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THE CLEAR LIGHT OF DAY

1990

Poetry by Blake Steele

Index

A...

A CHILD'S SIMPLE ANSWERS

A LETTER WRITTEN UPON WIND

ALL WE LACK IS SPIRITUAL IMAGINATION

ANOTHER POEM ABOUT INCARNATION

A PRAYER TO THE GREAT GOD OF LIFE

A PRAYER UPON KNEES

A SIMPLE SONG OF AN OPENING HEART

AS SANITY RETURNS

B...

BEFORE THEY CALL, I WILL ANSWER...

BEYOND EVERY REASON

C...

CREATION'S SIXTH DAY

D...

DAWN RUN

F...

FRANCIS AND BLAKE

FROM OUT OF THE SIMPLE, SOFT LIGHT OF BEAUTY

G...

GOD IS KNOWN

IN IMAGINATIVE LUMINESENCE

H...

HALF-LIFE

HOLY BREATHING

HOLY QUESTIONS

HOW BLESSED IS THIS LIGHT

HOW CAN I BE WILD AND WISE?

HOW SHALL WE LIVE THAT WE MIGHT FEEL

THE NAKED, YOUNG WOMAN OF POETRY?

I...

I INVOKE A BLESSED BLESSING

UPON THE WHOLE OF ME

IN THE DAYS OF GOLDEN WHEAT

IN THE WARM POOL OF BEING

IT IS NOT I WHO SPEAKS

I WILL KNOW YOU WHEN YOU ARRIVE

M...

MAY GOD'S BLESSING STREAM FORTH

O...

ON BLESSED SIMPLICITY

S...

SEED PLANTER

T...

THE LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM

THE NUTHATCH

THE TREE MAY BE OLD, BUT THERE'S

BUBBLING WATER IN THE HEARTWOOD

THE WIND BLOWS THROUGH IN PRACTICLE DEEDS

U...

UPON THE NEEDS OF THE SOUL

W...

WE MUST SEEK TO MAKE A MUSIC OF PRAYER

WOULD THAT GOD WOULD COME DOWN

Last Poem in File: GOD IS KNOWN

IN IMAGINATIVE LUMINESENCE

CREATION'S SIXTH DAY

When Eve placed her foot

upon the wet stones of Eden,

Adam's blood jumped.

And the light of God

moved in the wind of the day...

And God looked out upon

Eve's tender, high breasts

and her long thin limbs

and said, "Ah! This is beautiful and good."

And God looked upon Adam's thick arms

and felt the man's thighs grow hot,

and said, "Ah! That is scrumdumpaly good!"

So God poured his creative pride

over them

as waters laughed

down into the azure pools

in which they played.

And God was happy

that He had made them.

And God's blood jumped!

DAWN RUN

Restless, I ran

in morning dark

when the full white moon

was shimmering out

her completed beauty

and longing for the sun.

Shyly, she dipped behind

low colorless clouds to the west,

transfiguring them

into luminous cream.

A small band of birds broke the hush,

eager for that fabulous diamond

of the morning star

to dim in a slow, gray rush of light.

The river drank down

her last spilt milk

of moon light

and was dark silk again.

I heard beavers

slap their tails mid-river

to greet each other

with the deep hollow sound

of a large stone

dropped from a great height.

Suddenly inspired, I ran like a sandpiper.

Then with monstrous strides

I licked up the ground

and felt for an instant

as if I was running on air.

The amazement broke through again!

I was like Abner running for his life;

I ran like Asahel who overtook him.

The sudden smell of grass

spun my soul into ancient worlds.

So I sat upon a stone,

worshiping God by the river,

and felt an essence of young blue

soak through the sky.

*

Dawn came!

It began as a little yellow-haired girl,

yawning.

Then, suddenly, countless golden gazelles

scattered everywhere

before the bright lion of the sun!

To the west, white clouds put coral bands

upon their billowing hats.

IT IS NOT I WHO SPEAKS

At my best,

it is not I who speaks

but the breath

of the laughing wisdom

of God.

The laughing wisdom speaks.

Long after I am gone,

the laughing wisdom speaks.

WOULD THAT GOD WOULD COME DOWN

(Isaiah 64:1-3)

The breath of God is subtle,

sublime, breathless.

Would to God

that He would come down

like a blast:

rattle the blinds like bones;

explode windows wide open;

slap and slam doors off their hinges;

blow open the cupboards;

roar and rage around rooms;

rustle the sheets,

fling them off of beds,

suck them outdoors,

sail them far into the sky.

SEED PLANTER

One must plant seeds

patiently, ever so slowly,

with the consistency of sunlight,

or the tides of the sea.

A seed planted is a thing

of unestimatable value.

It may grow, or may not.

This is in the hands of God.

But to plant it is the thing:

To long for more life!

One never knows,

what a poem may do

in the heart of a child,

or a man or woman

who suddenly finds

in the spirit of words

the awakening of their deep heart.

An awakening

can be a startling thing,

like hail stones

on a picnic-sweet summer day,

or it can be a mere nudge that grows,

like silent, silver trickles

amongst stones

swell into rivers

which make ground shake

with spilling laughter.

Every soul has its own time,

and place and way,

in the sensitive hands of God.

Some souls seek no seed at all

other than the seed of silence.

Others pour wordless spirit out

upon white altars.

For some, the sight of a tree

or a beautiful woman is enough.

But words can also help...

BEFORE THEY CALL, I WILL ANSWER...

In the days before Adam and Eve

ate of the tree of knowing good and evil,

they ate freely of the tree of being

and explored in innocence and wonder all things.

God never cried out,

"O man, where art thou?"

for they never drew back from His presence of majesty,

or from the delicate feminine Shekinah

which sweetened the wind.

They looked upon their naked bodies

in the same way as they discovered the flowers.

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