Tonight, I have no major plans. No writing projects to complete. Nothing to clean. I may watch a few episodes of American Horror Story (I got the first five seasons on DVD yesterday). And I will read a book (my book club meets this Thursday at my house).
I do have a poem for you tonight. It's a villanelle. I haven't written too many villanelles in my life that I consider any good. This is one of them:
His Voice Cries Out
by: Martin Achatz
His voice cries out in the dark,
For milk or prayer or song.
Like you, Lord, I rise, embark
On a quest to answer my son, mark
His need for help. I know it’s wrong
To raise my voice, too, cry in dark
Hunger, night after night, stark
In my need. But I long
For light, Lord. I will rise, embark
To distant shores, board some ark
With hairy, tusked, scaled throng,
All our voices crying out in the dark.
We will sail, search for You, Monarch
Of olive branch, rainbow, milk. We belong
To You, Lord. We dance, rise, embark,
Worship. All. Trout. Bear. Doe. Meadowlark.
You hear our infant sobs, our nightlong
Cries of praise and want in the dark.
You rise, Lord, listen, and embark.
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