Sister Poetry

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!

Sudden word-pangs

And images, long curled in fetal stillness

Stirred, and stetched,

And nudged against the womb-walls of my mind.

It seemed the ripe-time,

Very edge of birthing!

But mid-wife, Beauty,

Somehow lacked the gentler touch.

She was TOO swift,

Too savage.

And that first ecstatic cry came forth

A mute—

To be forever swaddled in a

wonder-silence!

Winter- - -

In your bitter ragings

And your whitened shrouds

Endless seeming - - -

You are yet less powerful

Than

A one-day’s

Blooming rose!

Cold and rigid, now,

you neither run,

nor rest

nor fall.

It seems that

all your need

is just to cling

to some sure thing

and yet ambivalent,

your thrust is downward!

Brittle beauty,

treacherous, too, as you hang—

a suspended, frozen longing!

Perhaps you air to bridge the gap?

But please,

not freeze on freeze!

Could you not chose

drop

by icy drop

To lose that glacial form into warmth

Under the snow? 

GOD

 slipped into the coffin with me.

He didn’t move---didn’t even say a word---

Didn’t even rustle the shirred taffeta

Surrounding me.

TOGETHER

We listened to my accolades—my grand

Accomplishments known far and wide!

(Once when it got too preposterous,

He poked me in the side.)

A FEW

Really honest friends recalled

(of course in “sotto voce”) some

details that were far from grand.

(Made me damn nervous—till He reached over

And squeezed my hand

Reassuringly!)

IT’S GOOD

These things don’t last too long.

We were both impatient for the final prayer

And song

To end the whole charade.

So, a final sprinkling and a

Fastened lid set off the slow parade

WE LISTENED

To some blowing noses.

Listened till the last grin, and we

Laughed

And laughed

Right on into the DAY!

Observe the Life Lover!

He tends to travel barefoot,

On the sands

And if he stoops and lifts with gentle hands

Some cast-off from the shore’s debris

Watch him carefully.

He’ll seldom focus on the texture

Or the hue

But tip and turn the “treasure”

To assure himself

A better view

Of what’s inside.

With strange intensity he’ll peer

 into the pink and hidden folds

Or—better still—

He holds it to his ear…

Strange

How life-lovers tell of catching

rhythmic lappings

or a tempest swell

while others laugh at one

who’d listen to an empty shell!

You bend and bow

Curtsy and lift

Laugh and Shudder

And lift again.

Wind

sets your rhythm

I

brace and stiffen

stand firm

resist

and break!

“I AM THE ALPHA AND THE OMEGA.”

That’s helpful.

We like precise parameters

and clean, clear closure!

But it’s in among those OTHER letters—

All twenty-two of them---that we

live our “lives of quiet Desperation”!

If only once those inconclusive jottings

would arrange themselves into a word,

a phrase, a sentence that would MEAN!

Merely a suggestion, God, but have You ever

thought of shortening your alphabet?

And---pardon me---but

MUST IT BE IN GREEK?

One shouting, glory tree enough—

Or, better still,

One branch.

One singing, petaled  branch enough—

Or better still,

One flower.

Beauty spare, lean, whittled to a size

I

Can contain

Is pain

Sufficient.

By world, when you turn prodigal,

Spilling splendor in such riotous array,

I can only close

The shutters

 Of

My

Spirit

As against a gathering storm,

And move cautiously away!

No, not the bird

He was lovely, but strange –

how he studied me

how he cocked his little head

to the left-

to the right-

peeped

said something in “bird language” and waited –

No, he was not strange,

But I

so strangely

did not answer!

Why?

God said---

“Please

don’t ask me

where I am!

Let me hear

Your sweetest words…

"Oh God,

there you are!”

God

Now You’re laughing, God,

At my presumption

That You’ll answer me,

(But You will, God, won’t you?)

Something’s wrong, God---ALL wrong!

Inside me

Deep down inside me!.......

WAIT!

You’re not taking me seriously!

“Oh, but I AM!

I’m laughing for joy

That you see, TODAY,

What I’ve been looking at for years…

Just waiting for

TODAY!”

No…

You don’t Just say,

“I’d like to write a poem today”

But “ordinary”

Turns upside down

when a bird and a squirrel

settle down

(together)

to enjoy the same tossed out

Bread Crusts from Breakfast

Tiptoe
On a most unwelcome mat of crisp,
unyielding green,
April seems so tentative—
Shyly fingering the latch of March’s door.

Can’t she be a bit aggressive!

Impatient
of such diffidence, I almost
turn away
thinking to come back
at some much later day, when…

Listen
The persistent pounding
of a thousand, laughing crocuses!

When you walk
 

In the light
 

Learn from the light
 

And
 

When you walk in the dark
 

See with new eyes!

I see you bend and sway

Lift and bow

Dance and flutter

Always open to WIND’S call.

I watch you lose—one by one--

I watch you lose – one by one –

Your lovely colors

To an earthen grave

Always open to AUTUMN’S call.

I see you stand stark naked

vulnerable against

a frozen WINTER’S blast

You seem to know

That only after the long letting go

Comes the greening and LIFE

At last!

Frenzied to a churning
gray-green boil
you always find some
massive rock to beat against
or some stretched shore
lying ready
-like a mammoth sponge-
To soak up your spill.

I draw my collar closer round
my rage, button in
my pain, and walk the long
gray streets
quietly-on crepe soles-
always careful to nod
and smile
and ask,
“How are you doing?”

Set me

On the path

From which I’ll run

To meet my God.

Guide me

Lest in fear

I lose my way

Whisper

“He’s been waiting

With open loving arms.

Now is not the time

To run away."

What have I gained

From what I have lost?

What have I seen

From what I’ve ignored?

What have I learned

From what I have forgotten?

What have I made

From what I have left?

What?

Experience!

Sunset---⠀
Like any other? NO!⠀
Tonight the “ordinary” sky⠀
Spilled pink and gold and purple!⠀
Stretched them out⠀
From east to west⠀
And then⠀
Before I went to rest⠀
A bright FULL MOON CAME TO WATCH⠀
See? ⠀
Tonight⠀
Was different!

Woman carved from timeless marble⠀
see how art would give a permanence⠀
to what eludes us most…⠀
⠀
--that He who is ETERNITY⠀
once paused in time⠀
⠀
_that He who is INFINITY⠀
once moved in flesh⠀
⠀
⠀
--and He who is OMNIPOTENCE⠀
once played upon your⠀
lap⠀
and was cradled and adored!

Morning, I have a question⠀
You creep up on us so gently--⠀
little by little.⠀
First a streak of dawn,⠀
then a tiny bird’s song⠀
then perhaps a kitten stretching everything she’s got from head to tail.⠀
⠀
You’re never pushy, never harsh—⠀
just a nudge to greet the miracle of TODAY and I—disappear beneath my quilt groan and say, ⠀
⠀
OH NO!⠀
while every singing bird and opening flower asks:⠀
“What’s wrong with her?”

Sitting alone
in a chapel one day,
I was jarred by a curious sound.
Glancing about,
I knew without doubt,
that it came from the windows around.
I listened and looked
and listened again,
and much to my surprise,
the lovely stained glass
was boasting, alas!
of her role and the sun and the skies!

Said the window:
“I catch the light of the sun
and stretch it across the room
Sometimes it’s purple
Sometimes it’s red
and, at times even as gold as the moon.”

Now other small voices
joined in the boast,
and the competition grew:
Said the healthy green plants,
“You can see at a glance
we’re the only décor that’s alive!”
We need little care
We purify air
and we’re pleasing to folks who arrive.”

“Don’t forget about us,” said the candles so tall.
“We are lit for the Mass every day,
as we give of our light
we diminish in height,
yes!
grow smaller with each passing day!”

Now the pure altar linen
had heard just enough
as she stretched out for all to see:
“What a privilege is mine
when the bread and wine
become Eucharist resting on me!”
Yet another small voice
quite a distance away,
spoke up with a note of great pride:
“Here I am on the wall
and important to all,
is the message I give night and day:
“Yes, He’s here and He’s waiting
for you to stop by
bring your cares, your fears and your sin.
He will listen to all
because nothing’s too small
to a God
Who is waiting
within.
 

Insert the needed commas⠀
where my lines rush, headlong,⠀
toward the meaningless!⠀
⠀
From the potpourri of my experience⠀
form stanzas⠀
to give order and design.⠀
⠀
Replace those milk-weak similes⠀
with metaphors⠀
of some strong vintage.⠀
⠀
Scratch hyperboles.⠀
select, instead, the lean⠀
(and jarring) truth.⠀
⠀
Rhyme me away from bouncing jingles⠀
till a strong iambic underflow⠀
lends grace.⠀
⠀
And when a statement’s ended—⠀
please—no-run-on⠀
just a clean and quiet close.⠀
⠀
If, like Moses’ sculptor, then,⠀
you strike the page, demanding,⠀
“Speak!”⠀
⠀
I’ll ask instead,⠀
that YOU, YOURSELF, might⠀
read my lines aloud!

Scratcher of all surfaces⠀
Chipper of old paint. Turner-of-all-to-inside-out-and-upside -down God⠀
⠀
Let's begin the journey...⠀
⠀
You who are⠀
breaker of walls and⠀
snipper of seams--⠀
uncorking bottles⠀
tampering with tombs--⠀
You⠀
fog-lifting⠀
cold-breaking⠀
clay-forming God!⠀
⠀
God⠀
who cannot be merely “HE”⠀
but “HE and “SHE” and “THEY” and “YET-TO-BE”⠀
be midwife to all that moves in me--⠀
and all that does not stir.⠀
To the closed and to the open.⠀
Hurl me beyond all that is closed—⠀
beyond all that is open⠀
beyond all that I or we or they⠀
can ever conceiver to be “beyond”.⠀
⠀
Monthly molder of moons⠀
yeaster of tides⠀
ice-breaking⠀
bud-nudging⠀
wintering-into-spring God⠀
dusking-into-dawn God⠀
hanger of the last star…⠀
infinitely uncontained and restless God⠀
tell me⠀
in my vast unfinishedness⠀
how can you sit so still? ⠀

Soul, you have⠀
too many long closets⠀
for holding all those hang-ups⠀
⠀
Too many deep drawers⠀
For hiding your secret shames⠀
⠀
Too many sturdy boxes⠀
For stacking up old hurts⠀
⠀
Too many hand-carved shelves⠀
For flaunting grand achievements⠀
⠀
Yet, you say you long⠀
For moving day!⠀
Think again.⠀
The house is small⠀
⠀
Can you…Will you⠀
Go light of luggage?⠀

Child,⠀
you were tossing so last night.⠀
The silent hours,⠀
in long, giant steps⠀
had passed your way⠀
and mounted to another day⠀
yet, there you lay⠀
wide-eyed,⠀
brain-tangled,⠀
soul-strangled,⠀
desperate against an unknown day⠀
as if it were all yours to play⠀
the futile game—⠀
to play, and lose!⠀
Child,⠀
you were tossing so last night!⠀
Haven’t I kept My promises?⠀