‘Wed me to this hour’, a poem by S Francis

Wed me to this hour
That wraps its ring around me
Encircling what remains of before
When I was not what this is.

I became what desire made,
Not what needed making, so
Trembled.

I tremble again and again.

As gold shimmers in its pan
Waiting to be sifted from dirt
Melted down to begin again.

Written after reading ‘Now the hour bends down and touches me’ by Rilke from Book of Hours as translated by Edward Snow and published by North Point Press in New York, 2009

(C) Stephen Fuller, 2019

A Wordless Effigy, a poem by S Francis

I want to define with whom I speak
When I call out his name:
A wordless effigy.
But, I do not. Listen instead
To the wind and its trailing silence.

Still down to the dirt on knees
To feel the cool damp flesh
That tumbles through fingers
Pealing me away bit by bit
Back into the man bit by bit

I met when I stood on that rock,
A shadowed boy who saw a view
Of mountains and trees, and heard
In the wind’s trailing silence
Words that are no longer needed.

Written after reading Rilke’s ‘I have many brothers who wear light cassocks’ from Book of Hours as translated by Edward Snow, published by North Point Press in New York, 2009.

(C) Stephen Fuller, 2019

‘Recollect whispers in tree tops’ a poem by S Francis

Recollect whispers in tree tops
What was thought as just wind
Is the flowering of His seed
Risen up from dirt
Through roots and trunk
To shine as tender green gems
That capture His breath
To blow Mercy back on us:

Still growing,
Still seeking.

Yes, a life that began so small
Now feels vast.

A life that must know death
First must live.

So recollect the whispers in trees
And know it to be not just wind
But the actualization of living
In these moments before death.

Written after reading Rilke’s ‘I find you, Lord, in all things and in all’ as translated by Stephen Mitchell, published by Vintage International, NYC in 1982.

(C) Stephen Fuller, 2019

‘I hear Your voice and begin to dream’ a poem by S Francis

I hear Your voice and begin to dream
As once when the dreamer was me.
I wake, though, on earth in its mire
Feelings’ muddied wings not able to rise
Out of their nest as if chrysalis
Crisped the skin to a hardened shell
That would not crack to expose magnificence.
These wings will be bright blue and green
Like the sea mating the sky in silence.
A prayer surging up from the soul
Sings to God’s whispers in the tree tops.
And I try once again, flexing the flesh
That clings to the bones of feathers
That will carry me up to join His chorus.

Written after reading Rilke’s ‘I am, O Anxious One. Don’t you hear my voice’ as translated by Stephen Mitchell, published by Vintage International, NYC in 1982. Take a look at this beautiful musical rendition of the poem:

(C) Stephen Fuller, 2019