Aubade: Mourning-dove

Dawn fires

the cold roses

one-

at-

a-time, 

when, with

planetary urge,

all explode to

vermillion

conflagration.

Then the cherry tree,

plain in

drab leaf,

erupts into

emerald

glory,

and high

from the bright rooftop

the mourning-dove

sings

his low, plaintive

song of 

love.

(15 June 2014)

Night Falls

 

Photo: Brian Federle, "Open Gate" Pacifica 2012

    Night falls

slowly in spring
through trees newly flush
with unfurling leaves.

     Birds rush

through swaying limbs
to newly-built nests,
to lives yet to live

as day fades
to shimmering silk
as stars gleam with
     
       celestial milk.
                                                                                                                                                                                               

Peter's Report

The Disciples Peter and John Running to the Sepulcher

 on the Morning of the Resurrection by Eugène Burnand

Running all the way,

bent double in breathless pain

we peered and saw

the gaping grave

open to the rising sun.

Slowly we entered, our eyes sun-blind,

when we saw the empty bench,

the bloody cloth cast within.

I try to imagine

the piercing flash,

the sudden shudder

of His broken body,

His sharp breath exploding

like a swimmer breaking the surface,

when I saw John’s eyes

outshining the sun,

and my own face

lighting even death's

darkest place!

(24 April 2011, 31 March 2018)

The Sadness of Holy Saturday

Through the moonless night

clouds choke receding light

and the world descends

into darkness.

Where are you

as winter's chill pierces my hands? 

Oh, where have you gone? 

Do you not care that I decay

without your gentle breath,

that without your light 

I wane like the failing sun?

Why have you abandoned me?

Through my tears I see 

two millennia of agony, 

the six million slain,

all the fallen generations

newly free, heavy nails 

at last released. 

Morning (Good Friday)

Therefore let me know trust in the feelings of my heart. My hope is in what the hand of man has never touched. Do not let me trust what I can grasp between my fingers.

 Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude.

Young grass

high and thick

drenched

filled to brim,

by morning sun released

a fury of green, trees

believing that golden day

will stay.

Persist, oh life,

in the cold of winter,

and beat, oh heart!

With tender heat

awhile yet

I breathe!

(6 April 2012)

Do Not Gaze into the Night

“We do not see the Blinding One in black emptiness. He speaks to us gently; His light is one fullness and one Wisdom.” Thomas Merton


Do not gaze into the night.

He is not in the cold wind
tearing at tender leaves.

No, nor does He live
on the mountain of thunder

nor on the crashing shore
where the surf pounds
time on rocks as old
rhythm itself;

You’ll not
find Him
in the piercing cries
of the children
of Syria;

but in your own
brilliant darkness
washed clean
by your tears

there you will find Him:
gentle, and full,
and wise.

(8 June 2012)

The Denial of St. Peter

Caravaggio, The Denial of St. Peter

On the edge

hands clenched, 

sad eyes downcast

bitter fear forcing tight his lips

he holds his breath

he pauses

as the angry finger
of the state

points at his throat,

hard eyes searching Peter’s

indecision

for rash conviction;

but she, she knows

has seen before

his adoring eyes, heard his 

boastful voice

by the campfire

of the condemned.

Slowly he moves

toward the inevitable lie

as the bloody sun

stirs to song

the drowsy cock.

(7 June 2012)

The Rejection of Jesus (Palm Sunday)

Jesus the Homeless, bronze sculpture by Timothy Schmalz

Regis College, the University of Toronto.

“I hear the whisperings of many: “Terror on every side! Denounce! let us denounce him!” 

Jeremiah 20:10

Why do you not believe me?

Have I not wept

as, lost and empty

you cried out in the night?

I shed bitter tears

when at last you fell

and did not arise.

I’ll breath my anguish

and fire your still heart

with my passion.

What more can I do for you

than die?

(27 March 2015)

In the Territory of the Gerasenes

Image: Solomon Raj

From deep inside

I heard them,

howling hatred

lashing me with my own hands

gashing the rocky tombs

with my own bloody feet.

Late at night

they cursed and fought

deep inside

my aching skull.

I was their prisoner,

and they were many…

But then I saw Him by the lake

and my soul leapt

even as Legion arose

as with my ragged voice they raged,

“what will you do to us?” 

but my soul cried louder,

“Save me!” 

Hearing us both,

He drove the dark spirits

from my unclean breast

and into the beasts….poor swine.

Madness cast them

into death’s deep pit….

but I could hear only

silence.

Peace

filled me.

My hand moved

only when I commanded,

and what my eyes saw

I clearly viewed.

The people of the village

fearing a man who could

compel demons,

begged Him to leave.

Blind fools!

If only they could see Him

as I do.

As he was going, I begged to go too

and stay forever in the light

of his face.

But this grace

was not

for me alone…

He told me to go

and proclaim without fear

how His love saved me

from my soul’s dark night,

and led me here,

into paradise.

(18 Feb 2013)