Compline

The shadows of the waning day gather
around my feet like an ebony cat, warm
and detached. It is done, this day, locked
in an enameled matchbox of memory.

This moment, this speck of infinity
before I become dreamless rest,
is but a part of the ordered day, a day
like all days, ordered and ordained.

A day begun with prayer must needs
end with prayer, another line of song,
another hymn, another cry of joy,
whispered praise in the chorus of creation.

This poem is submitted to Open Mike Night at dVerse Poets. To see more poems, please visit the site. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today.

Photograph: Moon by Daniele Pellati via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Vespers

Time of lengthening shadows,

shadows encasing memory

of the day, day is done,

done is the day’s work, work

arrives at its appointed end,

end of the day brings

the beginning of rest,

rest in the solitude of prayer,

prayer before approaching

the table to eat, eat the words

offered upward, upward moves

the heart and spirit, spirit

arrives at the destined time,

time of lengthening shadows.

This poem is submitted for Open Mike Night at dVerse Poets. To see more poems, please visit dVerse Poets. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today.

Photograph: Church Silhouette by Vera Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Nones

Mid-afternoon, autumn

     of the day

yearning for summer

     past

too warm yet, these

     cassocks too heavy

sweat trickles down

     the back, down

                the chest, down

     the forehead

turns into mist

     vapor of the presence

This poem is submitted for Open Mike Night at dVerse Poets. To see more poems, please visit dVerse Poets. the links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today.

Photograph: Mid-Afternoon Mist, Whitelee Forest by AlexMacKinnon via Creative Commons.

Sext

It is the hour of blue
and yellow, precisely
the mid-point of day,
a sun arcing overhead,
umbrella of light.
No return is possible;
only a waning and
growing shadows
to be accepted. And
so we rest, our work
piled high around us,
a coarsely sewn pillow
for barefoot dreams.

This poem is submitted for Open Mike Night at dVerse Poets. To see more poems, please visit the site. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time today.


Illustration: Noon Rest from Work by Vincent Van Gogh, Musee d’Orsay, Paris.

Terce

Dazzling cool light
of the new sun, morning
star rising, radiance
shining, darkness overcome,
forgotten.

The moment of the irresistible
force meeting the moveable,
malleable object (the feast
is always moveable,
if not malleable).
The potter’s wheel spins
and shapes the wet clay as
the potter’s voice sings
the song of the rising sun as
the spirit moves, touches,
fingers and palms the clay;
promise fulfilled.

The poem is submitted to Open Mike Night at dVerse Poets. To see more poems, please visit the site. The links will be live at 2 p.m. Central time.

Photograph: Daylight by Vinicius de Carvalho Venancio via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.