


MIDNIGHT CALLS A POEM
Midnight calls a poem
for empty prayers
or empty praise
and now
I am alone
in the shell of the dark
after that bored terror of the days
…and soon
I will be a bird, a dove, a crow,
a dizzy lark
in a lullaby meant for the Moon
and summer stars
and winter snow
…but calling instead for morning
just as I always do
and a paradise of dreamed of fields
and a passion for my weary self
and a passion as well
for you…
PATHWAYS TO FREEDOM
Such white and golden orange
…such a frazzle of ancient fire
…that head of yours!
…that soul of yours
drawing all of my desire
…sketching our love with eloquence
in pen and ink
on parchment loved with blood and drink
for the only book I’ll ever write
as a way to touch you
and I think
to kiss
the fire in the air
so like the desert face of God
…a Seneca!,that reddish golden stare
I look upon
at night!
Arthur Hoyle says
Thank you Rachel and Sam for these beautiful images in paint and word.