Monday, January 7, 2019

G.R. Melvin writes


For now, awhile, I won’t let you pull me from the wreckage/
But, how you hold my hand, for both of us
Until the jaws of life  arrives/
Tho’ I’m not at a loss of words, I’m lost
In thought / “I’m lost”, I thought,
“And hiding from the hidden costs.”

         II.  Birdsong

I’ll dare to speak of sparrows
in shrapnel-filled WW I battlefield winds,
in sharp scarlet dawns/
They’ll sing to find their kind
if they’ve lived,
A song will find its way back,
between the blood & budding daybreak.

   III.    J U S T

it could be/ a branch of a tree
perched at a high hill
would have a new bud just
breaking through/ it would be just for you
and in time a blossom. You’d just
lift yr arm up/ and pull it down/ just in time
to drink it through
with yr deepest stealing breath.///
Image result for sparrow's foot paintings
They Ain't Worth a Sparrow's Foot -- Alisa Bogodarova  
[A painting commissioned by an American combat veteran. ("Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.  And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows." -- Jesus, in Matthew 10: 29-31]

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