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The Poems
From Songs to a Watchful Lover by Donna Hardy
Poems: 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54 | 55 | 56 | 57 | 58 | 59 | 60
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O turn thyself to us again.
Wherever I go, Love, whatever mess or delight I get myself into, there comes
a point when I want you there with me. So I call, even if it’s only to hear your message,
the one that says you will get back to me as soon as you can.
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Deliver me from mine enemies, O my God: defend me …
My thoughts are like a pack of dogs wandering through these streets on an icy night. They scratch at the window,
howl for food and warmth. I shiver in the shadows, my back to the closed door.
At sunup they will leave. I may sleep some then. When I awake I will call to see where you are.
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The wicked are estranged from the womb …
Love, you must destroy in me that which judges what does not need to be judged. Help me quell my venomous outbursts. Help me clear away the debris I have strewn on my own path.
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… in the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge …
It’s a mine field here, Love, a lion’s den, a pit of vipers.
They taunt me with threats of failure, ridicule my intentions, persecute me with sharp words.
What can I do but call your name, sing your songs, carry your image on the warm skin next to my heart.
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Mine enemies would daily swallow me up…
They would swallow me up. They turn my own words against me, hover at the edges waiting for my soul. Only when I call your name, Love, do they turn back.
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…Oh, that I had wings like a dove! for then I would fly away, and be at rest.
All day, all night, the enemy follows my every move, lurks at every crossroad. Today
my friend, the one I loved and trusted more than any other, has betrayed me. I fear for my life.
I will flee from here when I can. I pray you will answer this call, Love. Only you can save me.
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…strangers are risen up against me, and oppressors seek after my soul…
They live so close, it’s as if they were in my very self. I cannot escape their insolence, their rude voices and ruthless gestures, their disdain for my ways. I water my plants, cook my meals, speak my prayers out loud.
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The fool hath said … There is no God.
When I hear them deny your very existence, Love, I realize how lucky I am even to catch a glimpse of you now and then rustling at the edge of my reality.
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Why boasteth… O thou deceitful tongue.
Flattered, I go when the important people invite me to their big houses. I drink their expensive wines, nibble
their hot hors d’oeuvres, listen to their small talk, their stories of lives of advantage and influence.
I watch as they weave the common threads that tie them to each other’s projects and profits. I grow restless.
Their spacious rooms feel more and more empty. I can’t wait, Love, to get home to the abundance of you.
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…thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions.
I betray you, Love. I whine and complain and turn away from you in a thousand thoughtless moments.
Yet, you come again, this time with verbena soap and oils for my bath.
You rub sweet lotion on my back, wrap my shoulders in this creamy towel, generous as a royal robe.
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…the Lord hath … called the earth from the rising of the sun unto the going down thereof.
I open my eyes to the first hint of light at dawn, lie still that I might hear your voice.
I will speak your words, Love, from now until the last glow fades from the evening
sky; and then, in dark silence, I will give thanks for all this day has been.
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Their inward thought is, that their houses shall continue for ever…
Remind me, Beloved, how few my days, how short my triumphs, how soon my reckonings, how long my death, how unfailing your love.
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Great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised in the city of our God…
You, always in my heart, your words in my ear, your name on my lips.
I come to the city to feast at the cathedral: beauty for all my senses. You everywhere.
Now, on this hill, far from the city, I lie on sun-warmed rock, caress its hardness, surrender to strength that will not yield to me.
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…clap your hands …shout unto God with the voice of triumph.
Some days, Love, the paint seems to lay itself artfully on the canvas, my words assemble themselves into poetry. Today is a sonnet. Today I know the wisdom and richness of your order, the depth and breadth of your love.
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God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
You are my home in the country, my resting place beside the stream. When the earth shakes and trees fall, when thunder foretells the downpour, you are the roof that shelters me, the steady ground beneath my feet, the solid bridge over wild waters.
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…my tongue is the pen of a ready writer.
I am filled with your presence, you in soft wool and fine linen, you smelling of sea and forest, your voice echoing the God song that guides you; you reflecting the graceful splendor with which you surround yourself.
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We have heard with our ears, O God… what work thou didst in… times of old.
Where are you, Love?
I told our story everywhere, how you and fortune had smiled on me, how you favored me, kept my enemies at bay. I told them I did nothing without you.
But now you sleep through our evenings together, rise and are gone before I awake. I eat alone.
Old enemies gather out front, beat pans with wooden sticks, call me by name. Neighbors are frightened; they ask me again and again
where is my Beloved?
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O send out thy light and thy truth: let them lead me…
Raise the blinds, Love. Let in the light of a new day. Come, we’ll walk in the hills.
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I will say unto God my rock, Why has thou forgotten me?…
Where is your Beloved? they ask. Where is the one who would stay with you in your distress, hold you through dark nights, bring you cool water in a tall glass, tea and toast in the morning?
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Blessed is he that considereth the poor…
You have come to me in my suffering, Love, quieted my fitful dreams, turned the pillow that my fevered head might lie on cooler cloth. Secure in your love, I turn now to the abandoned, bring hot food and warm coats.
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