Still Falls the Rain: Seventy Years Later

This one was inspired by Edith Sitwell's "Still Falls the Rain", in which "the rain" refers both to the air-strikes of WWII and the blood of Christ.

        Still falls the rain
seventy years since Sitwell wrote,
    and still some quote
        her words of pain
    with air-strikes in the brain.

        Still falls the blood,
and where the flesh has been torn wide,
    it gushes from Christ's side
        alike on good
    and bad, all brotherhood.

        Still falls the rhyme
along with air-strikes in the brain.
    Still falls, still falls the rain.
        Still falls the crime.
    Still falls the sand of time.

My Crutch

Your cross my crutch—
I call it such

whene'er I talk
of your abode;
I cannot walk
upon that road

without its aid.
My debt you paid;

my pain you felt—
each sin a sore,
each doubt a welt;
you made my "more!"

into your loss,
my crutch your cross.

A Song of Two Gardens

        In a garden you wept
        as the others slept.
A garden is good for reposing.
A garden began your life's closing.

        One came with a kiss
        that no one could miss.
A garden is good for betraying.
A garden has start- but no stay-ing.

        A garden's new cave
        became your last grave.
A garden is good for descending.
A garden could prove your life's ending.

        Although you descend,
        begin past the end.
A garden is good for surprising.
A garden might well prove your rising.

Rondel of the Scape

Three trees grow tall.  The skull is green.
My soul, it sorrows at the sight
of Jesus on the tree upright.
My soul, it sorrows at the scene
of three trees with three bodies lean
nailed to them at a dreadful height.
Three trees grow tall.  The skull is green.
My soul, it sorrows at the sight
of dying love.  What can it mean?
My soul, it sorrows at the night
in mid-day, all with darkness bright,
as the thieves cry, "Unclean! Unclean!"
Three trees grow tall.  The skull is green.

Triolet on a Theme from C. S. Lewis

God in his mercy made
The fixèd pains of hell,
and in that hell he stayed.
God in his mercy made
himself a ghastly shade,
as into hell he fell.
God in his mercy made
The fixèd pains of hell.

And Yet

Your cross tree here
does now appear

before my eyes
as in a dream.
I hear your cries.
I hear your scream.

I waking am:
it is no dream.

A vision?  Yes,
a vision good.
Your cross does bless
me with your blood.

And yet you cry.
And yet you die.