urban pain

empty eyes he had
staring at me
seeing something or someone else.
I passed him by quietly,

thinking myself unnoticed.
but he did
and I sensed it with a pang of guilt,
a flood of sorrow over the futility.

the years have left their mark on him,
hunched, worn,
listlessness shorn of hope.
no one cared and he knew it.

would I dare risk caring?
could I bear the burden?
it would mean entering his pain,
and forgetting about my own.

and then I recognized that look.
his eyes mirrored my own.
and I could sense him asking
the same questions about me.

19 February 2011 by Glen Alan Woods

muse of the unread poet

he stares into the quiet,
an unread poet musing alone.
a errant phrase interrupts
the brush with silence.

faith and need compel him.
faith that scenes will form
and the need to create meaning.
otherwise, what's the point?

without words meaning is
shackled by quiet secrecy.
without faith words meander
unreconciled to meaning.

their constructions are limited
to the ordinary, rather than
unleashed to the extraordinary.
the poet unexpressed is no poet at all.

but the poet expressed may yet
become a poet read, staring
into the beauty around him,
creating with pen the worlds he sees.

18 May 2010 by Glen Alan Woods

silver tears

when day is done and light fades,
when silence hides behind the moon.
when silver tears trace the garden path
into the wooded realm.

into the dark of soaring menace,
into the enchanting choir
of soaring watchmen, ancient and wild.
their branches reach for me.

beneath the canopy of needles,
within the tangle of ferns,
inquiring eyes look on in stealth.
they watch and wait.

walking on the curving mud path
with switchbacks and steep inclines,
direction loses meaning.
ahead I push into the unknown

until I reach the overlook,
the vista at the cliff-face,
spanning the gorge beyond
with meandering river below.

red and blue kiss in an orange embrace
as the clouds halo the moon.
silver tears meet mine
as I cry out to God.

15 May 2010 by Glen Alan Woods

last light

I walk the countryside at last light,
the Milkyway high above.
The crickets and the tow'ring firs sing their song.

The gravel trail leads to a glen,
a bowl of grass and wild flow'rs.
There, I raise my hands and sing God's praise.

The crickets quickly harmonize
with the owls and gentle wind.
The flick'ring last call of sunlight greets the moonless sky.

There I listen to the melodies
and the calls of vagrant birds.
I wonder at the mysteries held among the stars.

I sense the greatness of Almighty God.
I feel the wonder of his love.
I bow before him in the nameless field and weep for joy.

11 May 2010 by Glen Alan Woods

what is this song?

what is this song deep within my soul,
this song of mysterious wonder
which I dare not sing aloud
lest fell deeds betray my heart?

leechcraft and doubt collude beyond my hearing;
they devise unholy instruments
to war against my heart,
making the unthinkable seem reasonable.

the song builds...
the war drums sound...
the clash of violence looms
in that place deep within my soul

where the song of mysterious wonder
stands off against unholy instruments
with the clash of violent warfare
in that deep place within my soul.

breaking

tears

pain

what is this song deep within my soul,
this song of mysterious wonder
which unveils the hidden parts,
exposing motives buried deeply?

it abolishes agreements with lies,
and liberates the captive.
it removes attention from self
to a proper focus on Christ.

4 May 2010 by Glen Alan Woods

with joy

when darkness falls
and the world outside dims;
when nocturnal choirs
rise in a mad dance of
unrelenting cacaphony,
then will we sing along
with the ancient ballads.

ballads true and strong,
full of gallantry, lower
ramparts of hardened hearts.

flute and lyre,
drums and holy fire,
rise up in our midst,
together with soulful cries.
deeds from ancient scrolls
imprinted on our hearts,
recall feats of reconciliation,
and songs of deliverance.

and we weep for love and joy;
we rejoice at the feet of the
Ancient of Days. We fall down
at the the feet of Jesus Christ,
and we worship with joy.

18 April 2010 by Glen Alan Woods

where once was light

in twilight mist,
in shades of gray,
where once was light
in dark alone,
my heart now roams.

whispers of hate.
tendrils of fear.
where once was light
in shadows leer
memories of shame.

where has the joy
of my heart gone?
do death and grief
foretell my end?

am I lost, never to find home?

in city streets,
in dark and rain,
mocking lies sear
my heart of flesh,
now turned to stone.

enshrined in pain,
enscribed in flame,
mocking lies pierce
my heart of stone,
now grown cold.

where has the joy
of my heart gone?
do death and grief
foretell my end?

am I lost, never to find home?

or even now,
can there be hope
for an old heart like mine?

9 February 2010 by Glen Alan Woods

laboring alone

mud,

splattered on my face,
my boots, my jeans.

testament to work in the cold outdoors.

unnoticed by the passersby.

just another laborer in a nondescript field. alone
in the rain in the midst of tall cornstalks.

first one weed pulled, and then another. over and over. bent.
hurting. tired, crying.

bleeding hands and heart, only to be washed away by
relentless rainfall.

4 February 2010 by Glen Alan Woods

remembering the days yet to come

I noticed the sideways glance as you passed me by, the averted eyes, the hesitation as if you weren't sure of yourself, but were struggling to come to a decision. You stopped after a few more steps, then turned around. Timidly, you approached and stooped low toward me as I sat on the cold, wet pavement with my cardboard sign leaning against my knee. I looked up and you blinked back tears. Then you gave me the sandwich and the soda you had just purchased from the subway shop. Roast Beef. Very good. And you smiled in reply to my thank you. You asked me my name and I told you. You kneeled by my side and said, "God loves you." Then I smiled, too, remembering the days yet to come.

And soon, when the time for discussing such matters is at hand, I will invite you to my side and say, "Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.'

You and all the other gathered saints will wonder at my words, saying, "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?'"

And I will say, "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me."

(NRSV Matthew 5:34-40)

30 October 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

the consequences of insight

the boy stood at the water's edge,
then lay down facing forward.
every ripple, every wave,
a counterpoint to the trees
soaring above as sentinels.

he concentrated. first, one ripple,
then another; still, dozens more
followed suit as waves rising up with
images of his life yet to come,
and the varied permutations
resulting from his choices.

soon, it became a cacophony of
confusion, until a single tone rang
out, resonating from the wooden
flute he skillfully wielded. the array
of images resolved into one, though
at the expense of his soaring hopes.
for now he tasted of the price he must
pay to set the world to rights.

4 April 2009 by Glen Alan Woods