The first is new, and needs some work; the second is a revision of this draft.
He of the Knotted Whipcords
A poor man and pious
come to pray
stands in the slime of sale,
the merchantry of grasping.
Greed for rote gold
replaces gracious gift.
A cord for a whip is knotted
by a poor man and pious,
a scourge sent forth to scour
spiritual disease.
Thieves take up their shelter
in law-like lies,
hands guilty of grasping,
lusting for lucre;
poor men and pious
and widows mite-poor
devote lives to the guilty,
praise a gracious-good God.
Can a poor man and pious
in the thief-ridden Temple
not take the cord, not take the cause?
Fierce is the zeal for good,
severe with justice,
solid like steel,
an unfailing foundation.
Judgment will come with fire,
but today comes with cord,
the wielded whip of conscience
in a poor man and pious,
scattering tables, purging the court,
creating a house of prayer.
A Texas Hymn
The birds woke me at the sunrise hour
when the grass was dewy and all was pale
beneath the light of a high white star
that spoke the message that all was well.
And I, in the breeze that trickled down
the blades of greenest grass, then wound
around my legs to tickle my feet --
I knew the light, and it was sweet.
When thirsty men drink from flowing spring
they come to life, new-quickened by the source;
so do I, when I hear the morning sing
in bird, in light, in wind in winding course,
and know, as the rolling sun does rise,
a Spirit lives that, as God's own breath,
fills with light the sky and human eyes,
raising even souls like mine from death.
