Redemption by Mario Gandolfo

My head slung low, blood dripping from the wound that is my soul

i’ve fought many a battle, enough to slake an army's thirst

i’ve seen mercy's tender, i’ve seen satan's deepest, darkest worst

but through it all, 5 score and more

i'll walk that high road that leads me to Heaven's merciful, untainted door

i’ve earned my place here now among the harrowed, hallowed, chosen few

i'll sit here beside you and once again my heavenly father

the one shall be as two...

Autumn's Fall by Mario Gandolfo

The chill in the air,the decaying scent all round that is the falling,dying leaves last refrain,

eternal cleansing of the old

summer into fall,the noreaster wind so cold

the tread mark heavy, left on the soul

brutal the breath that bites so deep

visions of life's grandeur, fallen now forever the frosty ground to keep

to savor the feel,to remember,no regret

for it is the doom of all mankind that he shall forever forget

Metamorphosis by Sally

Metamorphosis

Day by day the world is shifting, turning

Tilt, sun now angled in the Autumn sky,

The annual miracle is under way

Earth begins its glorious transformation

First scarlet berries, ochre leaves

Claret and orange, burnt sienna vines

Thick the textures umber on the fields

Ploughed and furrowed, line by line

And all beneath a cornflower sky
Luminescent

As if the season’s artists

Commissioned perhaps

Had drunk too deep of the gathered grape

Heady, bibulous, tumbled in the harvest trucks

And swaggered, staggered, bold brush in hand

Brash, clashing, brazen palette mixed

To dress the landscape,

Summer parched

Bleached pale, in richest velvet

Royal sumptuous robes

All subtlety eschewed

To sing full-throated song

Season exuberant

Over-indulged

Filling the senses

Sating and drowsing the land

Paean of praise for perfection

Loud and proud, October hymn

October 16th 2009, Hounoux

O Tempora O Mores by Sally

Somewhere between the words
Never uttered
Entirely, so it seemed, taboo
For mother, born after
Cataclysm , men shot, shell-shocked
For cowardice,
Before uncovering, discovering
Of trauma, ego, stress
Before we were all worth it
And seeking of satisfaction
Valid as a lifetime pursuit
Self esteem to be nurtured
Not crushed and curbed
Children shushed
Out of sight
Between the stiffened,
Buttoned proud to be British
Upper lip
And the let go let loose
Confessional cathartic
Drop of a hat
Tell-all no holds barred
Love you the new telephone farewell
Kiss kiss twice three times
The new hello
Just at that moment
Grey time, black and white time
Watershed children, we were born
Then firmly raised
Taught to be strong, show respect
Avoid bringing shame
But the times certainly – harmonica plaintive-
A-changing, see us now
Anachronisms all
Relics, curiosities
From a world this long time gone.

Dear Friend and Brother

Dear friend and brother – can I still call you so?
I was thrilled to read of your escape from the tomb.
I suppose I should say, your escape from death;
that’s the real miracle, isn’t it?
And how lovely that the first person to meet you –
apart from those angels –
was one who knew you so well and loved you so much.
She will immediately have known how shaken,
bruised, clawed, vulnerable you still felt,
how slowly re-energising,
like a butterfly fresh from the chrysalis.
I’m quite sure she wasn’t dismayed for long
when you said, “Don’t touch me!”
She will have known why you flinched away.
She never needed that of you, did she?
You were the one she could trust not to demand it!
It was only her compassion that reached out to you, my lovely Lord,
to want to cradle you like a child that’s been hurt.
And I know you can understand her tears and mine,
as we think of your dear self
so broken, so abused.
For even though we know the ending now,
and even though we share your joy,
that’s hard to think upon!
Those blows.
That hatred.
That contempt.
A world of tears could not atone for all of that.
I almost feel – how could you ever forgive us?
I understand, you see, that all those sinful things
that you bore,
were my sins,
our sins,
your friends’ sins,
as well as all the world’s.
How could we do that to you, whom we loved?
I wish I’d been there by the Lake,
to be restored in your love,
as Peter was.
I wish I’d been at Emmaus, or the upper room,
to see your eyes,
and no reproach at all!
So I thank the Father for Mary your friend,
who stands for all flawed mortals,
a past so full of sin,
a now, so full of love.