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Trickling Twiddling Rippling River

OLD MISTY EYE, Fountain of Eden —
Draped over spiked spine of wet-cold sleeping mountain
Ancient of Days, canticle of waters thundering aground
Rumbling and tumbling atilt and crashing around
Through craggy fissures of rock and sodden seams of silt.

Trickling, twiddling, rippling river
Splattering over bobbing twig, jagged stone and sunken rig.

Gentle flowing brook today, rowdy ripping rapids tomorrow
Frothing beneath drooping willows weeping in anguished sorrow
Dripping tears of yearning for enveloping arms of protection
Like beads of crystals raining upon pallid petals of dejection
Sagging visages in mourning, countenances languished in dread
Hands and faces of sad-bellied children solemnly begging for bread.

Fingers blistered raw-red, palms pleading for pity
Yanking at row after row of steel-wired fences
Erected by sadistic warriors on grassy knolls of the dead
Blasted by tools of oblivion, shoveled into prayers of lament
Entreatments for rancid corpses ripped into scrawny shreds
By the malice of men marching to the animus of swollen heads.

Trickling, twiddling, rippling river
Splattering over bobbing twig, jagged stone and sunken rig.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cataract cascading ridges of boulders, plummeting ledges of cliffs
Rollicking and swirling in peals of laughter, frolicking in reels and riffs
Splashing the victims of disaster bathed in the raging storms of night
Twirling from springs of justice, whirlpooling from provinces of grace
Bursting upon each new day’s space, billowing into the bright morning’s light.

 

© 2017 charles davidson, all rights reserved

Charles Davidson is a retired Presbyterian minister, psychotherapist,  and professor of pastoral theology, care, and counseling. He is the author of Bone Dead, and Rising: Vincent van Gogh and the Self Before God (Cascade Books, Wipf and Stock Publishers).