Poetry By Glen Woods

urban pain

2011-02-19T19:17:00.000-08:00

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

2010-05-18T22:43:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-15T14:37:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-11T07:31:00.000-07:00

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?

2010-05-04T22:23:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-18T20:16:00.000-07:00

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

2010-02-09T21:33:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-04T19:31:00.000-08:00

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

2009-10-30T22:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-04T09:00:00.000-07:00

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

late watches

2009-04-03T01:58:00.000-07:00

the late watches attend the sojourner,
waiting, hoping, sitting quietly alone.

will there be room for slumber?
one can only lay down and hope.

open wide the heart to joy,
sing softly the ancient psalm.

a new day approaches in haste,
a fresh dawn for frightened hearts.

comfort in solace and sweet fellowship,
the nurture of Christ in community.

3 April 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

ordinary muse

2009-03-31T23:16:00.000-07:00

an ordinary moment
a plastic cup of milk
breathing in the stillness
ignoring what I feel.

the tv sits forgotten
the phone done for the day
the books beg for attention
they have something to say.

artistry incumbent
pregnant with latent zeal
now waits for its unveiling
when all will be revealed.

scraps of vagrant paper
clothes not put away
a washer full of dishes
a desk in disarray.

the muse of ordinary
the song of normal life
free from scripted falsehood
brimming full of life.

31 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

by God's grace

2009-03-28T20:23:00.000-07:00

Your presence surrounds me
in a balm of healing grace.
Your joy wipes all my tears
as I look upon the shadow
of your passing.

The darkness of my heart
is exposed to your holiness.
The blood of Jesus Christ
removes the guilt of all my
wicked ways.

I worship you, Lord God,
as a sinner made a saint.
I will follow where you lead me
to the ends of the earth,
unashamed.

All I am, and all I have,
I give to you for all my days.
I lay aside my ambitions
and may I die to self daily
for Jesus Christ.

In the silence of this moment
may you be glorified by my life.
And in my actions and my words
may other hearts see the love
of Jesus for the world.

28 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

of where, I do not know

2009-03-21T23:39:00.000-07:00

just around the corner lies a
vista undiscovered. walk
with me through the stand
of ancient trees to unveil
the isolation of my heart.

in the deeply recessed glen
grass and poppies drape the
clearing like a field of colored
candies longing for my touch,
only to withdraw at my glance.

the fauna wilts away under
the covering of my shadow
until only barren dirt and twigs
remain, a reminder of what might
have been, of what now remains.

21 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

when reality awakens the dreamer

2009-03-21T14:13:00.000-07:00

just an ordinary boy,
quietly unassuming,
ignored by all the rest
unless they thought to
mock him and make fun.

he dreamed of growing up,
of becoming a somebody,
of marrying a girl,
of raising his own kids
and working hard.

he prayed everyday for
the woman he would marry.
he asked God to bless her
and keep her safe so that
they would meet in due time.

at the age of twenty-one the
dream was shattered by
reality. the boy awoke to
realize he would never marry,
so he stopped praying for

someone who doesn't exist.

21 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

unknown but not forgotten

2009-03-12T21:57:00.000-07:00

he whispered to the wind
and no one answered.
the rain fell all about
like soldiers slain.

the lightning dove for cover
on the rooftops.
he huddled in the
alcove just below.

red bricks with black graffiti
marked the violence;
he gripped his cloak and
closed his eyes to pain.

when morning came they found
him in the doorway,
his purple heart and Bible
all he owned.

they knew not whence he came
or how he'd fallen.
but all the same they wept
at his estate.

for in the midst of
chic urban wealth
there lay a soldier
slain by heartbreak.

12 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

another dragon, labor

2009-03-11T16:58:00.000-07:00

he sits down,
the day's work done,
work clothes cloistered
in a cloud of dirt and grime.

the scars on his hands
are betrayed by blood,
but he bears the pain down,
grim satisfaction.

memories of labor
which will ever go untold
as alone he slays
another dragon.

11 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

common man, remembered

2009-03-08T20:36:00.000-07:00

he wonders why all the world
seems to pass along,
a train of seasons,
never seeing him cry out.

wizened lines etch his face,
careworn wrinkles tell of sorrow.
hands calloused with years of labor,
among the masses, yet alone.

ashes blend with silver starlight
at the dawn of hope's first song.
and then the Spirit of the Lord
falls upon him as a wave.

and he cries out Holy, Holy, Holy.
tears and shame are washed away,
private pain brought to light
in the healing song of Yahweh.

the depths of sin washed away,
righteousness raised as a standard
through Jesus Christ, the Lord.
Holy is his name.

8 March 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

Unbidden

2009-02-12T18:45:00.000-08:00

Joy peeks over my right shoulder
and then hides again when I turn to
look. I don’t see her, but I suspect
her presence. She peeks over my left
shoulder; I look swiftly, but miss her,
although I do detect the scent of sunshine.

I turn around, but no one is there.
My eyes narrow. Joy giggles softly,
undetected by my ears, but teasing
the borders of my intuition.

She smiles as she notes the tic now
turning up the right corner of my
mouth. More work to do, she realizes.
She tickles me in my side. I gasp.
She falls backward, laughing, still
silent to my ears, but radiant.

I scratch the affected spot and put
my arms up to preserve my stoicism.
Both corners of my mouth now tug at
my determination. Joy grins at the challenge.

She tip toes to a point directly in front
of me. She sticks out her tongue, makes
a silly face, and giggles helplessly. A
current of fresh air washes over me,
a mixture of pure solace and healing
sunshine. Joy watches my guarded
posture melt. The defenses lower.

I begin to cry at the unbidden release
of pain. She rushes in to embrace me,
understanding, healing, a balm in
the face of many years of

loneliness.

12 February 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

conflict within

2009-02-11T17:34:00.000-08:00

the waters deep within my heart prevail upon the shores afar.
distant silhouettes trace each contour of my brokenness.
mist and fire, confusion and grief, spray upon rocky crags.
hope collects like verdant tide pools,
sanctuaries of life hidden beneath the rising flood,
waiting for the new day.

silent suffering, like an errant knight, keeps watch.
none shall pass lest their quarry fade into shadow.
misplaced vigilance observes those who would bring joy,
variegated solace and woe intermingled,
protection wielded valiantly against all hope;
tragic therein is this abode!

will comfort never penetrate the defenses?
will joy seize the opportunity unleashed in the twilight,
the last glimmer of hope?

choral voices chant in sacred stillness,
hushed harmonies in counterpoint to one dissonant melody,
rising above all others in urgent proclamation.

exaudi Deus deprecationem meam intende orationi meae
a finibus terrae ad te clamavi dum anxiaretur cor meum
in petra exaltasti me deduxisti me quia factus es spes mea
turris fortitudinis a facie inimici (Psalm: 102:1-2).

11 February 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

from the margins

2009-02-06T21:40:00.000-08:00

i sit upon the bench
beside the quiet street.
the fountain celebrates
the whispers of the trees.

the february night
collects the mist and chill.
in answer to the rain,
the starlight disappears.

one shadow brushes past
the nearby stand of trees.
another scales the heights,
and waits expectantly.

i wonder whence they came?
i watch them patiently.
do they know i am here?
am i a wraith they see?

as in life's passages,
ever outside feel i.
yet still there is a call,
to take my cross and die

so i may ever live
for the Lord Jesus Christ.
i lay down all i am.
in him, myself i hide.

and thus he puts to rights
the world in which i live.
he turns my face to him,
his grace, he freely gives.

6 February 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

when we are most silent

2009-01-29T23:16:00.000-08:00

yearning against the constraints,
silence leans into the wind.
it waits for the time of its appearing;
it seeks to hasten the moment.
the clattering beer can blows here and there
down the sparsely occupied street.
chimes sing on the porch
of the apartment tower standing guard,
a sentry keeping watch over the city street.

silence dances in the spaces
between the ambient sounds.
distant cars and trucks honk their horns
and race their engines.
the clatter of garbage cans alert the dog.
either a possum or a prowler, not sure which is worse.
a scream in the night.
probably another drug deal gone bad.

silence meditates in the dark watches of the night.
an invitation to the holy. An escape from worldly care.
the siren hints at the margin of awareness. silence quiets the heart.
the turf war excalates into multiple shots fired. silence cries.
somewhere into darkest alleyways, reloading occurs again. why?

silence invites us into the holy place,
the turf where graffiti loses its meaning.
into the quiet, silence leads,
knowing that only there can we listen truly.
and so we sit and listen;
we stay our speech and wait quietly.
flickering city lights grow distant as we wait upon the Lord.
we talk less and listen more.
despite our many words,

we hear best when we are most silent.

29 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

Space

2009-01-25T22:25:00.000-08:00

white fire dashes through the sky,
exploding into a mist of muted sparks.

the ripple in the wind,
the subtle shift of the sea; space.

constellations form across the expanse,
so tiny in the hands of the Maker.

structures from antiquity betray their distance,
the first glimpse at night.

myriad colors coalesce,
an ebb and flow of feral mystery.

who is he who strides the heights?
who is he who sustains them by his command?

25 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

Mom

2009-01-25T21:16:00.000-08:00

she worked with her hands;
she gave with her heart.
orphaned at twelve,
no bitterness at all.

she spread God's love
to the children of Watts.
she married her love
and enjoyed four children.

a grandma of five,
she smiles alot.
her love she still spreads
with hugs and comfort.

I love you, Mom.

25 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

Where are the fathers?

2009-01-24T22:24:00.000-08:00

graffiti provokes the enemy,
marking territory,
staking claims.

bloods, crips, 13th st, et al.

markings recognized and feared.
war is on.

92nd street shooting in the midst of Lents Park.
Rockwood gangland drivebys.
North Portland retaliation.

Kids, all. Armed and dangerous.
Max train movement of members.

Plenty of chalk to outline the night's take of bodies.
Plenty of talk to give lip service to solutions.

Where are the fathers?

24 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

hope prevails

2009-01-24T22:18:00.000-08:00

pain comforts its wielder with the knowledge that he is alive.
no small feat, considering the attendant opposition within.

better to desire life than give in to despair and escape.
hope prevails yet again in the dark watches of the night.

24 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

precipice

2009-01-24T22:13:00.000-08:00

he stands on the precipice--
a knife's edge glistening in pain--
not knowing if there will be a soft landing.
the naysayers await his fall expectantly
while he risks his future and dares to dream.

24 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

when love lays down its life

2009-01-04T22:25:00.000-08:00

Drifting in and out of what she's always known.
Singing quietly while snowflakes coat her hair.
Offering her arms outstretched, a warm embrace.
She huddles closely to his fur; he licks her face.
Vaguely she can hear a distant siren wail.
Closely he whines and barks and wakes her still.
Opening her eyes again she faintly sees
The memories of her puppy as they played with glee.
Drops of tears out from his eyes awaken her.
He huddles closely as strange men now appear.
They pick her up into a stretcher as she cries,
"Don't leave my puppy." And they said, "He saved your life."
"So save his too." But there was nothing they could do.
"Your faithful labrador gave his life for you."
She wept aloud and as they worked the puppy died.
But not before he looked again into her eyes.
The love between them spanned the years that they had known.
The faithful dog ensured that she would live and grow.

4 January 2009 by Glen Alan Woods

Gossip

2008-12-31T19:44:00.000-08:00

spiral mist in shadows rising,
sunlit choirs encircling flame.
viral whispers sing enchantment,
turning hearts, destroying names.

31 December 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

All that I am

2008-12-06T20:54:00.000-08:00

All that I am.
All that I hold dear.
All my hopes.
All my life.
My all.
I give them all to you.
I lay them down at your feet.
All that I am is yours
That I may decrease and
You may increase.

6 December 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

Paradox

2008-12-06T20:51:00.000-08:00

In the quiet I reside
Yearning for something.
I know not what; alone.

The road seems ever
Long, yet terminally
Short; paradox of grief.

Memories of what is
To come conflict with
What might have been.

Absurd abstractions;
Certainty cast in doubt
By tendrils of curiosity.

Chants of lyrics never
Uttered fill the secret
Places of doubt. Cry.

6 December 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

Shattered Spaces

2008-12-02T19:19:00.000-08:00

Shattered spaces cast clouds of brightness,
Illumined from behind by the pale moonlight.
Glittering lights hide squalor and suffering,
The dance of affluence and poverty.
Gangs of youth emerge from the projects,
Spray paint cans in hand, with guns and knives, too.
Blood fills the alleyways and train tracks.
Another beating given; shots fired.
Retaliation for displaying wrong colors. Death.
Innocence lost is no longer mourned in a city
Jaded by one more incident. Mothers weep silently
As in the distance the refrain “Peace on Earth” is
Sung by carolers in their designer clothing.
Retailers mourn market share decline while
Families pray for their next meal.
Politicos strategize power alignments while
Marginalized populations suffer
From their self-serving decisions.
Children are kidnapped and made to fight wars
While the U.N. makes the Ape its priority.
Jobs are discarded while politicians promise raised taxes.
Television personalities wage wars of words,
While the ratings climb amid moral deterioration
Precipitated by cultural ambiguity.
Families sequester in their homes,
Numbed by the infusion of media options; secluded from
Each other; each pursuing privatized preferences.
Not talking; barely co-existing.
Shattered spaces.

2 December 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

Sound Their Horns

2008-11-29T22:16:00.000-08:00

Silver rain in winter falls
Anthems shadow ancient halls
Tow’ring spires o’er windswept plains
Watchmen sound their horns.

Broken dreams paint silence red
Flags aloft display their dread
Whisp’ring tears call forth the deep
Watchmen sound their horns.

Who has heard the desp’rate calls?
Who has come from thund’ring falls?
Knights unknown in raiment dark
Out of the depths they rise from ash.

Flames and waters flood their path
Sword and shield meet hellish wrath
Tales of old they now survive
Watchmen sound their horns.

Born in days whence shadow fled
Born of songs in books not read
Scribes foretold the warriors’ creed
The coming of the Guardian’s Fold.

29 November 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

price of liberty

2008-11-22T18:35:00.000-08:00

torn sails whip in the wind,
talismans forlorn whispering
secrets aft and fore, but never amidships.

the vessel lists to port.
gaping holes spew fire and smoke.
its crew embraces the balm of an icy tomb.

starry skies observe the peril.
the full moon casts its eye on the
blood red sea, pearl and scarlet vagabonds.

whispers in the lesser light,
memories quickly fade by dawn;
artisans of subterfuge forgotten.

the songs of that night fade into anonymity.
condemned to hiding, remembered no more.
lyrics of heroism never known.

the laying down of their lives
so that those who suspect it not
may live theirs in liberty.

22 November 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

leaning into the heartbeat

2008-10-22T10:26:00.000-07:00

I feel the steady thrum of the heartbeat
pulsate
gently as I lean over and close my eyes.
peaceful. assuring.

A comforting counterpoint to my despair,
the heartbeat calms my fears, bringing my
heartbeat
in synch with its own; slowly, assuredly.

Dreams emerge I thought long forgotten;
memories of childhood hopes reappear,
rhythmic
songs of redemption for a call not banished.

Vivid images unveil a scroll of hope, flashing
penetrating
glimpses of that which could be; that which
is to come, should I only dare to trust

the heartbeat of the one upon whom I lean. it
pulsates
with assuring grace, causing me to open my
eyes and look into those of Jesus.

22 October 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

other years

2008-10-19T22:21:00.000-07:00

tandem wishes rippling quietly
across the water
slide silently
alone.

streams of hope over the depths
hearken memories
long forgotten;
raw.

19 October 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

of weeds beautiful

2008-10-11T23:00:00.000-07:00

there comes a weed out from the ground,
forgotten in the thicket,
never known;
alone.

poets
wonder when
the silent pass unheeded,
disregarded as irrelevent; seen but unheard.

when in silence poets look into the margins,
where others fear to trod,
textured hues;
humans,

poets
recognize the
irony of assumptions gone awry.
the weeds are flowers of beauty needing love.

11 October 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

Autumn

2008-09-29T17:11:00.000-07:00

a colored leaf hangs as a thread,
an orange mural, with gold and green,
waiting for the wind to blow again.

whispers in the shallows; hidden, poised to pounce.

blue and white interlink above,
everchanging patterns of cloud and sky,
waiting for the storm's first gust.

whistling in the twilight; reeds, of much import.

grey muses darken the West,
the first cool rush from sea to land,
confronting the eastward flow once for all.

a colored leaf trembling; fall, homeward bound.

clashing in the firebrand,
the skies open aloft,
and now shall it be the onset of Autumn.

cacaphony of color; rain, glistening.

29 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

fly, bird

2008-09-27T20:09:00.000-07:00

fly, bird, o'er the windswept trees.
dance in the light of morning's first call.
rise up into the mist, beyond the failing dew,
and fly with abandon; no more care.

fly, bird, in the upper rush of air.
feel the brush of angel's wings
intermingle with holy breath,
as the Lord watches over you.

27 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

in silence whispering

2008-09-25T22:46:00.000-07:00

he felt the hand on his chest, but nobody was there.
darkness engulfed the taunting shadows just beyond....

he heard the whisper in his heart and understood the words.
there would be no more delay. the time was now.

would he go? or would he stay? which would he choose?
one held life; the other death. the mockery from beyond became shrill.

but the hand remained, if for a moment.
the voice trailed off, but not without substance.

it was now, or never. live or die.
what to do? where to go? and what lay beyond in the unknown?

was life a more frightening prospect?
was death so much more inviting?

confusion spiraled in ignominy when in darkness it plunged,
interrupted only by the hand, by the voice

--in silence whispering; in holiness loving,
offering hope in the depths of despair--

of the Lord.

25 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

where ships go to die

2008-09-24T09:10:00.000-07:00

into the west the schooner sails,
away the gull, away my heart.
beyond all hope of silent moon,
the stars alight on minstrel's tune.

they dance amid celestial joy;
they sing out into the void.
shining bright, piercing the night,
on minstrel's tune, the stars alight.

harvest moon tracks restless sea,
it's every ripple, wave and plea.
within the plunging depths below,
untold mysteries remain unknown.

a cloak of fog enshrouds the ship.
strange noises whisper, here and there.
voices of memory rise and fall
as schooner sails into the pall.

the morning greets the sun anew,
much to the joy of schooner's crew.
they had sailed into the west
and now they've found their final rest.

24 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

prove it

2008-09-22T22:48:00.000-07:00

a thin wisp of smoke lifts from the discarded cigarette,
crushed but not snuffed out; another life thrown away.

buildings rise high, a testament to wealth;
their alcoves greet the homeless in the night,

until they are evicted,
made to bring cardboard and cloak out into the open.

grafitti tags mark the boundaries of violence
far below the penthouses of the affluent.

yet, high above from the 30th floor restaurant,
the city lights glitter as if unaware of the heartbreak.

meth labs in southeast,
gangland warfare in the north and in east county,
prostitution row on 82nd,
beggars lining every street corner within a forty mile radius.

and no one seems to care.
business as usual.
treat the symptoms, but not the root.
next generation lepers, kicked to the curb.

children:

without dads.
without purpose.
without mentors.
without hope.

does anyone care?
prove it.

be the dad.
give a purpose.
be a mentor.
inspire hope.

stars beyond

2008-09-11T22:20:00.000-07:00

I searched for stars, wand'ring beyond the glare
of streetlights and haze, of brightly lit moon;
so hidden, except for a few, the brightest, the strongest,
just one or two.

I wandered afar into the dark entryway;
a park closed at dusk, with shadows at play.
I looked high above into the sky
and wondered if angels hovered nearby.

I sighed in the darkness of brightly lit shadow.
The stars danced above, just out of sight.
I whispered a prayer of thanks to the Lord.
In his hands safely the skies frame the night.

11 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

where do dreams go

2008-09-09T16:30:00.000-07:00

when night abides on the corners of the wind;
when whispers stride the heights of the stars;
when even silence abandons the broken heart,
I wonder

where do dreams go

to die?

when pain resounds as with gnashing teeth and fire;
when hollow echoes reply with mockery;
when all the world turns away in disdain,
I wonder

where do dreams go

to die?

when morning dawns after endless hours of pain;
when sunlight enters and greets the new day;
when birdsong filters into the hurting heart,
I wonder

where do dreams go

when they want to live?

9 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

vagrants, all

2008-09-07T23:06:00.000-07:00

constellations of miscellany permeate
the unfolding panorama
of the abandoned stretch of road.

bent hubcap with five spokes, not seven;
faded coke bottle, the original classic, not the knockoff;
flattened tobacco tin, not sure the brand nor whether it matters;
number 2 pencil, needs sharpening and the eraser is gone;
discharged tire tread from an 18 wheeler long since departed.

vagrants, all.

how do they relate?
what stories have they to tell?
and who will listen without haste to silence their testimony?

the windblown plain darkens on the horizon,
bringing with it the distant bank of clouds.
A cool breeze foreshadows the coming of rain,
while the discarded miscellany sits forgotten,
much like the progenitors of its demise.

One wonders whether they will survive the coming night.
One wonders who will join their sojourn.

7 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

the wind and its prey

2008-09-05T22:45:00.000-07:00

the wind twisted out of his grasp.
it slapped him across the face and soared high above.
strange that he smiled, don't you think?

his wizened face remembered
and then he vowed to claim as his own
the name of the wind.

and then he soared too, cloak spread wide.
he chased the wind, calling it by name.
but the wind fled, releasing countermeasures of mystery.

they flew high only for a moment,
and then dove for the trees,
ancient and inviting with upstretched peril.

the wind fled with abandon through branch and bramble.
the predator pursued despite the sure pain,
but all that mattered was to catch the wind

and claim it as his own, never to rescind.
so, he followed hard after his quarry
and despite the blood and rain,

he cornered the wind within a sealed hollow.
he called out its name and charmed it to come close.
and closely it came as he claimed its na--

too quickly it fled, then sealed him inside
the hollow without wind, the tomb with no name.
and for all of time he stared in dismay.

5 September 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

when dragons weep

2008-06-27T12:43:00.000-07:00

when silence climbs with silken wind
upon the parapet of stone
the molten arcs of fire and gem
enshroud a visage of sinew and bone.

when thunder speaks in tender tones,
an undercurrent of memories,
the sharpened teeth gleam in delight
with the hope of a wondrous feast.

beyond the view of towering peaks,
down in the shade of deep ravines,
a secret voice of fraility
whispers a song under the wind.

when whispers climb with silken wind
upon the parapet of stone
the molten arcs of fire and gem
turn into tears of ancient bones.

when thunder weeps in tender shame,
an undercurrent of memories,
the glistening eyes recall the names
of those he ate over the years.

beyond the view of towering peaks
down in the shade of deep ravines,
a secret voice of fraility
weeps with his son, both dragon beasts.

27 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

source to sea

2008-06-26T07:01:00.000-07:00

high in the rarified atmosphere
the frozen tundra began to melt
slowly against the glare of the
burning summer sun, so relentless
in blazing fury, so penetrating
in firey warmth.

a trickle of melted snow wound
through the circuitous route
of rock and crag, ravine and
hollow, meeting together
with another trickle, and yet
another still

until, as one, they formed
a gentle gurgling stream
rushing through the
subterranean depths, twisting
and turning, until their gathered force
bubbled out into the open under
the canopy of the dense rainforest
as a vibrant flow of purity.

on they flowed under the watchful
eyes of towering old growth and myriad
fauna and creatures of the wood.
they gathered strength through depth and
width, their collective speed mounting in
a race down hill until together they reached
the abyss--

and they fell.
in a spray of beautiful abandon they leapt
off the cliff into the unknown,
trying to cling to each other, but being
pulled apart until over 650 feet below
they thunderously gathered in a pool of
cacophonous serenity.

rest was well deserved, but only fleeting,
their attention drawn to yet another
journey downhill, gurgling, wondering,
hoping, fearing the distant rumble of
waters great.

and indeed they saw the source and enormity
of the powerfully flowing river as they entered
its flow for the first time, a small trickle penetrating
an aged tide, inexorably drawn to yet another great
unknown.

through current and undercurrent, subcurrent
and gusting winds above, they flowed in restless
dissonance with the great river to its destination.
where might they be headed? what will become
of their gathering? why are they here?

on they journeyed, now becoming accustomed
to the gathered and conflicted strength
of their newfound flow. yet, some time later,
they sensed a change in the air. it was cooler,
it harbored a wildness. the flow seemed more
chaotic as together they plunged forward into
greater depths, like a flow being forced through
a funnel out into a massive body of water.
and, indeed, they met for the first time, the great
ocean of salt and sea, wild and cavernous, the greatest
of all the seas.

it was there that they said their goodbyes,
realizing that it was time to part ways.
with sad resolve they waved, as in the murky depths
they were pulled apart to destinations yet-to-be
determined. alone, but not afraid. well, maybe a little.
maybe a lot. cold depths have that effect on new arrivals,
but not for too long as they form new alliances
in their quest to flow unhindered on their journey to
distant ports of call.

26 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

of dreams forgotten

2008-06-16T15:35:00.000-07:00

everyday a memory comes,
reminding me of dreams once shared.
silent interludes weave their tones,
a soundtrack for the imagery.

unscripted voices narrate each scene,
evoking mood; exploring the margins.
out of the lyrics there appears
a cry of hope for all the nations.

16 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

snow melt runoff

2008-06-16T15:31:00.000-07:00

Cold waters gurgle
in the silence of the sun's fading light.
Elm trees offer
their leaves shimmering bright.

Submersed stones quaver
in the rushing white spray.
Roots hide deeply
as anchors in the clay.

16 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

For God's Glory

2008-06-09T16:47:00.000-07:00

fading in the night
can you see?
the twilight's last glimpse of beauty.

red and yellow hues,
flame of azure blue.
the birth of crimson radiance.

in the wilderness, I raise my arms and cry.
without shame, I sing for love and joy.

could it be
the mystery of hope
is singing its own harmony

to the song
which fills my heart
with passion for God's glory.

in the wilderness, I raise my arms and cry.
without shame, I sing for love and joy.

fading in the night
can you see?
the twilight's last glimpse of beauty.

red and yellow hues,
flame of azure blue.
the birth of crimson radiance.

9 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

fellowship cherished

2008-06-07T23:36:00.000-07:00

Silence whispered in my ear tonight,
"Alone again, I see." The voice trailed off
expectantly. What more could it say?

Muted refrains of words once spoken
confirm the potent solitude. Only a memory
they are, now hushed fragments of conversation.

Watery depths of recollection ebb and flow
beneath the surface of my heart, a longing
cherished for future memories.

Silence nudged me on the arm. It
nodded, then held still. I knew it
wanted my attention. I knew it felt the

chill which lurked like frost on
fallen pine cones far from view
of humanity. Alone. Cold.

Yet birthed with seeds of warmth
from which grand designs of fellowship
greet their apogee.

7 June 2008 By Glen Alan Woods

name of the wind

2008-06-05T22:47:00.000-07:00

the name of the wind is illusive and fair,
a wisp of imagination, a scent of jasmine

hair. wild onions near filbert orchards
awaken nocturnal owls in their stately

repose, watchful eyes glowing against
the moon's cloud veiled choirs

of bored crickets in waiting for an
evening of chamber song

about the name of the wind,
so illusive and fair.

5 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

basswood clean

2008-06-01T23:19:00.000-07:00

basswood clean, pristine in eloquent purity
never touched by breath or hand
awaiting the exquisite pain of the carver's blade.

penciled shadows of mountainous peaks
evoke joy and wonderous, if cautious, strokes,
as deeply the stop-cuts sear the upper reaches

beyond basecamp, last solace of turning back
left behind for the final ascent
as chiseled below the rough terrain takes shape.

1 June 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

of mystery considered

2008-05-10T22:21:00.000-07:00

when mystery mounts the crest of the horizon,
sleep fails the hearts of those waiting to be set free
for they wait in wondrous expectation....

will the veil be lifted?
will joy be unleashed?
will peace descend?

Oh, how I long for passion which unleashes the love of Christ.
Oh, how I pour out my heart in silent repose; yielding, crying.

when the child sits weeping in the arms of his dead mother,
war suddenly becomes personal, no longer a distant headline
for it violates the deep places of the heart....

will it ever end?
will mourning ever cease?
will peace ever renew its vows?

Oh, how I long for obedience which unleashes the compassion of Christ.
Oh, how I long to pour out my life in service to bind up the brokenness.

when hope blossoms from the womb of mystery
those who wait in expectation rejoice
and they proclaim aloud a new song....

will the world listen?
will they who hear perceive?
will the good news take root among the nations?

Oh, how I commit my life to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Oh, how I weep unashamed for love and joy with his passion unleashed.

10 May 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

the eviction

2008-05-10T07:58:00.000-07:00

darkness seethed in the corner,
huddled silently against the wooden post
as into its space crept the
encroaching sunlight.

an abandoned spider web came to his aid,
casting lattice shadows
in a vain attempt to forestall
the inevitable violation.

two rats twitched their noses in horror.
quickly they retreated into the rotted hole
masked by darkness' remaining influence--
and not a moment too soon.

sunlight crept inexorably closer, and with it,
warmth. dreaded, loathsome warmth, with its
inexplicably cheery disposition.
darkness shuddered.

with veiled eyes hidden in web and shadow,
darkness prepared to launch a vicious attack
on its unwelcome interlocuter; poised for battle,
ready to strike.

and then suddenly the door opened
and with it came horror of all horrors,
the dreaded evil cleaning lady.
"Rise and shine!" she cheerfully exclaimed.

"Time to make this a home fit for living
once again, beginning with this deep, dark closet!
Hmm. What's this? Webs all about? No more!"
With that darkness screamed

as her broom moved to the attack,
brushing away years of precious webs,
and letting in horrible piercing light,
while singing, "The Hills Are Alive!"

"Arrrgh!" came the silent scream of darkness
as he dispersed into the crevices
from which he had come so many years before,
in the time of distant sorrow not entirely forgotten.

The two rats checked out of their abode that very day,
complaining of a sudden change in hospitality,
but realizing that the new management did not
seem to sympathize with their plight.

10 May 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

Storm

2008-05-08T23:08:00.000-07:00

and the rain fell,
a whisper of silver pearls,
tears of shadow,
tracing light in arcs of gray.

and the sky spoke,
a rumbling within the clouds,
untamed fury,
foretelling shattered serenity.

and the wind blew,
a dervish of swirling teeth,
with eyes of fire,
howling at the unseen moon.

8 May 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

of callings heard

2008-04-27T22:36:00.000-07:00

flute and lyre, haunting voice
trembling lips portend the choice
of a heart called of God to lands unknown.

will you be there when I arrive?
will you see me through beyond the veil?

drum and dance, shouts of longing
streaming tears proclaim the song
of adoration for God who is infinitely good.

will your praises be made known through these hands of clay?
will you show forth your glory through my brokenness?

harp and horn, echoing choir
violins rising, with passion inspired out
of a depth of worship for the Lord God Almighty.

will you lead me? For I do not know the way.
will you go before me? For I am afraid.

27 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

when words escape me

2008-04-13T19:01:00.000-07:00

the rain falls in
rivulets of sorrow
rushing down--no,
brushing across--no,
pouring upon--oh,
it doesn't really matter.
Come, let me buy you
a rootbeer float and we
can drown our laughter
in icecream.

13 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

within the heart of God

2008-04-13T13:12:00.000-07:00

deep within the heart of God she waits patiently,
with head adorned by a crown of diamond tears.

she whispers in a shower of unfurled prayers,
a bride-to-be awaiting her first kiss.

the heartbeat of her Father breathes fresh wonder,
as she dances in the joy of holiness.

the gladness of her song entwines the starlight's glow
as a radiant train from her flowing dress.

a rainbow of april highlights sparkles in her eyes
when into her view appears her beloved.

she whispers his name and he whispers hers too.
he found her when he sought the heart of God.

13 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

Come Away

2008-04-12T20:39:00.000-07:00

the splintered stone cried,
having fallen into the crevasse.
Yes, it did. It

fell from the heights of mockery,
as a lonely child cast adrift in the schoolyard--
sore. The splintered

stone wept, as tumbling, but not polished,
it wandered aimlessly below.
No one saw, or

so it thought. The daffodil
smiled from afar, singing songs
of comfort on

a windless breeze. Hazy apparitions
fell upon its reluctant repose.
Come away my

little stone. Come away and be free
like a child returned to his home.
Mommy! Daddy!

12 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

flower

2008-04-12T20:36:00.000-07:00

she wandered the world,
this flower pink,
to find in your home her final planting.

she sighed with delight,
this fragrant bloom,
to whisper of hope in your ear.

she sang her last song,
this tender wand,
to memories of what is to come.

she then closed her eyes,
this fading sigh,
content in the embrace of your heart.

12 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

silhouettes

2008-04-12T20:30:00.000-07:00

two silhouettes danced on the pier
with moon and stars their audience.

while the ocean gnaws upon the wood,
the white gulls send their final call.

12 April 2008 by Glen Alan Woods

and He was moved....

2007-12-24T09:12:00.000-08:00

sheep without a shepherd;
teeming masses confused;
cacophony of anger
under Herod's rule;
and he was moved....

to search for a great leader
rising in their midst
among the house of David
and strike down their unrest....

they longed for fulfillment.
they yearned for Messiah
to strike down the oppression
and raise the banner high.
and He was moved....

to come as a baby
born of the virgin, Mary
in obscure and humble milieu;
Immanuel, God with us.
and He was moved....

to save us from our sins;
to deliver us from evil;
to fulfill the law and prophets
spotless Lamb; true Messiah, the Christ.

Our King of Kings.
Our Great High Priest.
The Lamb who was slain from the foundation of the world.

Once a child, fully human and fully God;
The Good Shepherd who calls His sheep to His fold
in the midst of a world of Herods....
and He was moved....

24 December 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

into discipleship

2007-12-19T15:29:00.000-08:00

curious from a distance
woven into the margin
is there a way to join?
fleeing, approaching
fretting, wondering
waiting yet again
must feel safe
remain silent
voices echo
no replies
hidden
lonely
fear
sin
Cross
joy
risk
love
faith
peace
worship
goodness
meekness
fellowship
obedience
gentleness
forgiveness
self-control
discipleship
stewardship
long-suffering
righteousness

19 December 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

and the rain fell

2007-12-17T21:32:00.000-08:00

and the rain fell upon
the shadowed waters, potholes
hidden amid concrete
towers rising tall.

and the wind blew against
the huddled figures, barely
hidden beneath cardboard
boxes freezing cold.

and the pain gnawed behind
the weathered faces, weeping
hidden within shadows
deep in broken hearts.

and the rain fell.

17 December 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Welcome Home

2007-11-29T20:25:00.000-08:00

Lay down this burden that you bear.
Chimes are calling from the songs of heaven's choir.
Sleep now in the shadow of comfort.
Angel's sing, "Welcome home."

Well done, good and faithful servant.
The Savior calls you unto his heavenly rest.
Weep not, for the time of sorrow is past.
Come and worship the King of kings.

Dance now as he wipes your tears away.
Choral anthems to his majesty are raised.
Lift your voice in glorious songs of praise.
The Lamb of God is on the throne!

Gather beside the crystal tide
With angels singing, "Holy is the Lamb!"
Join now the song of the redeemed:
"The Lamb who was slain is King of kings!"

29 November 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

the wooden flute

2007-11-29T20:10:00.000-08:00

the wooden flute, like whispered mist,
calls from the depths of brokenness.
with plaintive cry it fills the dawn
as echoed tendrils dance with grace.

the tones evoke remembered joy
from simpler times of childhood days.
with lilting chant they trace the past,
knowing that memories of hope will last.

the wooden flute, like whispered mist,
enshrouds the hope now long deferred
with healing songs of tender joy
and sweet fulfillment of holy desires.

all of creation joins the song,
no longer mourning; no longer sad.
together, with the wooden flute,
we sing God's praises for all he's done.

29 November 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Hope Whispers

2007-10-02T23:01:00.000-07:00

In the cleft of the moon's silver shadow
gather the tears of a thousand gulls
as a pool of sorrow in the hidden vale,
reflecting memories of war and pain.

The tears pour out as a waterfall
over broken lives left to die
as a faint hope whispers from their ruins,
"To die is gain, but to live is Christ."

2 October 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Silent Pain

2007-09-08T22:37:00.000-07:00

When night falls and hushed whispers sleep,
Twilight hides beyond the horizon's claim.
Quickened dreams pry into the heart's domain,
A choreography of conflict and pain.

When tears fall and faint voices weep,
Dawn brushes the brow of silent pain.
Memories of a mother's comforting refrain
Bring awareness of cheeks now tear stained.

8 September 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Prayer of Lament

2007-09-07T23:20:00.000-07:00

In the midnight hour I call out to you, Lord.
You are my help and my strength.
When pain and sorrow overwhelm,
You enter the ravaging storm as a comforting balm.

Tears are my companion as in darkness I weep.
But you, Lord, are my hope and my healer.
You speak truth in the dark places,
Shining light, showing forth your holiness.

For in travail, I call out to you and cry holy.
In mourning, I weep for loss, but cry holy to you.
In shame, I repent of sin and cry holy to your name.
In worship, I set aside my will and cry holy is the Lamb.

You are holy, holy, holy. Holy is the Lamb.

7 September 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

The Broken Leaf

2007-09-07T18:14:00.000-07:00

The broken leaf,
With red and yellow hues,
Remembers former days
Of newly birthed greenery.

But now at last,
In twilight's clarity,
Understanding dawns
In the palette of Autumn's muse.

The breathless scope
Of life lived beautifully
Calls for songs of joy
Among the windblown falling leaves.

The broken leaf,
With red and yellow hues,
Gently heeds the call,
Tumbling to the blanket below.

In fading light,
With one last glimpse above,
The radiant canopy
Dances to the robin's final tune.

7 September 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

I Want to Remember

2007-08-18T08:01:00.000-07:00

I want to remember it all,
the tone of voice,
the turn of phrase,
the anecdotes
from treasured days.

All of it retains value
of memories born down deep,
a legacy of family leadership,
appreciated,
honored,
missed.

Through danger, toil and humor,
the stories have emerged.
They form the background
of all that I remember,
treasured jewels worth recovering
for the generations to come.

I want to remember.
I want to pass them on.
I miss you, Dad.
See you soon.

18 August 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
In Memory of my Dad, Kenneth R. Woods (16 March 1934 - 14 August 2007)

Of Thorn and Rain

2007-08-13T22:05:00.000-07:00

The mournful cry
beneath the stars,
the silver mist
in darkness falls.

The lonely flute
on windswept plains,
evokes the song
of thorn and rain.

Where have the living creatures gone?
Where have they hidden in the song?

Like wisps of flame
on sword and shield,
the glittering eyes
glare from the field.

The whispering brush
both ebbs and flows,
the crickets sing
their fervid prose.

Where have the living creatures gone?
Where have they hidden in the song?

13 August 2007 By Glen Alan Woods

Ashes

2007-07-25T22:35:00.000-07:00

Do you hear the clouds above,
Forged in shadow, fire and mist?
Within my silent heart they're covering
All the ashes of my weeping.
And from the depths of the flames
Grows therein--in simplicity--
The purity of God's love.

When shadows call from twilight's grasp,
The silver moonbeam fades to ash.
The songs of peril rise with longing
Beyond the realm where mist and starlight meet.
And from the depths of the flames
Grows therein--in simplicity--
The purity of God's love.

25 July 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

I Cry Out

2007-07-14T21:44:00.000-07:00

Do they sense the pain I feel
as they hurry down the street
past my broken heart?

Do they know the suffering
of isolation and shame
which chokes my hope away?

I cry out loud for help among the people
but no one seems to care.

I seek for something to take away the pain
but nothing seems to help.

As my hope begins to fade
thoughts of death and escape
burrow in my heart.

In the midst of mocking voices
on a darkened mountain road
one voice penetrates.

I cry out loud to the Lord God of Hosts
and He answers me.

I cry out loud to the Lord Jesus Christ
and He rescues me.

And in the seasons yet to come,
in the years set before me,
I look to Jesus Christ.

The pain of shame and loneliness,
I set before the Cross;
I turn to Jesus Christ.

I cry out loud to the Lord God of Hosts
and He answers me.

I cry out loud to the Lord Jesus Christ
and He rescues me.

14 July 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

A reflection on my journey through depression, from the despair of suicide to the hope of heaven in Jesus Christ.

The Silence Wanders Where it Will

2007-06-15T18:12:00.000-07:00

Chimes on a windless day hold still.
They savor memories of old.
The silence wanders where it will.

Tonight's promise of quiet will
surely invite hushed whispers told.
Chimes on a windless day hold still.

Upon the porch the couple thrills
as quietly their hands enfold.
The silence wanders where it will.

Their eyes embrace the distant hills
as they huddle against the cold.
Chimes on a windless day hold still.

With wrinkled smiles despite the chill,
years of marriage have not grown cold.
The silence wanders where it will.

With cheerful hope they can't conceal,
they look beyond the days of old.
Chimes on a windless day hold still.
The silence wanders where it will.

15 June 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

The Lyrical Refrain: A Villanalle Variant (French)

2007-06-14T19:43:00.000-07:00

I hear the lyrical refrain
glide gently on the moonlit shore.
I wonder at the distant rain.

Encircled like a closing stain,
the salient orb of fabled lore...
I whisper softly Jesus' name.

The orange hues in crimson paint
spread out aloft in skies adorned.
I wonder at the distant rain.

Into the west the canvass wanes,
with distant gulls in song forlorn.
I whisper softly Jesus' name.

With silent muse and cheeks now stained,
on out to sea my thoughts are borne.
I wonder at the distant rain.

A sense of purpose is now gained
out from a heart which once was torn.
I hear the lyrical refrain.
I whisper softly Jesus' name.

14 June 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

of memories faded

2007-06-09T10:05:00.000-07:00

she greeted me happily, then greeted me
again; still once more she greeted me as
if we had just reunited, happy she was to
see me. full of memories past, although
less so in the present, yet happy all the
same to see me, "Hello!" she exclaimed!

10 June 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

I Met With Sadness Yesterday

2007-05-29T22:33:00.000-07:00

I met with Sadness yesterday, after some time apart.
He was not looking well due to the recent encounter
with his nemesis, Depression; it was a painful start
to an ongoing struggle, visited yet again in the late hour.

Sadness sat quietly as I opened the door and entered.
Depression was nearby, yet unseen. "What's wrong?"
I asked in lyrical query as into the eyes of Sadness I peered.
With his eyes looking into mine he replied, "Song...."

His voice caught and his eyes lowered, welling within
and he said, "Everything and nothing and all things between."
Choosing instead a lyric of silence, I refrained from replying.
Together we sat, quietly aware of the peace one song could bring.

Finally, Sadness asked, "Could you sing one of your tunes?"
Naturally I agreed, lifting up my voice in a joyful melody
while also adding harmonies and lyrics that filled the room
with laughter which caused Depression to hastily flee.

Sadness smiled for the first time in days, not yet ready to be alone,
but gladly free from Depression for at least a little while,
and perhaps longer too, if he chooses to give Joy a home.
Sadness welcomed Joy tentatively, and when she grinned, he smiled.

29 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Fellowship of Silence

2007-05-28T16:31:00.000-07:00

Solitude invites The Quiet.
"come, come into my home
with Silence undisturbed as
our companion; rest at ease."

with joy, The Quiet joins
Solitude in the fellowship of
Silence, in peaceful repose,
the three joined as one.

28 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

When Tired Am I

2007-05-21T20:49:00.000-07:00

when tired am I,
I lay my head
upon the pillow of my bed.

into my dreams
my thoughts descend
like swirling mist around the bend

until a wooded
glade I see
adorned in fragrant greenery.

and then I sit
upon a log
near ancient ferns and croaking frogs

as in the night
the skies above
declare the glory of God's love.

21 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Gentleness

2007-05-17T21:54:00.001-07:00

in the quiet light of pre-dawn mist,
choirs of silence rise and fall
within the orb of shadow's womb,
waiting for songs of hope's last call.

through all the pain, both harsh and cruel,
pure gentleness responds to all
the piercing violence of fell mood
with humble meekness despite death's pall.

17 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Real Music

2007-05-10T22:47:00.000-07:00

bent over, I lean against the park bench alone,
watching the squirrels scurry about their business,
only to be interrupted by passersby walking
or jogging. the interlocutors never pay much heed to
the musical interplay, content instead to listen to ipods
ablaze with the lyrical cacophony of the top 40. I watch the
squirrels judge the foreign interludes, with complaints
of pitchiness, dreadfulness and shrugs of ditzy bemusement.
they didn't bring it this time; too karaoke. try some real music!
and during a break from the passersby, the real music emerges
dancing across the skies and flitting about the trees
to the rustling choreography of the swaying branches.

10 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

in the pool

2007-05-07T23:28:00.000-07:00

mid-spring waters ripple
as I float facing skyward.
in the air bluebirds flit about
from limb to limb lecturing each
other among trees grown tall,
overlooking the cheerful giggles of
a little girl playing with her daddy.

7 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Seagull Alone

2007-05-03T18:47:00.000-07:00

The wind blows where it will,
an aroma of wildflowers borne on its crest,
vapor cooling in the morning fog.

Aloft, in the heights, a vagrant seagull
calls for its companions, one lost
interlocutor surveying the lakeside fauna.

Dark clouds from the west hunt the seagull,
tracing its plaintive, hopeful wails,
plotting paths of unearthly surprise.

Cold gusts interrupt the sublime,
trading gentle scents of California poppies
for faint musty hints from ports afar.

A large mouth bass breaks the lake's surface,
reaching skyward for the first drops of rain.
Its return to the depths hails the first rumblings of thunder.

With a stroke of its wings, the seagull
glides further east; but not for long as the
call of the sea lures it back West toward its doom.

3 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

a day in the life, give or take a moment or two

2007-05-02T15:18:00.000-07:00

sleeping
alarm
sleep
alarm
*gonna show them*
snooze button
alarm
*grr*
snooze button
alarm
strike clock
stretch/moan
pray
wake
pray more
rise and pray
prepare and pray
open door
close door
lock door
descend stairs
stop
ascend stairs
check door
descend stairs
walk to car
disable car alarm
enter car
ignition
depart lot
listen to music
sing along
do the motions if people are watching
red light
green
yellow
that was close
enter lot
unlock door
disable alarm
turn on fans
turn on radio
turn on lights
open sign
open bay door
dispatch installers
open garbage dumpster
close garbage dumpster
phone calls
patrol lot for grafitti and garbage
backdoor bell
sign parcels
front door bell
help customers
phone calls
clean bathrooms
lunch at home
rearrange warehouse
vacuum showfloor
put samples away
front door bell
greet new customers
check samples out to them
phone calls
fax dispatch list
spray weeds
sit and write
nod off
phone call
prepare to leave
say bye
open door
close door
walk to car
disable car alarm
ignition
depart lot
red light
green
yellow
that was close
enter lot
unlock door
walk to building
ascend stairs
unlock door
open door
close door
lock door
sit down
turn on computer
post blog
check email
phone calls
eat too
prepare
set alarm
read
sleep

2 May 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Herein resides the skeletal essentials of a typical workday for me, give or take a moment or two and peppered throughout by an ongoing conversation with the Lord.

I Wonder

2007-04-27T23:11:00.000-07:00

I wonder if in heaven my ears will stop
ringing so loudly they wake up the
neighbors, or at least me.

I wonder if in heaven naps will be
allowed without the pressure
of one more thing to do.

I wonder if in heaven my confusion will
fall away as the burden is set
aside, once for all.

I wonder if in heaven I will hear
the only words that matter,
"Well done."

I wonder if in heaven all my tears will
be washed away by the Lord, himself,
as I look at him in awe.

I wonder.

27 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

ode to winsomeness

2007-04-24T23:21:00.000-07:00

oh how winsome it is to be
as winsome as you can be
with winsome refrains, not
loathsome grass stains, nor
unwinsome rhymes like these!

so embrace your winsome self!
deny not the winsome-like elf
who upon your shoulder
cries out with fright, when
this song you sing winsomely!

24 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

I can explain this one. Honest, I can. This is written in honor of a friend named Corky who teased me for using the word winsome in a recent paper. Satisfied, Corky?

Narrative Irony

2007-04-23T22:51:00.000-07:00

in the corner of the shadow's vapor
spines of darkened light now pierce
the mist surrounding my obscurity.

in the silence of the lyric's whisper
rhymes of tenderness wax fierce
the core protecting my serenity.

23 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

of prayers past

2007-04-23T22:35:00.000-07:00

the memory of distant prayers spoken
in silent travail
with tears and painful wrestling
in that private place
have not gone unnoticed by the Lord God
who sees it all.

long before you thought
to pray
he rose up in caring response
and long since
your memory faded he continues to
remember it all.

23 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Sonnet (14 lines) Attempt 1

2007-04-21T22:50:00.000-07:00

Distant shores whisper unseen from the horizon;
Mariners bear tidings of incoming gloom;
Broiling clouds lay claim the foreshadowed doom;
Incoming tides bring forth gifts from the nations,
Appreciated as artifacts of nautical sojourn,
Tumbled with flotsam, polished by solemnity,
Their petrified textures hewn by antiquity;
Out of the depths of cavernous tides they adjourn;
Why do the white gulls call in the elemental rush?
Why do they hover as harbingers of grief?
Conceived from the soulful ancient plea for relief,
Wistful calm watches the violent hush;
Distant shores whisper unseen from the horizon;
Why do the white gulls call in the elemental rush?

21 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Despair

2007-04-12T07:26:00.000-07:00

in the final aging memory
of an era past its prime
all the things I once pursued
are forgotten out of time.

like a fleeting shadow piercing,
then retreating to its lair,
are the selfish thoughts I cherished
when I lurked in dark despair.

12 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

monastic

2007-04-11T21:49:00.000-07:00

stillness dwells in frail obscurity
listening to the whispers and
smiling slightly in return.

snowfall mutes the crackling
forest chatter with a serenity
of cold white comfort.

the bell tolls, signaling the call
to communal liturgy, pure
baritones rising in soulful

enchantment as sandal shod feet propel
cloaked forms in off-white linens
with hoods to obscure each visage.

spartan private quarters quarrel
with comfort, but invite quiet
reflection and silent prayer.

eloquence would seem trite
in this cloaked landscape
of severe ascetic quietness.

11 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Written in tribute to the monks of the Grand Chartreuse Monastery in the French Alps

Twilight's Song

2007-04-08T23:39:00.000-07:00

twilight's song is upon me
in my eyes, tears to embrace.

within the scarlett shadow
hangs the tender form of grace

nailed with violent censure
against the gnarled wooden cross.

with crown of thorns pressed on him
and agony upon his face,

blood pours out from his body and
forgiveness whispers from his lips.

twilight's shadow hastens
it is finished, he declares.

the rolling thunder and earthquake
with veil torn in the holiest place

hail the final sacrifice
of the Lamb of God in our place.

the laughter of the wicked taunt
the righteous with disgrace,

but on the third day of sorrow,
shadow turns to dawn's new face.

In risen form before me
appears the Son of God, in grace.

twilight's song is upon me
in my eyes, tears to embrace.

8 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Memories of Newberg

2007-04-07T21:29:00.000-07:00

the cloud of steam rises continuously,
a tribute to the stench of the pulp mill,
as if even the vented vapor could not delay flight.

a twin engine fixed wing plane joins the steam over
the lazy patchwork of houses, farmland and small shops.
a hot air balloon lifts tourists in the distance.

cars crawl east and west through a bottle neck of unfortunate
road planning conceived before the first stop light was installed--
oh, what an event that was! the fanfare! the gossip!

telltale vestiges of suburban sprawl begin to take their toll with
the rise of big ugly square houses, super-sized box stores and
ubiquitous fast food pads. Consumerism is laying waste to dying

charm, but not completely, as in the hills which cradle its northeast
borders, trees still rise up in the fading morning mist, surely
preserving the trails I once hiked as a boy.

the Willamette River carves out its path in the south of the city,
no more swimmable or potable now, than thirty years ago,
but perfect for the annual summer boat races.

7 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Manuscript Transmission

2007-04-07T21:21:00.000-07:00

manuscript evidence pleads its case
internally and externally.
fragments and whole texts cite the ebb and flow
of textual attestation by source witnesses.

internally and externally,
documented trails frame the contours
of textual attestation by source witnesses
as a mosaic of intricate parchments.

documented trails frame the contours,
with consistently cited witnesses of varying priority
as a mosaic of intricate parchments--
oh, to breathe the rarified air of sacred antiquity!

with consistently cited witnesses of varying priority
confirmed by credible versions and the fathers--
oh, to breathe the rarified air of sacred antiquity
faithfully transmitted by the early monastics.

confirmed by credible versions and the fathers,
fragments and whole texts cite the ebb and flow.
faithfully transmitted by the early monastics,
manuscript evidence pleads its case.

7 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

From Source to Stream

2007-04-07T21:14:00.000-07:00

starlight dancing in the pale spring melt--
the runoff flows from snowpack to valley,
a refreshing nourishment for all below,
meandering as persistent tendrils.

the runoff flows from snowpack to valley
over countless polished stones in its wake,
meandering as persistent tendrils--
relentless with unceasing flow

over countless polished stones in its wake.
gurgling with childlike delight, it is
relentless with unceasing flow
in the valleys which gaze above.

gurgling with childlike delight, it is
a refreshing nourishment for all below
in the valleys which gaze above--
starlight dancing in the pale spring melt.

7 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Ghazal: Attempt Eight

2007-04-06T22:00:00.000-07:00

the tumble weeds blow across the desert plain, a procession
of snowflakes falling softly on the rugged mountainside.

darting into the blue sky swiftly the bluejay takes flight
into the network of hollowed caverns, echoing into the silence.

constricting nets draw tight the catch of the day.
just a little bit more depth in the margins, says the painter.

the poet washes the dishes and then folds the laundry.
the television blinks into the night, long after being turned off.

mystery bleeds its pathos across a trail of vanished paths.
piercing cries debate nocturnal dominance, then a hush.

a puff of smoke on the horizon suggests a hint of warning.
the tsunami smiles with vicious glee before its final approach.

the nursery rhyme in plaintive voice warms the father's heart
as his child closes her eyes in the evening's last refrain.

6 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods

Ghazal: Attempt Seven

2007-04-06T18:19:00.000-07:00

monastic silence is cradled by a chant of sacred simplicity
while the dove spreads its wings in communion with the clouds.

sailing the glassy surface with only the moon and stars to guide,
serenity is an elemental chorus of frogs and trees.

the shock of news unexpected coldly slaps me;
the hand print on my heart squeezes tighter.

my tummy would like to thank the academy of member treats
who made me what I am today; oooh, does that come in chocolate?

the stone statues stare stoically at me.
then blinking, they run off to an easier game.

the bravest innovations are traditions yet to form and
a scar reinjured reminds us of its presence.

the slash burn rips through the field of flowers,
bursting into a colorful rainbow of soapy bubbles.

6 April 2007 by Glen Alan Woods