift weary souls
And strength and hope renew
With silent, oft unnoticed, acts
Lone seen from Heaven's view.

To thee, my love, whose gentleness
Long since ensnared my heart
Though storms and mountains lay ahead
May I ne'er thy side depart.

8 Days Until Christmas

I wrote this a few years ago. It is certainly the work of an amateur, but it is mine.

Peace on Earth, Good will toward men
So peel the Christmas bells
Whose voice and song to hearts belong
And truth the Spirit tells

They toll the birth of Christ the King
And wake man’s deep desire
To reach within, and with his kin
Rejoice with heavn'ly choirs.

That we too could with them sing praise
And wintry souls refine
That we might show and He might know
Gratitude for gifts divine.

Let my soul sing! and with those bells
Proclaim His royal birth
And with that, then, good will toward men

And peace throughout the Earth