Snapshot

I photographed some flowers on my way.
I found them growing on a sunny day.
One moment of such beauty could I capture in a frame.
A dewdrop, maybe, caught the sun.  I came
and knew this beauty, brief and only mine
Unknown to others under this sunshine
And so, I paused, as beauty caught my eye
Neglected beauty, as the world rushed by.

How many glorious sights must also  lie along our way
Waiting, unseen, unnoticed, every day?

Why worry?

I was worrying about some things today, until these thoughts came my way:
Why should I worry the livelong day, when instead I can simply pray?

Of all the things I worry about, only two things could be true;
It’s either worth the worry, or not. In each case, what should I do?

If it’s worth the worry, then God above
will take it in with his great love,
But if the worry is not worth my time,
I can throw it away; just like this rhyme.

Thanksgiving 2008

Thank you, Lord, for giving us
The friends we have today.
We know no greater blessing
As we journey on this way.
For life, for health, for food and wealth,
Our thanks do surely rise;
But for these lives that touch our own —
We praise you to the skies!

Slow and Dark

Slow and dark, across the sky
The cloud rolls in, its shadow spread
The damp chill in the bones, the sigh,
Unnoticed, heaves upon the sluggard’s bed.

The season winds its way to winter’s sleep.
Life drops its leaves; no need to keep
The once-beloved luxuriant dress
That welcomed summer sun’s caress.

The geese streak south to their retreat
Escaping the impending frost.
The ripened fruit, still firm and sweet
Falls to the earth, to feed its host.

Thus twilight deepens in the fading year
To rule the waiting until Spring draws near.

A Mealtime Prayer

Lord, we thank you for this food
(We say this with no sorrow) —
May it bring strength for this day’s good,
Not storage for tomorrow.

Amen.

In the Doctor’s Office

What time I wait
Between the push and wail
Of this quotidian race,
While someone else,
Determined not to fail,
Hurries to show his face:

This waiting time, I say,
Affords me space
To simply sit,
Appreciate the grace
That lets me be
One person, me —
At this one time,
In this one place.

Did you?

In the grand scheme of things, the simple ways are best.
There is no magic word, no litmus test.

Did you believe, as best you could, that love will find a way?
Did you keep hope alive just for a day?
Did you see light in someone’s eyes?
Did you run as for a prize?
Did you keep going, just to keep your word?
Did you keep faith with friends, if not the Lord?

If you can love, then you know how to pray.
And this is life eternal, now, today.

Age, Youth, Death, Renewal, Eternity?

This brief journey
the flickering, sputtering, guttering light that is our life
(our awakening, our delight, our terror, our pain,
our hope, our loss, our gain,
in which we glimpse, besmudged, through squinted eyes,
yet solid, real, bright, hard and clear,
A world whose beauty takes us by surprise
sometimes in wonder, or in fear) —
This journey,
told in days and years,
is just the merest hint
the barest glint
of a reflection
of the vast unfolding
which will lead us
to the beginning
of our eternal day.

waking and dreaming: The Via Negativa

Wanting to pay attention, falling asleep at the wheel
Is the wheel really turning, or just what is this deal?
I opened my eyes, I swear I did, just a moment ago
But visions of sugarplums dance just where there only was cold and snow.

The cold light of day, the bright morning star — what is it that blinds my sight?
How can I know how near or far I am from the end of night?
Is that hope up ahead, the light of day, a break in the clouds and rain?
Or is it instead the menacing rush of a deadly approaching train?

“Open my eyes, that I may see” — how earnestly, often we pray;
But what is the truth that my eyes show to me? Am I right to feel dismay?
I want to pay attention to the world and what is real
But how can I shake the slumber? What now do I feel?

Listening, touching, being

I saw a soul pass by, and paused. Was that a cry?
Beneath the noise of argument, was that a sigh?
Stop, be still, I heard my spirit say; who know when I
Will see again this soul pass by this way?

The sighing soul, so quiet, fearful,
heard my silence, spoke
and paused,
fearing my voice would mock her pain;
I held quite still, as if to say
my presence was no joke
and watched the stillness, till she spoke again.

So gently, trembling, from the secret depths she rose;
The tender soul revealed the wounds she bore,
And let me reach, and touch, within the silence,
The beauty of her being,
Nothing more.

Fantasy and fun

Living a dream, living a lie—
What shall I choose as a story?
To reach a goal before I die
Or go down in flames of glory?

The Christ who gave abundant life,
and called us all to follow
Invites to joy, invites to strife —
Which of these two is hollow?

Today, I’ll live within the scope
Of privileges royal
But may I not forget the hope
To which I have been loyal.

I carry still within my breast
The poor, the foe, the friendless;
For their sake, too, today I rest
In pleasures full and endless.

To be beloved, with childlike glee
And loving now the days
May help me still more clearly see
the great Creator’s ways.

Holiday

I wish I could claim to have written this, because it says so many things so well. This poem was posted on Christmas day by a person whose words are often worth pondering.

There is some heartbreak on the happiest days
for people who are gone
who loved us and who we love still
and for the lovers
that love passed by


There is some heartbreak in the very best of days
getting up early or staying up late,
walking the streets of
waking houses with the lights coming on
and you can almost hear the oohs and aahs
and you forget, you forget
that you’re on the outside
pretending that you aren’t looking in


There is some heartbreak on the happiest days
for people we never got to know
but we hear in the back of our mind
a whisper that we should know them
or should remember,
should remember people in a war zone
that isn’t their in-law’s house
people like us bringing down
memories from the top of the closet
and there are never as many
memories as you thought there were
never as many memories as you wanted


There is some heartbreak on the happiest days
a sweet secret of a heartbreak that we share
a sweet secret of a heartbreak for someone we love
and that secret makes us smile
for someone who isn’t there

~ XineAnn

In a moment of stillness

We die to the living,
and live with the dead,

and much more is understood
than can be said.

So we, ensouled as lumps of clay,
Spirits enfleshed  for now, today,
Embracing every brief delight
Releasing, then, into the night,

Dance, we dance, through all the strife
That keeps our souls apart,
We mend within the dance of life
These holes within our heart.

I learned to love

I learned to love by failing
for more than thirty years:
My efforts unavailing
Persisted through my fears.

I learned to love by losing,
By giving up the ground;
I learned to love by choosing
To keep what I have found.

I learned to love by staying
When hope for love was lost;
I learned to love by praying
And counting up the cost.

I learned to love by seeing
That love is more than life.
I learned to love by being
A husband to my wife.

The Tyger

Poet, artist and visionary William Blake was born 250 years ago today.

THE TYGER (from Songs Of Experience)

By William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright 

In the forests of the night, 

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 

 

In what distant deeps or skies 

Burnt the fire of thine eyes? 

On what wings dare he aspire? 

What the hand dare sieze the fire? 

 

And what shoulder, & what art.

 Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 

And when thy heart began to beat, 

What dread hand? & what dread feet?

 

 What the hammer? what the chain?

 In what furnace was thy brain? 

What the anvil? what dread grasp 

Dare its deadly terrors clasp? 

 

When the stars threw down their spears, 

And watered heaven with their tears, 

Did he smile his work to see? 

Did he who made the Lamb make thee? 

 

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright 

In the forests of the night, 

What immortal hand or eye 

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 

 

1794