LITMIR.BIZ

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      on leaves

      and flowers

      and trees

      BY RALPH WRIGHT O.S.B.

      Copyright 2011 Father Ralph Wright, O.S.B.,

      All rights reserved.

      Published in eBook format by Monograph Publishing

      If you are interested in having your book designed, published or converted to eBook format please contact:

      Monograph Publishing, LLC

      1 Putt Lane

      Eureka, Missouri 63025

      636.938.1100

      Email us at [email protected]

      Cover Design By William E. Mathis

      © 2011 William E. Mathis, All Rights Reserved

      ISBN-13:978-0-9840117-5-9

      No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

      A WAVE

      a wave

      of thanksgiving

      like tear gas

      hits me:

      God hides

      so completely

      so discreetly

      my senses

      geigercount

      his glory

      in the rose

      faith reaches

      beyond

      where all the light

      of all the galaxies

      is but a candle

      so discreetly

      so completely

      thank you

      A YOUNG WILLOW FOUNTAIN OF ICE

      a young willow fountain of ice

      this morning after Matins

      against a rose January sky —

      a masterpiece of curves in crystal

      of haunting mauve beauty

      blending the essentially gentle

      giving receiving

      circle of compassion

      with the stark straight brittle

      (shortest distance between two points)

      battle line of fragile ultimata —

      the Yes or No intransigence,

      and transience,

      of ice

      angry impatience at the evil

      in every heart except our own

      that leaves a residue of empty boots

      protruding from the enfolding snow

      ABOVE MY BED

      above my bed

      hang three paintings

      of mountain flowers

      in yellow and red

      with dark green leaves

      reflected

      in the glass

      that frames them

      are the trees

      outside the window

      dark branches

      untouched by dawn light

      way back

      behind the trees

      the sky is blue

      behind the mountains

      and the sun

      crawls

      down the mountainside

      devouring like lava

      the remnants of the night

      AFRICAN VIOLET

      kept by every kind of shade

      from seeing

      face to face

      your golden Maker,

      dreaming of being

      back in the permanent gloom

      of Jungle Giants,

      you peer from regal purple

      like the moon at midnight

      and reach

      —on tiptoe—

      out for the kiss of sunlight

      AS LIGHT WITHDRAWS

      Over the snow

      ripples of gold

      touched with amber

      flow into long

      blue-grey shadows

      a few sparrows

      peck scattered sunflower seeds

      against the night

      oak leaves dead from November

      but still hanging

      tighten trembling fists or poise

      in total stillness

      the cold grows and grows

      as light withdraws

      silence gradually falls

      AUGUST

      the first small leaves

      of maple trees

      are falling

      through the shade

      towards the yet

      uncovered ground

      and as they fall

      I see them for

      they twice hit sunlight

      BARLEY

      I have not seen a barley field so still

      under the cover of a wide grey sky

      as here at 6.00 a.m. in mid July

      deep in the farming countryside

      near Nether Wallop

      the silence of the fields

      is reinsured

      by the soundproofing of the narrow lanes

      made Romanesque or Norman

      by their arching trees and tall hedges

      with here and there a stretch of pure tunnel

      into the light and wonder of a sky

      stretching above the barley

      there is a kind of

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