He hears…

"Landscape at  Chaponval" Camille Pissarro

“Landscape at
Camille Pissarro

O Lord bless my soul
Remove the blight
That casts a shadow
Over the purest white
Linen of a spring lamb.

O Light gaze anew
Dissolve the tepid
Frivolous dark nature
Of temporary forgetfulness to
Renew yet again.

O Love blossom
Make my heart alive, refreshed
Fruitfully stamped
With virtuous approval
My hand in Yours.

O watch my steps
The straightest path
Bypassing distraction
And fixing my eyes
On righteous horizon.

O Lord hear me
My muffled cries
A lamb far off bleating, awaiting…
The Shepherd hears
Yes, He hears and He smiles.

(c) 2014 Rick Stassi


"Weeping Willow" Claude Monet

“Weeping Willow”
Claude Monet

who do you weep for, willow?
You, certain of your roots seeking solace
as well your leaves from light ever faithful…
yet I wonder – is there sadness?
do you hasten to where you cannot go?
so much holds you where you are
and gives that on which you thrive.
you shout to the heavens
from your core of ringed reminders
of passing years.
you shed the layers of the past…

you see the ones who adulate their own virtues –
yet still you smile and
watch them run within four walls
trying so hard to hasten to go where they cannot.
For you know where peace exists,
and you are patient
as it is they you weep for.
even as the glass surface of water
will hold a wrinkle from a passing breeze,
underneath a maelstrom of motion,
unsettled molecules
all colliding…

O the exterior contrivance!
yes, all is not always what it seems.

…and I possess a bit of you both.
grappling with my own desire
to hasten to go where I should.
Tho’ my roots bemoan my glass surface –
contented depth confused with the shallow surface
of my wanderlust and the weeping –
in my self-pity…
these walls- entrap me.
I ponder breaking these bindings
of the opposing force
that holds my interest
even as I know my roots go deep.
And will I know liberty?
How long can it sustain me?
O doubting, misled heart.

I hear your whispers willow.
“…delighted souls let the breeze visit”
rather than force wind
upon their icy countenance
through self-mass in motion.
for within I know
I shall not be moved
despite my own desire.
I am held
as weeping branches
hold leaves
in the wind.

that is life, willow
…and I close my eyes
to remember the breeze.

(c) rick stassi