Apathy
Ages’ erosions and pressures
finely slice
dampened limestone walls,
leaving liftable curiosities
that are
indifferently danced
across the stream
by a
bored
young
fisherman.
Mark Absher
1985
Apathy
Ages’ erosions and pressures
finely slice
dampened limestone walls,
leaving liftable curiosities
that are
indifferently danced
across the stream
by a
bored
young
fisherman.
Mark Absher
1985
Seawaves
Seawaves chant and scream
And leave the coast
In thunderous tears of saline taste--
A bitter recess from the work at shore.
Seawaves crest and trough
And fill the little pools
with fitful years of aquatic wisdom--
A hoary wash of unrhymed liquid lore.
Mark Absher
1986
This Color Thing
Why can we see color? Why is it here?
If everything were shades of gray
wouldn’t our picture be as clear?
But instead we see a spectrum—a wide array
of light—striking everything that can be seen
with multivariations that make our sight
a visual elation of something more than white.
We swim in the saturation of blues that cause the clouds to float
in the lavender height that turns orangish red at night.
We smile at the greens that luscious gloat
from plants whose tinctures sometimes dance with just a change of glance.
Vivid chromas paint tomato reds, crocus yellows and deep sea teals,
while tiny rainbows flee within the whites of shells and pearls—
both at once adazzle dimish beryls.
The cast of brilliance also screams from things that fly and crawl and swim—
the acromatic black of penguins, bats and seals
for instance stark contrasts against the winsome gilds
of parakeets and the backs of flies
the shades of which are like the dyes
and hues of things that dream their colors’ names—
like gold and silver, orange and peach and lime,
salmon, copper, indigo, wine, ivory and cream,
the royal blue of robes on kings, and the gooish green of slime.
Think about the tasty red of cherries
and the blues and tints of other berries
that share their color coats with emerald and ruby gems
as well as with the lilac tones that walk in eggplants
and also run through flames.
The panoply of color demands an explanation;
it’s so all over in underrated names.
The optic experience is so intense
that we cannot help but sense
it isn’t chance
our eyes can see the hues of our habitation.
We simply see that this color thing must be caused by a designer
who is concerned with our sensation.
Mark Absher
Copyright 2007
The Scream of Symmetry
A spinning sphere, its halves the same, glides through silent space
in perfect orbit teaming with other planets screaming
that their symmetry of shape and path has a source in something more than chance.
In fact, this symmetry extends to every place
from the very microscopic to the reach of the expanse,
quietly declaring with a breadth quite overbearing
that each whole is halves—each half alike
in nearly everything that matters.
Is it for matter’s sake
that such symmetry flatters
such quirky things as the fishy shapes of clams and stars,
stingrays, whales and pike
as well as coral, shrimp, anemones, manatees and gars?
The forms of viruses and germs,
and the parts, the whole, the half, and the path of every snake,
the contour look of spiders, moths and gnats,
beetles, flies and worms,
and a billion other bugs that hide in dirt or share the skies
with other symmetric creatures
having halvish sameness aspect features
like finches, terns and hanging bats
or birds of prey,
whether soaring, diving or even perching quiet—all say
quite a lot aloud without a word about the symmetry they share
with our selves and cells and fingers, teeth and lungs,
our veins and ribs and ears and heels and tongues
and even tears sneaking
from and past each configured part of our very balanced faces, speaking—
with drops of mist in clouds and fountains
or as frozen flakes each alone
or combined in colored spectral bows that display
in each arching tone
with each atom making either dust or mighty mountains
as well as with the roots and stems and leaves and fruits of plants
and in everything with legs or wings or DNA,
its twisted ladder shape with every wave or bolt or spark
of light or sound—
a simple truth that’s quite profound:
This common feature isn’t happenstance
or the result of some explosion;
nor is it an evolving growth or some fortune quirk of time and motion;
it is rather—its uniqueness stark—
a glorious and clever, clearly loving maker’s perfect mark.
Mark Absher
Copyright 2007
The Cross
The Cross, the Cross—
the most expensive purchase
ever made
at Jesus’ loss—
The most endearing payment
ever paid—
So high a price!
So high a price!
So high a price!
Thank-you for the hope and grace—
the ever-loving smile on your face.
Thank-you for the stunning sacrifice—
my life, your death
your blood, my breath
for all eternity.
Mark A. Absher
April 2004
In Grace
[You can be]
Swimming, fresh inhaling,
laughing, never failing
always moving
in the pleasure
of its rush ensuing space—
without measure
peace and stillness,
soft, serene, sight unseen—
Living, basking in the soothing,
warm surrounding
ever bounding depths
of green release
that is found in boundless grace.
Mark Absher
2002