The Prayer of St. Francis

A beautiful post from my friend and fellow blogger Ivon Prefontaine – The Prayer of St Francis has always been a favorite of mine – and the vocal version is beyond lovely – Paul

Teacher as Transformer

Today is a special day in our lives. 41 years ago, Kathy and I were married. We chose The Prayer of St. Francis was one of our readings and have a simple plaque on our bedroom wall of the prayer.

The prayer is a reminder of how we affect the world, beginning with those closest to us. It is a reminder of how being mindful and present are essential in relationships.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me bring love.
Where there is offense, let me bring pardon.
Where there is discord, let me bring union.
Where there is error, let me bring truth.
Where there is doubt, let me bring faith.
Where there is despair, let me bring hope.
Where there is darkness, let me bring your light.
Where there is sadness, let me bring joy.
O Master, let me not seek…

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Time Before Time

 

“Planetary Plasmas” by Richard Ortolano

 

a lone singularity

infinite density

temporal spatial

dimensions as yet

nonexistent sheer

numberless absence

of space and of place

quantum vacuum

mathematically moribund

paradox of a particulate God

life and matter ex nihilo

cunningly curvingly

dovetailed to fit relativity

bent by uncertainty

Einstein and Heisenberg

iconoclastic in neat

intellectual joinery

only to find they’ve been

rendered asunder when

come to great clash with

arcane modern notions

of lawless invisible motion

a chaos of vibrating strings

singing cyclical songs of

expansion contraction

ethereal inhales and exhales

replete cosmogenesis

parallel opposite worlds

full of opposite parallel minds

time in omni-directional course

unpredictably carried by chance

forward backward and sideways

perhaps all is ever and always

an infinite multiverse

able to procreate gravity branes

who suspend every universe

each in its own isolation

or possibly even

produce countless

self-contained bubbles

discrete of existence

expanding for all of eternity

each cosmic entity destined

to never perceive any other

yet all must perforce face

the very same question

will time before time

be resolved and revealed

by theology steeped in

a fluid forensic philosophy

or will it happen that

better-made pictures

emerge from a faith in

untamed theoretical physics

Songbirds

 

“Blue Birds Abstract” by Donna Holdsworth

 

 

singing their verses
perched upon figures of speech
passerine poets

 

 

(originally posted November 2013)

Endings

 

“A Ford of Many Colors” by Sharon Jordan Bahosh

 

 

old men fear speed
the onrush of terminus
ineluctable

 

 

(originally posted November 2013)

News

“Abstract Knife 2” by Tomfans

nothing good comes at night

least of all through the phone

signals hunting the unwary ear

piercing membranes of sleep

tearing into one’s psychic illusions

no safety exists outside dreams

where tragedy sharpens its blade

on the hard edge of daylight

a light enough laid with deception

to let sorrow grief and travail

hide in blatant plain sight

waiting just the right moment

to cut a new night into pieces

Aural History

 

 

“South Street Seaport – Financial District” – Photo by Suman and Sharmila

 

 

iron-rimmed wheels

drawn by iron-shod hooves

gave a clattering cadence

reverbing dull bells

ringing atonal peals

along ill-masoned lanes

of Belgian block cobbles

and dredged Venice stones

bilge-pitted from urine

of a hundred stout lads

crude ballast unshipped

for a nickel a ton

from heart-of-oak vessels

of mercantile Brits

singing Cockney crew lingo

with cargo commands

over heaps dropped in nets

upon creaking tarred wharves

Schermerhorn Dutch

gave out guttural barks

to the breaking breeze humming

through neatly reefed yards

slung up high-crossed on masts

overtowering docks

where a nautical polyglot

spilled its cacophony

up and down gangplanks East

Indiamen hove in place

with great bangs and hard crashes

that echoed across the wide

swift running current dividing

Manhattan from Brooklyn

from my forty-floored glass

looking down on the seaport

when sail-masted schooners

or frigates would moor

all the sounds of the centuries

rose up to reach me

transporting me back to

that wild newborn world

of rapscallion romance

and mean edged adventure

where men grunted glory

for merely surviving

another new day

all the time feeling wistful

that I had been born

too long after my time

***********************************

 

(Note: my office was on the 40th floor of the octagonal tower at enter of the photo)

 

 

(originally posted November 2013)

Tempest Tossed

“Homeless Veteran” by Judith Rhue

 

glyphs tell my story
crayon on cardboard
squatting on steam-grates
muscle memory twitching
my battlefield fingers
I’m hungry and can’t find
the freedom I fought for
could you kindly
spare some of yours

Photo from pinterest.com

 

(originally posted November 2013)

Palio di Siena

 

“Siena Palio Race” by Juan Felix Campos

 

gothic Romanesque backdrop

a rich-storied city-state

kissed by the Renaissance

settles low hills warm in

Tuscan penumbra of Florence

unchanged of aesthetic physique

since the plague of Decameron

keeping with cultural ritual

secular pageantry dresses

contrada identities vivid with

colors of deep-seated rivalry

atmosphere dripping with intrigue

elaborate scheming for slightest

advantage of horseflesh and post

madly flaunting the flutter of silks

in a set piece of modern medieval

contention arranged as a primitive

organized melee a battle-drawn race

for the prize of parochial pride

from ten precincts ten pennants

ten riders ten mongrel-bred horses

no saddles no stirrups no quarter

three times through the courses in

no-holds-barred bareback abandon

crops wildly flail at the flanks of

opponents no less than of steeds

in the end it’s a horse who will win

whether mounted or lost of its rider

to acts of aggression or accident

much to the jeer and the joy of the crowd

as in life harsh with circumstance

such are the perils of Palio

Chanson d’Amour

“Abelard & Heloise” by Dali

the lady
lifted him
into himself
where a man
in young bones
found his soul
was as old
as the song
Abélard spoke
to Héloïse
given in
verses that
no heart
but hers
understood

(originally posted November 2013)

New Book – Forest Voices

I am pleased to announce that my latest book

“Forest Voices: Whispers from the New Hampshire Woods”

is now available at Amazon in paperback and kindle editions, as well as at Barnes & Noble, or through your local bookseller in more than 100 countries.

This represents my 21st volume of collected original poetry, and my 4th poetry chapbook.

Published by Stonewood Press – 104 pages

If you would like inscribed and/or autographed copies of any of my books, please contact me by e-mail at pflenzi@aol.com

City of Pawns

Range of Motion

Two-Cornered Rooms

Pentimento

Music of Scars

Bullets from Bones

Bohemian Scents

Inside the Smoke

Pieces of Wine

Ephemera

Small Noise

Squaring the Circle

Onionskin

Human Waters

Legacies – Volume 1

Legacies – Volume 2

Riverthink

Whittlings

Atlas of Clouds

Vicissitudes

– PFL