Monday, April 16, 2018

Omnipresence

Photo: Brian Federle, Pacific Evening, 2014


In the psalms of night birds
in the bright morning trees,
I hear your song echoing,
overwhelming me.

Always above me,
around and below,
inside me your love’s
a constant glow.

In warm summer’s ocean,
in the soft breath of night
I sway in the rhythm
of passionate life.

(15 June 2012)

Sunday, April 8, 2018

Eucharist

Caravaggio,Supper at Emmaus 
National Gallery, London



Walking through the dusty grove

we talked of death and empty graves

when a stranger suddenly appeared.


He walked with us and asked why we trembled so.
Amazed that he seemed not to know
of the blood and pain in Jerusalem,
we told him
how dark the day became, how the sun slid down
to shivering night
when, broken, our friend was placed in the cave.

Rebuking us for our lack of faith,
he explained how it was all foretold in the ancient books;
from Adam to David, the inevitable grave
insatiably claims
corrupt humanity

until now.

We heard, eyes cast down,
when at Emmaus he broke
our common bread

and looking up, we saw Him.

His face was blazing like the sun!
We blinked, and then he was gone,

but the bread remained.



(7 May 2011)

Saturday, March 31, 2018

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. 



(for James Foley, Journalist, first American murdered

by ISIS on 8/19/2014)

Friday, March 30, 2018

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)