Solano Sunset

Tangerine sky

etched edge, black

cut ridge,

dusky plain

broad valley

waiting

for inky night

to fill

the great bowl

of earth.

(18 June 2011)

Holy Saturday

Storms pass, winds subside
life abides.

See how the cottonwoods
spread new leaves,
fill the blank sky with
emerald sheen
as waving vines praise
the living spirit
of spring,

for soon the shrouded sun will flame
through constraining mists
and in glory rise to complete
this forgiven world
and set it free.


(16 April 2014)

Passion

I see your face

in the gathering storm.

Twisting and bent

in the rising wind

my soul groans

under the weight

of holy pain,

for bloody are my hands!

Thorns, like sin, pierce

my furrowed  brow,

and my tears fill

the guilty world.

O forgive me!

I did not see you dying

‘til I cried

scourged with the lash

of my own stinging lies.

(22 June 2014)

The Proud Man

Photo: Sunlight Through Dirty Window

David Barrett

(used courtesy of artist)

The humble man receives praise the way a clean window takes

the light of the sun."  Thomas Merton

The proud man 

is like a dirty window.

He cannot permit to pass 

the morning's glory;

whereas the humble man

dissolves in the light

of the rising sun

like a freshly scrubbed window.

(22 Feb. 2013)

The Joy of My Youth

The morning is cold,

the moon slung low

lighting the snow

iridescently blue

In the dark, glowing church

red votives flame

throw bright prayers

to the ceiling

Introibo ad altare Dei,

The old priest intones

“I will go

to the alter of God”

and I quickly recite

Ad Deum qui laetificat

juventutem meam

“To God,

the joy of my youth.”

The church is empty,

but still we go on,

chanting the ancient love-songs

to the One who lives

in the flickering flame

to the One who rises

in ascending incense

and hears our words

and becomes them.

Do You Want To Know God?

Do you want to know God? Then learn to understand the weaknesses and imperfections of other men. But how can you understand the weaknesses of others unless you understand your own? And how can you see the meaning of your own limitations until you have received mercy from God, by which you know yourself and Him?       Thomas Merton. No Man Is An Island.

(Fifth Sunday in Lent)

How can I forgive
the man who
consumes childhood
like cheap wine

who hides behind priestly collars,
wears his holiness like a
circus costume,
to fill young lives
with piercing guilt?

Is there a man
to whom you will not
bend your brow?
who,  face-to-face at last
sheds tears of sorrow,
shocked to learn that
in the end,
indeed
you are?

and if you forgive
the man who pulled
levers in Auschwitz,
to release the gas
that made holy martyrs
by the millions,

if you give a second, third
chance to the arrogant man
who slayed the children
of Norway
because he feared Islam,

If you permit even the presence
of the greatest of haters
Der Feurhrer, Der Ubermensch,
drawn, at last, like a moth, to your
golden glow,

where is justice?

How can I forgive?

My cheeks bloodied
shall I strive to be
what I cannot be?

But if my vengeance
becomes my god,
then how could you ever
forgive me?

(23 April 2012)

Rebuke

As fierce waves crash over my face
I gulp cold water, I flail
on rising tide,
but failing to find air
I despair and plead,
“why do you sleep
while in the storm I die?”

Yawning, sleepy-eyed you awake
and noticing my terror, wonder
at my lack of faith.

Frankly annoyed by howling wind
and complaining shipmate,
you rebuke both
to calm.

(17 Feb 2011)