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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