Winter Light Among the River Wood

John Gregory Evans

12/27/2019 12:11:41 AM

The river dormant within her darkened depth, where

Trees stand high above within their communal sphere.

Skies at night display a luminous veil of cloud cover realities

That sift silently upon a frozen earth.

Upon Thoreau writing, “I love man with the same distinction that I love woman—as if my friend were of some third sex—some other or some stranger and still my friend.”

To love a man, as a woman loves a man, yet without the contentious form of labor, we shall all witness a divine fire in all things.

To love more deeply God, than any other deity.

Loving man imperative reaching the pinnacle of divine love, no more strife, war, or abandonment of life.

The quality of love is in a man’s heart. Deeper than any body part may ever reach. Deeper than the ocean’s great. Deeper than a lunar high. Deeper, than a thing called ‘I’.

Love of man pleases the divine we know as God, in a very special way shared by two, or another, and within that love we give, and give, without any contentious walls for a bias, whatsoever.

The life I love never forced but a love I freely accept.

Honoring Emily Dickinson

John Gregory Evans

12/26/2019 8:23:36 AM

[…] I had been hungry, all the Years—

My noon had Come to dine—

I trembling drew the Table near—

And touched the Curious Wine—[…] Emily Dickinson

Ah, the Curious Wine and trembling drew the Table to us near,

The only sinner I can find, are the ones who loathe Us here.

The Wise but Know the Secrets within,

Are the Ones who truly have not sinned.

For there remain a Truth in Absolutes

That bring our hearts together again.

Never has there been a biased heart

That loved themselves so near, apart,

My prayer to you is that within the Love

You find yourself in fires Divine,

That lead you to the Table here,

And drink her Love—thus, the Curious Wine!

This Fire to me that brings the Face of Christ,

Occurs upon the Lover not once, not twice, not even yet, thrice,

But in drawing His Table thus near our Hearts,

The un-believer threatened by his own trembling part,

Ne’er knowing This prayer lament, brings Love upon High—

We trust our Beloved in prayer and thought, ne’er wishing to tear and cry.

John Gregory Evans

~7~ 12/22/2019 1:16:51 AM

Within the effusing for friendship’s night, I call upon you and speak the truth and tell me what’s right. Oh, daughter of love for a Republic from southern plains, the stone-jagged layers effusing such pain, tell me true where love remains in the dark of an interior storm, help the soon to be estranged, and a man’s own ebbing tide.

I believe, yet, not with the old, for this ne’er caught up with me from a quarry of stone. In speaking a truth where a birth begins upon the thirteenth of month, mystery and soul, a friendship thus, born.

Or, is the stage set for a singular form? Living, once more in a solitude norm? I yield, yes, for the rapport so fond, a woman’s love, for a man yet unborn.

Tell me love, the Queen upon High, where truth begins, and perjure me not, when I laze, loll, and sit, I am listening, but hear no Voice within my heart, does love just stop?

A truth of a friend speaks out I see as plot, while my truth slips away, I’ll permit her not, nor let her go forth without me in search for a deeper truth.

I ask of love now to stay where she may, I fear, next time, I’ll remain where I lay.

Love leave me ne’er and leave me not.