Autumn Weeps

Photo of crochet sculpture "Autumn Weeps" from Instructables.com. Used by permission of Kerri Lincoln of "The Amazing Noodle". Click image to visit "The Amazing Noodle" on the Web.

Autumn Weeps
by Peter John

Smile in Summer’s sanity,
Wail in Winter’s madness
Springtime laughs in vanity.
Autumn weeps in sadness.

Broken hands on faceless clocks
That tide will never turn –
Friendly animosities
That bridges never burn –
These are all of yesterday
Our children care to learn.
These are all we dare to leave behind

Smile in Summer’s sanity,
Wail in Winter’s madness.
Springtime laughs in vanity.
Autumn weeps in sadness.

Jagged scars on swollen breasts
That healings never smooth –
Raped emotions throb in screams
That drugs will never soothe.
Yesterday has offered these
To help our children toothe,
All we hope their teeth will never try.

Smile in Summer’s sanity,
Wail in Winter’s madness.
Springtime laughs in vanity.
Autumn weeps in sadness.

These have marked the women’s days,
Crystal cages,
Passion plays,
Scattered leaves and prophecies
All wasted by the wind,
All the fruit of all that men have sinned.

Running in a walking race,
Cursing in a pew,
Promising a harvest
From a seed that never grew –
All our children smell the bread
We ration to a few.
Who are men to say which children die?
Who are men?

Smile in Summer’s sanity.
Wail in Winter’s madness.
April rains the teardrops shed
When Autumn weeps in sadness.
Autumn weeps.
Each secret keeps,
And Autumn weeps in sadness.

Detail of "Autumn Weeps", Nest and Eggs. Used by permission of Kerri Lincoln of "The Amazing Noodle". Click image to see more surprising details at Instructables.com . See more of "The Amazing Noodle" on Facebook, http://www.facebook.com/The.Amazing.Noodle?sk=wall

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Poem “Autumn Weeps” © 1991 by Peter John Stone. All rights reserved. Contact the author for permissions, which are on reasonable terms.

The Cross I Carry

The Cross I Carry
By Peter John

I’m not worthy of the cross I carry
But I carry it anyway.
I wear it with the weight of wood
Anchored on bone
By a nail I won’t let fall away
Long as I can feel its loss.
So I still carry it,
But I’m not worthy of The Cross.

I wear mine tattooed on an arm
Of bronze, muscle, and pain —
Drawn from an angry road,
Leather, and steel —
On a one way run
That once begun
Takes  a miracle to leave undone.
But rage won’t let the miracle take the wheel

I’m not worthy of the cross I carry
But I carry it anyway.
I wear it with the weight of wood
Anchored on bone
By a nail I won’t let fall away
Long as I can feel its loss.
So I still carry it,
But I’m not worthy of The Cross.

I eat my fill. I stake all my claims
And claim all of my due,
Confident the poor and weak
Reap what they sow.
Through a cross they made
With a surgeon’s blade
Beats an offering beyond all trade,
And pride denies my gratitude
Room to grow.

But I’ve been blessed!
I’ve been blessed —
Though God knows I don’t deserve it —
Blessed in spite of each old curse
I entertain with each new dawn,
When I choose my daily dues
With loaded dice each losing toss.
Although I carry it, I know
I’m not worthy of The Cross

I bear mine in bottles of dreams
I drain empty and stale,
Or any battle I fight
When I should flee.
For my own strength fails
Facing up at tales
Of a sturdier Cross than the sharpest nails,
No cross I carry, but The Cross
That’s carried for me.

I’m not worthy of the cross I carry
But I carry it anyway.
I wear it with the weight of wood
Anchored on bone
By a nail I won’t let fall away
Long as I can feel its loss.
So I still carry it,
But I’m not worthy of The Cross.
Yes, I still carry it
But I’m not worthy of The Cross.

(c) 2009 by Peter John Stone – All Rights Reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.