Final

The last wound was the deepest.

Kinder Scout by Beren Hartless

The wound of loss

Cries like the gale over the moors -

Fierce-whipping eroded rocks,

Stripping the thorned gorse of its last bloom,

Loosing desolation,
Devastating emptiness.

Silent-bound, the broken hillside mourns.

Only the kestrel keens.

B. I. Hartless

SANCTIFICATION 2

There is potential here.


Wind-blown barley by Beren Hartless

The merest nudge,
The slightest touch, is urging on.
To grow is to be open, to respond.

Sometimes, drastic deaths
Are needed to bring growth.
At others, feather-light, insistent possibilities
Come floating past
Like wisps of mist.

Listen! - The wind blows where and how it wills.

Maybe the groaning gusts
Uprooting all before,
Sweeping away accumulations
Littered round the garden of a life,
Are now transformed to gentle zephyr strokes,
Light, stimulating breaths,
That set up strengthening reactions
In the sappy new shoots
Springing in the soul.

The Wind of God

All Spirit, blows in change,
Fully humanising fledgling beings
Fixed in fractured, time-distorted stasis.

Life, abundantly enjoyed

Within the Wind,
Flowing with the onward dance of God
Reflects the wholeness of the perfect One.

B.I. Hartless

"I CAN SEE PEOPLE LIKE TREES WALKING"

Tree rings by Beren Hartless

Groping towards the light,

Glimpsing it, then
Wrapped again
In frost and darkness,
Only a few grow old
And continue growing.

Ring after ring of agony

Laid down and bound
Together with considered reflection
And accumulated wisdom,
Hale and hearty,
Or withered and bent,
The precious few
Enlarge their tents,
Finding the universal hope:
Love, longed for
By the young and strong.

B.I. Hartless

High Summer

The Big Field, Kineton,
 by Beren Hartless

HIGH SUMMER

Looking only at the grey, rain-burdened sky,

She missed the taupe and ochre ripening corn.
She saw the melting hedges blend into the night,
But did not rise to see the green-gold dawn.

On she walked with aching heart,
Past shuttered homes,
And never knew the joy of being alone.
 

B.I.Hartless

A sailor's prayer

The Navigator

 

Re-calibrate me, Holy One.

Set the focus of my heart

Against the compass of your love,

Aligning thoughts and deeds

To your divine direction.

Fill the tattered sails of my existence

With your Spirit breath,

Blowing where you will.

Take me to transforming shores

Where shoals await

Your gathering.

And some day,

When the task is done,

Steer me within the haven of your heart.

For Alex

28^th June 2014

B. I. Hartless

DAWN ON EASTER MORNING

The light broke, thin-rimmed, over the empty hill's horizon,

Flooding quickly through the moisture-laden trees.


Alchemilla leaf after rain.  Beren Hartless

The night rain dewdrop lingered
In the grey-green Alchemilla chalices.
Even the skies had wept, dark in desolation,
As creation staggered, and the sun grew dim.
Tree and garden waited,
Bursting buds still, as if with frost,
Carrying their load of tears.
No wind whisper in the sombre cypresses,
No Spirit breath.
All birdsong silenced in the growing dawn.

But with the light,
Gold-streaked,
Expanding, rhapsody enhanced,
The ecstatic air knew once again
Its jewelled source;
Glittering in a thousand crystal drops,
Dancing in the rainbow pools,
It sang its fragrance to the waiting thrush,
Who joyously called out
Her triumph song:
"Glory,
He is risen!"

This Spring has seen

The final passing over of the Angel of Eternal Death
For those the Lamb has won.

 B.I.Hartless

SONATA

The raw edges of her frayed mind

Hesitantly touched
The mellow cadences;

No vast emotional irruptions stirred.

Gradually, with gratitude, she rested,
As the gentle swathe of music
Stroked her mind with silk.

B.I.Hartless