Jeffrey Hull

© 2009 Rick Lee


If the radiance of a thousand suns
Were to burst at once into the sky
That would be like the splendor of the Mighty one ...
I am become Death,
The shatterer of Worlds. - Bhagavad-Gita


The sunset's king recesses down the sky
   To kiss the land and bid goodnight the day,
But does not dwell upon the by and by:
   His glance will someday boil the seas away.

What blessings that his light on earth bestows
   Are bought and paid with incandescent time
As star-stuff burns–and when the big one blows
   A fierce deep-throated closing bell will chime.

From long before the ancient dawn of man
   Where frigid eons kept the heavens' keys,
Apocalypse on God's installment plan:
   The end of days glows just beyond those trees.


© 2006 Jeffrey Hull

River Orb, France © 2006 Nina Camic By gracious permission; all rights reserved.


The river is not mad at me
   I reassure myself,
As I am slammed hydraulically
   Against a rocky shelf;

Then bobbing up I wave my hand
   To reassure the crew
Before the safeties on the land
   Can toss a rope or two.

Though I pretend to be unfazed,
   My soggy mind is blank;
I splash about like someone crazed,
   And wash up on the bank.

I clamber back into the raft
   To analyse my swim,
Reflecting that I must be daft
   To paddle on again,

But rivers flow so well downstream
   And it's too far to walk;
A river man must more than seem–
   Not simply talk the talk.

The day will come when bones stay home
   And let the rivers run–
Instead of rocks and rolling foam,
   A hammock in the sun;

But I won't think of that gray day–
   I'm hardly sore at all–
The sky, the trees, the frigid spray:
   The raft and rapids call.


© 2006 Jeffrey Hull

© 2006 Rick Lee All rights reserved.


Darkness be my pillow,
   And sorrow be my bed;
Bend me like the willow
   Then bind me to the stead.

Sing me soft of sadness,
   To fill my eyes with years;
Succor me my madness,
   And gently blot the tears.

Help me bear the birthing
   As what will be is born;
Ancient bones unearthing,
   My hair of pride be shorn:

Lift me, do not scold me;
   Please let me feel the skies–
Hold me, darling hold me,
   Once more before I rise.


© 2006 Jeffrey Hull

Morning: Lake Monona © 2006 Nina Camic By gracious permission.


The west winds blow from where the night resides,
The east winds whisper hope and rising tides.
The north winds chide the clouds to hide the sun,
The south winds coax the tropic waves to run.
The wild winds charge around the sky's expanse,
The mild winds sigh as flowers dip and dance.
The cold winds tuck the woods in fluffy beds,
The old winds sow their salt on snowy heads.
The sea winds waft from fragrant lands afar,
The bay winds sail hearts homeward 'cross the bar.


© 2006 Jeffrey Hull

© 2006 Andrew Hull By permission.


A heart awaiting ransom
   Had hidden in a drawer;
Love peeked across the transom
   Then seeped beneath the door–

A mist of vague emotion,
   Turned rivulet of grace,
'Til stream become an ocean,
   A torrent swept the place.

It flooded to the gables,
   Knocked everything askew,
And cleared away the tables
   To set the feast anew.


© 2006 Jeffrey Hull