one heart in unison
sings and breathes
soft words of wisdom
to a world of 
chrome-plated people
waiting for the 
beatific vision or the
eucharistic splendor
to give 
tender meaning 
to the people and 
perils of darkness


Apollo, a six-winged seraph arrayed
    with the gods finest gold, warned
    me in a reality to avoid hearing
    too many symphonies as they are the 
    vexation of a holy soul
She told me that there is no more
    color to paint over the sorrow
    greys of today
And warned me not to breathe the
    soft fragrances of Spring for it 
    is only Winter in disguise
She took me by the hand and led me
    then to a land without song and
    to a sight without tones and
    taught me to breathe the still 
    airs of nothing
And I wept without tears
And cried without voice
And died


will you take from now
and always a lasting
will you give a forever
for all to see
will you raise with a 
gesture of love children
in the like of God
a soft but certain yes
planted some score back
now lives in the 
somewhere eternity of 

Tinsel Town

Hastily to and fro
    the tinsel spangled world moves

Pick out a garland here and a ring-around-the-rosy
    cheeks of children reflect a white bearded old
    smile in red and their eyes decide
which tree will be the winter guest in the warm 
    bread-scented home
which wrapping will deceive the special December
I, from outside observe the giant Clockwork World
    grinding out the antique message of
    contemporary time
Half past dawn
    and moving too slow to notice 
    and too fast to care. 

Old Side

something is plainly wrong 
    in wanting to know everything right
away in the hill right now there is someone
    asking a way that only a stone
    knows how to listen
why is there you and why is there me
    (why are we fondly different)
is it right to act wrong
    (or is it never wrong)
where is a somewhere where men can fly
    up and put a flag and say now
    we are good now
    we have arrived now
because we are doing a never thing
crossing over ignorance to find: 
asking proved questions
flying up proved down
turning over a new
    proved old on the other side

Thomas Luter

Poems 5


The God of my soul keeps
    writing on my mind
Making the least of something
    more than anything
And nothing at least