Where Is The Lamb?
(December 20th, 2023)
Where, oh, where is the lamb?
In the stable, of course,
Among the oxen and goats,
The braying donkey and horse.
But why, oh, why does the lamb
Call there, so softly bleating?
For he knows his own fate:
Suffering, beaten, bleeding.
When, oh, when, little Lamb
Will your throne reclaim?
I have come, and I am coming,
And I will surely come again!
Leaving Gramma and Grampa’s
Leaving Gramma and Grampa’s (January 1st, 2021) Oh, do we have to go? Please, can’t we stay? Just for one more night - Only one more day? We don’t want to go back home! Please, we’re having so much fun! Don’t you see this game? We’ve only just begun! Can’t we do one more thing? There’s so much we want to play! We don’t want to go just yet - Please can’t we stay?
(It’s always so hard to say goodbye to Gramma and Grampa! Artwork was a Christmas gift for my mother-in-law in 2019. All the grandchildren are a bit bigger now, plus one more in the mix. I didn’t have an original photo of the piece, so an “under the glass” image will have to do.)
Mullings
Mullings
(Sept 27th, 2022)
Sometimes words brew for a while,
Mulling around in my mind,
Infusing their spices in my soul
Until their appointed time.
Sometimes in conversation
Someone says a lyrical line,
And the words must mull for as long as they must
Until they come out in rhyme.
When the right words are said
I can feel them deep in my bones,
They sit in my soul, brewing thick,
Until the concoction is done.
Sometimes words brew for a while,
Like a good cider or rich wine,
Or like a hearty broth or stew -
They always get better with time.
Mama Made A Dinner
Mama Made A Dinner
(2015)
Mama made a dinner
For her wee little kids
They whined and they cried
That they didn’t have any bowls
And Mama said,
“You can get yourself a bowl”
So they got themselves bowls.
She brought the food
To the table
They whined and they cried
That they didn’t have any spoons.
And Mama said,
“You got yourself a bowl,
And you can get yourself a spoon.”
So they got themselves spoons.
But then they wanted a cup
To drink out of.
So they whined and they cried
That they didn’t have any cups.
And Mama said,
“You got yourself a bowl,
You got yourself a spoon,
And you can get yourself a cup.”
So they got themselves cups.
Then they wanted water
In their wee little cups.
So they whined and they cried
That they didn’t have any water.
And Mama said,
“You got yourself a bowl,
You got yourself a spoon,
You got yourself a cup,
And you can get yourself some water.”
So they poured themselves some water.
But then they got a little messy
And wanted a bib
So they whined and they cried
That they didn’t have any bibs.
And Mama said,
“You got yourself a bowl,
You got yourself a spoon,
You got yourself a cup,
You got yourself some water,
And you can get yourself a bib.”
So they got bibs.
Then Mama cleaned up dinner
And it was time to sleep.
So they whined and they cried
That it was time for bed.
And Mama said,
“You got yourself a bowl,
You got yourself a spoon,
You got yourself a cup,
You got yourself some water,
You got yourself a bib,
And you can get yourself in bed.”
So they got in bed.
Then Mama turned out the lights
But they really wanted snuggles.
So they whined and they cried
That they needed snuggles.
And Mama said,
“You got yourself a bowl,
You got yourself a spoon,
You got yourself a cup,
You got yourself some water,
You got yourself a bib,
You got yourself in bed,
And you can get yourself some snuggles.”
So they snuggled themselves to sleep in Mama’s arms.
Cakes on Ash Wednesday
Cakes on Ash Wednesday (February 17th, 2021) I made cakes on Ash Wednesday. I measured and cracked and melted, I mixed and poured and beat, I folded and poured into pans, All the while pondering the irony: Their sticky fingers and chocolate mustaches On this, of all days! And yet I reminisce what these are for: All the months of suffering, Walking a lonely road of bearing life, Bleeding, dying - to give birth to these children. And even as I prepare to walk the desert road, I recall how I, too, have had desert times; How I, too, have given my life. I, too, have nourished children with my body. I remember those times I have trod Christ’s path, Not just for six weeks of remembrance But nine months three times over - plus some. And as I prepare to have my forehead marked, I cannot help but smile - - I made cakes on Ash Wednesday.
(We have two February birthdays, and sometimes they fall in Lent and sometimes they don’t. It always makes me chuckle a little when they do.)
Sediment
Sediment
(January 22nd, 2022)
The stones, my teachers -
Resolute, unbending
Bulwarks of creation;
Sometimes bending the water’s path,
Other times allowing the waters to cascade over,
Forming smooth grooves over time.
Long-suffering, bearing change and time
With dignity, regardless of its own fractures.
Willing to be worn apart,
Little by little into sediment, silt, sand -
Fragments of their courage
Dispersed into other foundations.
Large as a mountain or small as a grain of sand,
Unmovable, yet always changing
Slowly, attentively as the sun’s rays
Soak into the stony deeps.
The cornerstone, the foundation,
The gravestone, the end.
From beginning to end, again and again,
It is built and remade,
Ground down and shaken up -
These stones! These teachers!
They cry out for those who have ears to listen!
(In 2020, the Lord taught me much through the weeds. This year it has been the stones. There is a little spot I love to hike to, with a small waterfall cascading over stones into a little lagoon. Right at the waterfall there is a large, flat stone, which I love to go and rest on. Many a poem written and prayer uttered in that sacred spot. I’ve been waiting to post this poem until I could get to this spot again and sketch it out; the best part is that the paper is made from stone! Glory be to God for stones!)
Ruth
Ruth (December 26th, 2021) Deep in the desert I weep and wail, I lament at the loss of you, Protector, my husband - I am left barren, what am I to do? Mother, oh mother, I shall come My sister and I shall come! Do not turn us aside dear mother, We shall go with you to your home! Though Orpah returns, I shall stay. I will journey this path your people have trod - They, too, shall be my people, And your God shall be my God! Dear mother, the journey was long, But we have arrived at long last; At last among your people, To weep, pray, feast, and fast. Oh mother, dear mother, Call not yourself Bitter! For God has left still one with you - I am forever your daughter! I’ll tend to you in our small home, And I’ll do all you ask of me - What’s that you say? Yes, I’ll go into the fields to glean. How hot and dry these harvest days, My throat parched and sweat on my brow. Some men leer, and I’m all alone… Where would I go?…How? Today a man spoke to me, He bade me drink and stay Within the safety of his servants, And then, oh more than I could pray! I overheard him whisper To the other workers there, To leave a little extra grain That I might glean a greater share! Oh the joy on my dear mother’s face When she saw the bounty! And she wondered at the man Who so graciously gave us plenty. Boaz was his name, I said It was in his fields that I gleaned. With eyes a-light she said to me, He is one by whom we may be redeemed! Go, my child, she said to me Go to him this night, Lay yourself at his feet. May he end our bitter plight! Tremblingly, I followed her words, My heart pounding as I drew near. I silently laid down at his feet When all was silent and clear. And there I laid with heart beating, Blood pulsing in my ears, Terrified and, yet, excited, Holding back tremendous tears. In the wee hours of the night, A gentle hand upon my shoulder - I am Ruth, the Moabitess [Then spoke all Naomi had told her] Lay down and sleep a while more, When it is safe in the dawn, go. Tomorrow I will inquire at the gates - By tomorrow evening I shall know. With a fluttering heart I hurried home, Dear mother anxiously waiting for me. All day I distractedly did my tasks, Wondering what the answer might be. Would it be? Could it be? This wonderful man who let me glean - Will he be the very one Who will choose to redeem? Oh mother, someone is coming - Indeed it is a man! Oh, mother, dear sweet mother, Boaz has come to take my hand! Dear mother, your wise guidance Has brought so much from our grief - What happiness now is ours! What joy and what relief! And now, mother, look and see - I bring to you a son! To dandle upon your lonely lap - A whole new world has now begun! Oh, mother, how your eyes light up When you caress our little Obed! Is he not the sweetest balm After the bitterness of our dead? And, oh, my handsome Boaz, What joy that I have gleaned! What wonders God shall do through us Because you chose to redeem.
A Prayer in the Frosty Bracken
A Prayer in the Frosty Bracken
(January 29th, 2022)
Unknowingly I walked into Their sacred den -
As They stealthily scattered
I prayed in my secret heart for Their return
I turned to Brother Sun, the East
And began to pray
My breath furled like smoke in the frozen air
As I bowed in gratitude I saw Them:
Ears twitching through the bracken
Glowing with hoar frost.
Carefully I turned to the West,
Snow crunching beneath my boots,
The sun illuminating the sky full of falling frost,
Glimmering as though I were in the presence
Of a multitude of eldil
Warming a fire within me.
I heard Them creep closer.
I bowed and turned to the West,
The place of dimming
The flowing out, the ebbing tide.
The waters, the frozen flakes
Beckon me to go lower still.
Like the ever flowing river, I bow,
The living water pouring from my soul.
Woodpeckers echo as I turn to the South,
And I see Them once more.
I am surrounded, my prayer answered.
The earth cold and crusty beneath my feet,
A single speck of earth central in each flake -
Filling the sky like a gentle storm of glitter -
The same earth I am fashioned from,
The very earth I shall return to:
The darkness, the death, the rest.
I bow and see Them once again.
They watch me through the frosty bracken.
From the corners of this microcosm They surround me -
Open me to these teachers, I had prayed
Unite me to Your creation once more.
They pause, They watch -
Come, I whisper softly,
For the friendship of St. Francis, Come!
In the memory of St. Benedict, Come!
For the love of our Creator, Come!
Slowly, one by one They turn,
And with a flick of Their white tails
They bid me farewell.
(Written as part of an exercise from “Earth: Our Original Monastery”)
Candlemas Tryst
Candlemas Tryst
(February 2nd, 2021)
I have come to the feast
Of snow and ice
Of barren bowers
In a festal wood
The moon has crossed
Its midway path
And Brigid’s lamp still burns
And in this place
I meet Him,
Desire of my deepest soul
His beauty brighter
Than a thousand gleaming crystals
Refracted in the sun
Glimpses of Him at each turn
I hear Him
In the highest boughs
And in the rustling limbs
He speaks to me
Through the trickling creek
Ever winding its way
Somewhere to a sea of glass
A winter tryst
With my Truest Love -
Truer than ever I could know
He meets with me
In these small spaces
These glowing places
He meets me here on Candlemas
Is It Too Much To Ask To Stay Human?
Is It Too Much To Ask To Stay Human?
(December 8th, 2021)
Is it too much to ask to stay human?
To not be robbed of my five, beautiful senses?
To not let the worst of technology
Overpower the best of humanity?
Oh, how arrogant we are!
That we could stand at the edge of the ocean
And still, somehow, feel important!
Is it too much to ask to stay human?
With all the sufferings that come with it?
To ache and groan with pain and woe -
Why do we run away from such things?
To be sick, to grow old and sere-
These things that must be,
There’s beauty in them if we have eyes to see - -
Is it too much to ask to stay human?
Mama’s Mullings 