in subtle times

Mary_Cassatt_-_Picking_flowers_in_a_field_--_1875 (1)

in subtle times
angst prevails
inner voice cries
trust is tested.

in subtle times
voices are quiet
melodies listless
hope is tempted.

in subtle times
God is watching
strength is remembered
praise uplifting.

in subtle times
drawn on faith
smiles from heaven
resting in the Lord.




Picasso, Blue Period

Curious views of time
that has passed
leaves common ground
for new moments to last.
How our God supports
all who seek to rest
in His immovable gaze…
With every thought fleeting
and sorrow alighting
on downcast eyes,
pursuing strengthened will
and failing to vanquish time.
Melody is sparse
in ways of man but
ethereal music floats
o’er tops of hills
never climbed that
cast long shadows
onto distant horizon and
see where heaven and earth
meet in one perfect point.
O Jacob, you saw the ladder
of tangency.
God planted the foresight
of Jesus, the Lamb
who saves us and who
personifies love.
Dream no more for
all is bliss.

(c) Rick Stassi 2018


1902 Crouching woman.jpgeyes cast out,
adrift at sea.
horizon’s shadows
cloud heaven’s plea.

penetrate dark air;
train my sight.
unbearable ocean,
in the foreboding night.

vessel lists
in saline swell.
i’m not so sad now,
after all…

seeking happiness,
settling in sadness,
exploit my time,
as tears confess –

and the sea envelopes
the careless times,
unfocused and fettered
alone, alone, mine.

2017 Rick

squander moments



Where is my wisdom?
I seek to reconcile –

What I started,
I shall finish.

I have missed my purpose;
I have squandered a moment

Outward man shuns
Inward man.

My reflected image
Does not live.

I am fleeting –
Fading heartbeat in temporal death .

Alas, O swaying sapling
At wind’s command.

Your strength
Wanes in melancholy.

Dissipating, needing God,
His guardian eyes.

I know He is here
I know He waits.



picasso -red.jpg


Aligned with vanity,
So much disappears
That holds hope;
That leads thought;
That blows away.
The dust knows not
The wind nor the ground –
Making peace with each
once, in a while.
Can it be my soul?
A foot on the rung
That Ascends,
Temporal to eternal.
Or, the heart of faith?
Firmly grounded in perspective
Greater than a day.

How shall I be?
Who am I now?

The heavenly voice
Engraved on my heart,
Shall ever be
The place where my soul
Is firmly cleaved.
And I shall be revived.

“My soul clings to the dust;
Revive me according to Your word.”
Ps 119 25,26


Where on the earth
Does the cold wind end?
I should wish to be,
Right where it quits,
All tired from blowing with
Low pressure fits.
Does wind just fall
Upon awaiting ground,
Continuing to death,
Without a sound?
To join once more
In softly seen air –
Gently brush your cheek,
Muss up your hair.
The wind shall kiss
In quiet delay
The forehead of sweetness,
In love’s sweet obey.

future gaze

Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot.jpg

I wonder if I’d found some way,

to circumvent those fruitless tries,

truly to avoid –

by some degree,

a pocketful of

deceitful lies.


When these questions might’ve been asked,

subject seldom was ever raised,

but now answers –

take life’s past portions

and blend with present’s

future gaze.