In The Secret Place Shall I Call To Thee

It has been a long time
from that which brought us into
remembrance.
Longer still from that
which set us each
on this road
separately.
But length of days
only strengthens my resolve;
makes more firm each footstep.
And still from time to time
I go down on my knees
and give thanks
for the solace
that each new day brings.

I had been lost a good while;
the world, my world
seemed destined to be
devoid of light.
Yet in the distance,
in the far off distance
beyond sight of these fleshy eyes;
a flicker only to be felt
in my soul.
In my spirit did I know your name.

And on your name
do I call all the day;
All the days of my life
do I call your name.
For it has called to me
and still calls to me
to raise up to witness;
to lift up to witness
the glory thereof.
Oh what a mighty thing
this love.



Just my two cents.....

Jah Courtney

Today

I.
I am.
I am going to write a love poem.
And it will be simple.
Simple as the wind.
The wind that blows smoke from the north.
The wind that carries God's whispers
to raise Kings and also to
pierce the hearts of men.
It will be the lilt I hear in your voice
as I read your letter
sitting in dungeons of
solitude with contemptuous peoples.
It will be the sparkle I see in your eye
when I hear your voice
in the shadows of winter's first frost.
Or the scent of your fragrance
that fills me
in the place you last stood
right over there by the
lotus blossoms.
It will be in the sweet honey elixir,
gushing through me
bringing to remembrance
that smile and those lips
and all their promise.
I am going to write a love poem
because it has been too long
and soon will be again.

Jah C

My two cents...

Qualitative Analysis

When I was young, the more you drank, even swill, the more you were revered.
Today, give me one quality pint and the time to sip and enjoy.
When I was young, the more parties you attended, the more popular you were.
Today, all I need is one quality evening with friends and family to fill my cup.
When I was young, the more women you had, the more you "scored", the harder they jocked you.
Today, you can keep all your dime pieces and all your chicks.
Just give me a Goddess,
reverent and beautiful,
and I will take quantity of years.

Jah C

My two cents

Psalm 87

Psalm 87

¹His foundation is in the holy mountains.

²The LORD loveth the gates of Zion more than all the dwellings of Jacob.

³Glorious things are spoken of thee, O city of God. Selah.

⁴I will make mention of Rahab and Babylon to them that know me: behold Philistia, and Tyre, with Ethiopia; this man was born there.

⁵And of Zion it shall be said, This and that man was born in her: and the highest himself shall establish her.

⁶The LORD shall count, when he writeth up the people, that this man was born there. Selah.

⁷As well the singers as the players on instruments shall be there: all my springs are in thee.

Walter Benton--This is my Beloved

Entry June 12

Sleep late, nobody cares what time it is.

Sunday morning, coffee in bed . . . then love

with coffee flavored kisses. And your tongue dripping honey like a ripe fig.

I have been hours awake looking at you lithely at rest in the free

natural way rivers bed and clouds shape.

Your bedgown gathers up your full round thighs, rolls over your hips.

Your breasts are snub like children's faces . . . and your navel deep

as a god's eye.

Yes, your lips match your teats beautifully, rose and rose.

The hair of your arm's hollow and where your thighs meet

agree completely, being brown and soft to look at like a nest of field mice.

Praise be the walls that shelter you from eyes that are not mine!

Love, not prayers, shall be our offering this day.

We shall praise God with absolute embraces . . . our bodies shall sing Him

in His own incomparable tongue.

Prayer is humbleness, I cannot be humble with the wealth of you beside me.

Walter Benton--This is my Beloved

ENTRY May 11

Some see you in similes: Helen's rich curves

colors autumn has. You please them

as opium dream pleases, or you smile as the sun is rising ---

or you walk proudly like a woman courted.

But I see you best unrelated --- with not a metaphor to your name:

your hair not like the silk of corn or spiders but like your hair,

your mouth resembling nothing so wonderfully much as your own mouth.

Why should I say you are a like a slender water bird on wing?

This is but a side of you, a fraction. Or that your thighs are lilies ---

lilies are cold,

lilies are neither quick or scented --- they do not stain the night

with velvet musk ------ they cannot fire love and quench it.

I mean - - - compliments become you

as tinsel becomes a tall snow covered cedar in a mountain cedar wood.

In the time of great mourning and great sorrow, there is still A Light to be seen. Pray thee well to open our eyes.