poem: good friday

meditation based on psalm 23, vs 5 

 

you prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies

and i look up, from the foot of your cross

and it is my sin that put you there

too oft from a sin that i chose

and yet you anoint my head with oil

and my cup over flow’s

 

 

you anoint my head with oil

my cup overflows’

and i look up from the foot of your cross

from your head and your wounds

your blood freely flows;

how could it be that blood of lamb slain

could free me of guilt, could free me of blame?

that you feed me as enemies taunt me with death

and that my cup, with your love, over flows?

and i look up from the foot of your cross

and my love overflows

Poem: proud, prouder, proudest

 

hide not from me who saw you

however well thy thought self hid;

when you seek me be proud of you,

in all you do, have done and did;

and will do – for love’s great cause,

will never cease, will never pause.

 

the shield you thought protection

can only shut out loves proud view;

cease now love’s long detention,

’tis long enough, they know it true;

there was no shame to hide,

and in mine eyes, you saw it so.

 

Kneading, richly weaving, vibrant growing

and it grows; hide not thine eyes from seeing,

what you know your heart doth know;

and let thy footsteps quickly carry thee –

to tend our soil and watch love grow

our family.

poem: on restoring vision

i will see thee, as i saw thee

and know thee as i did;

though better seen thy will be,

where, once, thou was hid.

 

you will see me, as you saw me,

knowing better what i knew;

and that mine eye indeed was clear,

and saw thee, love, and saw thee true.

 

our lips out loud shall speak,

what is whispered in these prayers;

and eyes this time will meet,

knowing love doth greet us there.

for tho’ mine eye is sore

from long denied thy dearest face;

it’s sight will be restored,

and its light, renewed, with grace.

.

Poem: light to mine eye

through all of the storms that have tossed me to sea;

through fog, smog and hurricane,

and windswept cold quays –

this one thing I’ve known, I’ve known long to be true

these eyes that God gave me,

he gave me for you

through days of warm sunshine and whispers of truth

kissing the skin of the apple that youth,

long plucked from the top of God’s tree;

but that which is love is also

so wise – and love gave me eyes to see,

the youth at the top of his tree;

for though long the journey, ’tis not been unknown

and sorrow not stifles this constant heart grown,

for  hearts never hidden cannot be disguised –

and fear did not paint those starry bright skies;

tis true and cannot be denied

thank you God, for giving me eyes.

 

Poem: fairy tales

 

 

anxiety anxiety

crawling now all over me

am i dragon, fiery beast

feared till bled

from sword released

or just some foolish maiden

without head

who lay beneath the dragon

until dead

Poem: returning, unleaving

betwixt and between –

that is where I have been,

between the always returning

and the heart that anchored

as it cleaved;

 

love

oh love, have i always known you thus?

let it be, let it be

in this heart that bobs along the crest of

coming back, and yet

it never leaves;

oh please, let it be still and calm between

those sturdy lovers arms

again.

Poem: holy imperfection

 

love like a sacrament

poured rich from the vine;

but not to be giddy, tho giddy be fine –

and tenderness plays in the incense divine

but ground me

hold firmly, sweet blood of the vine;

 

that dough that was kneaded

with prayers of great pleading;

come love give my bones

muscles not slack – oh rise, not dissemble,

 on that promise, I tremble

leave me not trembling, ’tis not faith I lack.

 

tho not wretch, but ragged

not much could I carry,

but that which I carry, I carry intact;

and paths may be varied,

with thee, they not scare me –

take I nervous breath, till they bring you back.

 

 

Poem: The Once-Me

I can still see the once-me,

at least from time to time;

the songs she used used to sing,

where voice and music rhymed –

the patterns of her movement,

the little rituals of time;

 

I want to keep that once-me

and the things that she could do;

and though she was afraid

her faith at least was always true –

she gave me that to keep,

and to share, with you.

The now-me, and the once-me

must go our separate ways;

I cannot have her back,

though my heart would have her stay –

(I confess the now-me trembles more,

than once-me would ever say)

perhaps that is a gift enough,

in its peculiar way.