The Smile at Calvary

I am planning on working on this later, but I thought I would post it now. It’s definitely a work in progress, but you can at least see the idea. If you have any recommendations on how to make it better, let me know.

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The people had gathered for some time,

when she passed by on her daily chore,

a water girl, of eight or nine.

of eight or nine, this water girl.
-

And seeing Him, just hanging there,

and blood dripping from the wood,

with voices stirring the hillish air,

pregnant with dark dust and soot,

-

she starred.

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She starred at Him so long

that she placed her bucket on the ground,

and after a short moment she began,

crying tears without a sound.

-

The Man looked down, and saw her face.

and the ache within her eyes.

and a smile — which though bathed in pain,

was pure compassion in disguise.

-

He then stared off, where the hills led,

and at the nearby city gate,

and within a minute, he was dead –

and the little girl soon went her way.

-

And though some may say I lie,

or that I too strongly do implore,

there never was a smile,

which has ever meant more.

Her Soul

On the day You made my wife,
on the banks of the far, glassy sea,
did she spring forth from the tide,
or from hope, or sky, or beach?

Did I know that day I’d marry her?
Did I know what’d just been won?
Or was this secret kept ‘til the earth?

And did her smile light the sun?

And what color was her hair -
did you paint it like Your walls?
with a brush of gold – soft and fair?

Because all of this, I can’t recall.

St. Petersburg and Prague

Go well, smile of the sun and stars and moon,
May you beam long by Petrine coves of gold,
And cry tears with friends – to laughter’s tune -
So you will have none when you are old.

In Prague may you kiss those sweet delights,
Ever sought by pilgrims with pleas and song,
On the bridge which links two worlds of sights,
And mark your love, there, or near – or all along.

For there’s no end which seems to me more good,
Than to place a prayer for you in poemed line,
Even though I know this won’t suffice, nor should:
For even if the world be yours, your smile’s mine.

The Smile Which Lit the Sun

Was it her smile which lit the sun?
I dare not propose a lesser mark,
It is altogether more pure and done,
Than the land of heat and spark.

For the sun’s rays are oft too strong,
And are the sorest forms of hosts,
They give cancers, burns, and wrongs,
To those of us who love them most.

And how they observe their holy days!
And long dance in clouds of drear,
And so turn their warmest light to haze,
When their warmth is needed here.

Yet her smile is simply “the best”,
Never too weak nor too strong,
None the cursed but all the blessed,
All the right and none the wrong.

It is a journey to the sea and isle,
Before all light mystically begun,
And is a reminder of that smile -
Which dared to light the sun.