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Yet [*/+/^] : 27.225 MHz, Some Final Measures; Galilean Farewell
Above us, the sky is both cloudless and moonless
tonight. The lake's surface is calm; clusters of
stars spread and sprinkle sparkle upon it. On the
shore, gentle waves break with a nearly silent pulse,
keeping the rhythm and time of an old man's breathing.
Neither fears nor nightmares disturb or disrupt the
peacefulness of the given moment. I await my
Lord's call, when He receives me to Himself in his Home.
Twilight called the leaves' greenery to collect the
last of the sun's warmth; and, as they bid farewell to
this day, the great stones were called to put on
their festal purple finery, their lavender jubilation. The
odor of broiling fish extends through the village---
time now to eat and refresh, and rest after labor. The
prayers of my brethren bless their food and ascend
like incense from the temple that is our fellowship
together. All over the world, this peacefulness
eludes the perfidious haters that envy and despise us,
jealous of what we have been given, anxious---even
driven---to wrest it from our hands. In Rome, or in
Antioch, or Corinth, or Thessalonica, a newborn is
pushed from the mother's womb into this world; while this
old Galilean waits for the call starward where my Lord and
Savior will receive me in His home just beyond those same
stars that the lake's clarity reflects. It is just beyond the
reach of these arthritic fingers, yet . . . somehow . . . because
He went to prepare a place for me, and yet has not left me
alone in this world, my soul has already been seated there, in the
Heavenlies, with Him since the first day that He called me . . . .
Starward
We had been particularly
We had been particularly blessed to have had such a night on the shore of the Galilee, not too far away from Caphernahum, just before the infamous Lockdowns. We were the last plane allowed and and the last one let out. And looking upon the placid water wondered how squalls and tempests could form unannounced on such tranquility, much like the haters and the detractors we get in our lives. He still speaks and they still obey!
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
galateus, arkayye, arqios,arquious, crypticbard, excalibard, wordweaver
Reminds me a great deal of John 14:2-3
You’re at the peak of ripeness here my friend. Patricia said it well. A story of a man with a foot in two worlds – waiting to transcend … with the lapping waves keeping pace with an old man’s breathing (images of a Galilee shore come to mind here), in a place where neither fear nor nightmare disturbs the peace and acceptance of the moment, knowing it is but a simple journey into the Lord’s embrace, much in alignment with the way that Jesus must have felt, on that final evening supper with his disciples.
Reminds me a great deal of John 14:2-3
“My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.
Thank you very much for that
Thank you very much for that comment. John's Gospel was much in my mind when I was contemplating, than writing, the poem. And I am grateful for your compliment as well. Although the body is failing, and causing pain as it fails, the poems help me to remain joyous, and to feel like I am still living, rather than just merely existing. Thanks again for your kind comment.
J-Called
Well, you've heard this
Well, you've heard this before and you will probably hear it again: this is my favorite of yours! My favorites list keeps growing.
So where do I begin?
The curtain opened to display, with mood-altering and spellbinding beauty, the setting of your gripping story. Then the old man was introduced with such a shrewd poetic sleight of hand that he was a part of the sumptuous peace and mystery that had already captivated me.
" . . . keeping the rhythm and time of an old man's breathing." Gorgeous.
That was dazzling enough, but then a crescendo of euphoria builds as it becomes apparent that these are the old man's final moments on Earth, that he has one foot in Heaven's Light.
You used imagery like a sage to capture the surreal transcendence, the all-consuming summit of joy, the unsurpassable release "just beyond those same/ stars that the lake's clarity reflects." Along with a sense of place, there's also an electrifying sense of the time when, in spite of ruthless persecution, Christianity was blossoming and beginning to ignite the world.
Without the bells and whistles of unnecessary drama or diction, you stayed true to the elegant message of hope, ending on a perspective that truly lifts our sights to place far above life's turmoil, and this is where the Light rains down from Heaven:
As he waits for the "call" (future tense) he is, in a mystical and undeniable sense, already Home as he has been since he was first "called" (past tense). With the Savior in his heart he was never alone. What an enthralling, exhilarating, stirring way to illuminate scripture!
I was transfixed. Bravo!
You already known, and have
You already know, and have known for a couple of years, how much I esteem the grandeur of your cosmic Poetry, and how much I value your comments on this poem. And this particular comment reigns supreme over all the comments with which you have blessed my poems. Reading this, and then trying to write a response, reminds me of something that Wallace Stevens told a nun, Sister Bernetta Quinn, who had become one of his most perceptive readers and commentators---about how her comments meant to him not only on the literary level, but on a personal level that most other comments could not reach. That is how your comments work, as well: they touch my soul, and this particular comment has done that supremely.
I am very glad you chose this poem to comment upon, because your comments become, for me, as sort of validation. I rank you among the great Poets whom I most deeply and personally admire, and when you affix a comment to one of my poems it comes from that very realm where the stars are.
Because I happen to believe that I am in the final stages of my life, regardless of how long or how little those stages might last, I wanted to write a farewell poem, the way Stevens did when he wrote, for example, "The Planet On The Table." Because I love and admire the Early (and Earliest) Christians so much, I wanted to write from, and within, the world on earth that they knew; primarily, Galilee, where Jesus walked and to which He returned after His Resurrection when He shattered, forever, the power of death upon us. And, from a practical motive, I wanted to write a poem that I can try to recall, or even read, when my own time comes---if I can retain my right mind when that time comes.
Thanks, again, for taking the time to read this poem and for putting your comment upon it. Your interpretation is, as usual, very accurate, and very observant of the way the poem is intended to work, and I appreciate it. But what I appreciate even more is the shrewd and confident spiritual/cosmic perspective that lives, thrives, and resonates within your poems, your comments, and . . . I most heartily believe . . . your entire life as a Poet.
J-Called
And thank YOU for being the
And thank YOU for being the embodiment of graciousness and talent. Be forever blessed.