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Joris Heise

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Waynesville, IL, US

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Independence Day, 2004

by

Joris Heise

The thread of time weaves
Through John, and through David,
On the loom of their webbed-together women--
Spinning these precious yarns of theirs,
And shuttling mind-ideas, words and wisdom
While giving glory to each other, all of us.

The gleam of Gabrielle,
The radiance of Nick
Play light across Jackson’s soul
Along with the sometimes wet tears today
And wills that stress each other, and play
And watching of golf, or just being, chatting.

It is all a wonder--
This rare moment moving on.
Let’s grab its grace, Rosemary,
Enjoy the joy of Julie’s giggle,
And the laughing loveliness
Her sister shimmers with.

We form these diamond threads together,
This intense and ever-dawning joy
That later years will reckon
As once upon a time a real nourishment,
A bank of joy that riches us forward
To flourish with delight at God’s time given us.


Suicide is Sometimes All Right

by

Joris Heise

Great dents mark damage banged into moving time:
Some caustic colleague, some parent cool to you,
Sarcastic mutterance against tough-won truth,
Or murder by put-down teacher of a mind--
A soul retains its rough history of harms wrought,
Wrongs heart-captured and writ cruel, cold,
The cell-memory of meanness eons ago locked in
Where there they fester, parasite resentment eating.
They enter an entire time of running days,
And can cost the merriment freedom makes,
The party of the prodigal,
Exuberant, ecstatic, loosey-goosey funned.
Decide to suicide such revenges hiding
Alone behind the puckered lip of blame;
Give forgiveness of a Father-God
To all your family and every wanter of its health
And you will shoot your self back to health.

To Find Her New

by

Joris Heise

The web spin in one’s fragile quest
To reach an other’s quiv’ring life—

Our deep-hid ache to arch beyond
The edges found so sad in used-to-ness.

It’s love to knows how much we need
Completions for our too-rare pause—

To listen and then learn what is not new
But fresh—the impact found, the taste enjoyed!

Now, that is what’s at issue—
The time and tide of catching you—

The Ah! The awe of brand-new, old
As millennia of spring that blossom up.

Murray Bodo, Franciscan Priest-Brother

by

Joris Heise

He glows like gold within a memory
Of many years ago--a man of immeasurable wealth
Who’s enriching so many with rich Brother-hope
And whose valued edge still grows
Like some perfuming vine sun-lit
In a garden God’s hoes in Assisi.

That seed’s become a permanence
Of golden-green, refreshing spring with
A special species of St. Francis
A radiance beyond the realm of norm--
Because his deeper Source remains his True Joy--
A Seraphic Love, as real as human angels are.

Years pass. The gold glows from that gentle God
Forever etching each of us with extending lines
Of growing life, forever rising in eternal Easter.

Christmas 2000

by

Joris Heise

This time, His joy emerges as sounds of bells--
Soft bells that ring across our fretful land--
Not just because of history which tells
Of Jesus long ago--let us now stand

To hear each other’s silent, worried need--
Our brothers’, sisters’ hurts--each jangled heart--
We play our kindly harp of gold to breed
A helpful harmony--to make a start--

With healing that is hope, with faith-rich care--
Which passes life’s small limits, carries earth
Towards heaven’s glory--hears angel horns in air
And trumpets’ sound. We find fresh re-birth--

Find innocence and song in God’s small hand
Inside our own, we join His marching Band!

two Teachers

by

Joris Heise

True teachers rise like ripening trees through years
Of seasons--summers, falls and winters—that
Each time, come back to spring which limits tears
And lifts life new, makes blossoms bloom, the mat

Of green erupt, and hope return. These two
Bring April to a classroom, Students learn
And growth occurs because they care to shoo
The boy reluctant, girl stopped. To turn

The wanderer, to trigger truth, they urge
The slow to go—persistent and alive
They stay, an orchard where sweet apples surge
Way past the years they’re planted here. They strive

To win a soul towards seeking more, to get
Past circumstance, to reach where hearts are set.

two Teachers

by

Joris Heise

True teachers rise like ripening trees through years
Of seasons--summers, falls and winters—that
Each time, come back to spring which limits tears
And lifts life new, makes blossoms bloom, the mat

Of green erupt, and hope return. These two
Bring April to a classroom, Students learn
And growth occurs because they care to shoo
The boy reluctant, girl stopped. To turn

The wanderer, to trigger truth, they urge
The slow to go—persistent and alive
They stay, an orchard where sweet apples surge
Way past the years they’re planted here. They strive

To win a soul towards seeking more, to get
Past circumstance, to reach where hearts are set.