Sister Poetry

The magic of fire
   entrances my soul.
Flame tongues chant the challenge:
   Do what I do!
 
Make ash of dreams and life
   now spent.
Make light of hopes and vision
   to come.
Be ember, divine.

In Just-spring, when the world is mud-luscious…puddle-wonderful…”  These words from a poem by e.e.cummings conjure up the promise of glee, forbidden pleasures and child-like abandon.  They invite consideration of other “in Just-spring” occurrences!

In Just – spring,
          the sky line is brushed a soft green;
                  buds well toward leafing,
                           fern fingerlings unfold along the shoulders of streams.

In Just – spring,
         yellow crocuses poke their heads through mounds of dead leaves;
                  orange crocuses ambush with a smiling “surprise”!

In Just – spring,
         birds sing Lauds,
                  proclaim Benedictus,
                           visit nature’s “home depot” and begin nest building.

In Just – spring,
         Jesus rises from the dead resurrecting hope,
                  invades locked rooms,
                           beckons the fearful forward.

In Just – spring,
         fallible followers become disciples,
                  speak in tongues,
                           create communities of “one heart and one mind.”

In Just – spring,
         prison doors mysteriously open,
                  the suffering rejoice in their trials,
                           murderers are pardoned.

In Just – spring,
         missionary journeys begin,
                  everywhere is home,
                           no one is excluded.

In Just – spring,          
         our “Easter” calling is renewed,
                  joyful witnessing is eager,
                           discovery and revelation of the Risen Christ is abundant.

In Just – spring…
         Spring into us, Just One, that you be resurrected over and over
                  in us and in our world.

(John 20:11)

Stooped with sorrow,
trailing hope like a discarded garment,
I faced the empty tomb.

It only took one word.
The Gardener said “Mary”
and the stone on the tomb
of my heart was rolled back.

One word
And the shutter on the window of my soul
was flung open.
One word transformed everything, transformed me.

One word
And I was resurrected from the dead
and sent to share the loaves and fishes
of my life.

That day I learned that
one word can feed a few, feast a thousand.
One word was all it took.
 

I understand.
You heard the call, and resolution
Grew on greenwood (In those days.)
Your “Here I am” stood tall
to start its three-day climb
under a weight of firewood.

I understand.
For every Isaac-heavy question
that detained, some youthful answer
bounded on ahead---sustained.

I understand. You came so close!
Even piled your stones
Arranged your wood. . . Just
knowing how long you stood.

You see,
I, too, once glanced into
surrounding thickets
only to discover
that there was no ram!             

NO! NO!!  Please don’t go away!  I see you stop…look, listen…

Study that huge machine (which is I)

You’ve been so happy, so busy among furry, feathered friends

There’s been so much to discover, so much to share.  But I take one slow, noiseless step

Closer and Oh!

I guess you don’t understand…

Will I see you again?  Tomorrow? 

Ever?

Real life

Is lived

At the center

Of

Now----- then why

Do I turn up

The corners

Of

Yesterday

And

Tomorrow-------

As if they have answers

To things they know nothing about

Like

For instance

Today?! 

Suppose “DENUDED”

Were synonymous with

“dead” and

“barren”

Just an alternate for

“BARE.”

It would be sad,

but simple, too…

Last line.

Road’s end.

Case closed.

Suppose, however,

that the words are

pregnant!

then it’s

wait

and watch

and will

for sap is rising in the

winter wood

and in the ashes’ womb

a tiny Alleluia stirs!

My mind chatters
    like a squirrel in an elm.

My silly heart follows,
     wishing not to take the helm.

But nature has a message
      if I but quiet down:

"Do I hustle?" asks the oak--
     " I am sentinel to the sky."

"Am I rushing?" asks the lake--
      "I reflect as time goes by."

All of creation 
       joins in the song:

SIT     REST    SILENCE
       that you, too, may BE-long.