Psst
Going to post the poems from my icons. Sorry to spam, all.
High Country Weather
Alone we are born,
And die alone,
But see the red-gold cirrus
Over snow-mountain shine.
Along the upland road
Ride easy, stranger:
Surrender to the sky
Your heart of anger.
--James K Baxter
Our Love Was a Grim Citadel
Our love was a grim citadel:
....no tawdry plaything for the minute
....of strong dark stone we built it well
....and based in the ever-living granite:
The urgent columns of the years
....press on, like tall rain up the valley:
....and Chaos bids ten thousand spears
....run to erase our straw-built folly.
-RAK Mason
Not Made With Hands
Find me the rose that will not die,
The tree no axe can fell,
The spring no Summer's drought shall dry,
And this last miracle:
Show me the wood, the timeless wood
Where tall and steadfast stands
(The lightnings quenched, the storms withstood)
A house not made with hands.
Here is your rose that will not die,
Your tree no axe can fell,
The spring no Summer's drought shall dry,
And here your miracle:
Behold the wood, the timeless wood
And see how, steadfast, stands
(All lightnings quenched, all storms withstood)
Love's house, not made with hands.
--Ruth Gilbert
High Country Weather
Alone we are born,
And die alone,
But see the red-gold cirrus
Over snow-mountain shine.
Along the upland road
Ride easy, stranger:
Surrender to the sky
Your heart of anger.
--James K Baxter
Our Love Was a Grim Citadel
Our love was a grim citadel:
....no tawdry plaything for the minute
....of strong dark stone we built it well
....and based in the ever-living granite:
The urgent columns of the years
....press on, like tall rain up the valley:
....and Chaos bids ten thousand spears
....run to erase our straw-built folly.
-RAK Mason
Not Made With Hands
Find me the rose that will not die,
The tree no axe can fell,
The spring no Summer's drought shall dry,
And this last miracle:
Show me the wood, the timeless wood
Where tall and steadfast stands
(The lightnings quenched, the storms withstood)
A house not made with hands.
Here is your rose that will not die,
Your tree no axe can fell,
The spring no Summer's drought shall dry,
And here your miracle:
Behold the wood, the timeless wood
And see how, steadfast, stands
(All lightnings quenched, all storms withstood)
Love's house, not made with hands.
--Ruth Gilbert