Vicksburg

The river glints

in the morning light

as we slowly drive

past the guard-gate

and into the rolling hills

of the Vicksburg Battleground.

But there are no battles here today

in this ringing forest ,

on these wrinkled meadows;

These cannons spit no fire

into this soft Mississippi morning,

and no soldier falls, sighing

into these cool, dark earthworks.

Slowly we drive the winding road

past a bronze soldier

grasping his bronze rifle,

tensely gazing

into the empty distance, waiting

for the screaming charge,

of his deadly brothers.

But all anger spent,

they sleep now

under smart ranks

of gleaming stone;

Now they lie,

unknown soldiers,

lulled by whispering

Southern magnolias

far from forgotten

Northern homes.

(5 August 2010)

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 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)

Passion in the Garden

In the long, empty night
I hear your song.

Longing I seek
but can only see
my own dying face
in shattered glass
and piercing steel.

I tremble in fear.
O, where have you gone?

Sing me again your soaring love-song

and show me the way,
for night’s a thin wall
and death, a porous veil.

(17 Apr. 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)