Abernathy Road Roundabout

Bronze angel, strong arms

lifting the rainbow,

you stand in the center.

Our fast cars veer around

north, then east

to shop, to school,

to home

but we can’t see

what you see.

Even the truckers,

who lumber down

Abernathy Road

and enter the circle

with heady grapes

ready for press, for barrel,

for thick, green bottle

steer past you.

Our lives are scheduled over-full.

We all have

some place else to go

until unfulfilled,

we return at last

to your bright center, 

and in your embracing arms

we rest.

(16 July 2011)

Author's note:

Image: Mother Nature by Lisa Reinertson, in traffic circle at Rockville and Abernathy Roads, Suisun Valley, CA.

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 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)

Chemin de Jerusalem

“Openness is not something to be acquired, but a radical gift that has been lost and must be recovered.’ Thomas Merton

I walk slowly seemingly without aim or direction, gaze down to flowering tiles, waver, feel lost, yet see the way leads always to the center

(22 June 2012)

On the Feast of St. Stephen

The Martyrdom of St. Stephen by Peter Paul Rubens 1616-1617

"The life of the soul is not knowledge, it is love, since love is the act of the supreme faculty, the will, by which man is formally united to the final end of all his striving – by which man becomes one with God." (Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain)

See how wind tears, how

clouds ravage the sky

to shreds…

Can you hear the geese fleeing,

shouting dread

as the savage storm crouches?

Are you afraid?

I know

how the sea sometimes

launches boulders;

but the stubborn land

bows and waits

and, swollen, forgives

with torrents of life;

rivers of joy.

(2013-2017)

Disasters of War

Iron soldiers,

astride their power,

grip swords

stand poised

wait for the order

to stain red

the innocent earth

as women,

naked bellies swollen,

watch flashing steel

steal away their children,

those

who play

at their bare feet

and those

who yet swim

in warmer pools.

Urban Square

Wayne Thiebaud, Urban Square, 1980, Oil on canvas, Oakland Museum

rise

canyons

steel over streets

vaulting rivers fly

to the hard, blue sky

sharper than

ink, than

bright city

lights.

(22 Oct. 2013)

Spring Storm

Duck Creek Lightning Night, 2012, oil on linen
V...Vaughn (used by permission)

night drops suddenly

birds, nervous, slip into eves,

silenced; a stone drops.

peace be on this stream.

sliding song of rain soaked creek,

rising moon, refreshed.

(28 April 2014)

Origami Master

"Perfect openness born of complete self-surrender, brings us into uninhibited contact with God." Thomas Merton

My soul's a sheet

of flat paper,

unfolded and featureless 

until your hands press

and pinch, pleat

my stubborn fears

to your desire.

You know what fills

my nascent core

and never give me up

but with your strength

to fine edge crease

and make of me at last 

angel's wings.

(10/15/2012)

El Nino

Vincent Van Gogh, Wheatfield with Crows, 1890 

fill your heart

with rush of rain,

open your palms

to receive

new life

for your heart

of winter!

oh, see how

the birds

fiercely sing

my love!

(5 January 2016)

   

On Viewing Inferno of the Innocents

Poised on the edge of the bed

she sits in sharp light,

pointed feet barely touching

the dim floor.

Through fear-filled, furrowed brow

she stares at the encroaching shadow.

I want to protect her, reach into the canvas

and take her home,

adopt her

make her my grand-daughter

hold her safe and warm

make her whole

watch her dance

fearless

in the golden morning.

As I despair

another little girl approaches the painting,

and broadly smiles in recognition,

nodding to this new-found playmate.

She knows how morning light

always pushes back

the black night.

(24 April 2013)

Author notes

to see the powerful, heartbreaking works of Gottfried Helnwein, visit his website athttp://www.helnwein.com/

The Poetry Lesson

I’ll turn off the classroom lights

and open the windows wide

so you can see.

Look deeply

as the sun shatters

our rainy world

into rainbows.

Feel how cold wind,

flooding through open doors,

drops to the darkened floor

your poems,

like seeds

piercing fertile soil -

can you hear it?

the steady whisper

of God?

(26 March 2011)

It Happens

 

I can see it coming,

small in the distance

just a spot at first,

but I know

it's coming for me

sure-air, clear

cross-hairs

frame my soul,

zero-in

on my languid pen

til, joyfully I bolt

for the house, tear

through dark rooms,

turn on my dim light,

and breathlessly wait

for the poem

to strike.

After Viewing Helnwein's Epiphany II

Enraptured

mouths agape,
they gaze.       

They don’t see her ivory breasts.

Gleaming virginity

eludes Aryan dreams

as she presents them with their

Destiny.

With shadowed arm,

in the harsh glow of

klieg,

he teaches them to 

submit.

They cannot know

how quickly falls

night's

blackest pall.

(14 July 2014)

____
Image: Gottfried Helnwein, Epiphany II, deYoung Museum, San Francisco