COMPASSIONS BECOMING
(THE POEMS ARE BORN)
Poetry starting April 1992
A.....
ABOUT BEAUTIFUL RELATIONSHIPS
ABOUT MORAL BOUNDARIES
ALL LIFE IS SENSUOUS AND SPIRITUAL
AN ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, GOOD FRIDAY, AD 30
ANOTHER POEM ABOUT BECOMING
ANOTHER WORD TO GOD'S CHURCH
A SONG FOR SECOND GRADERS AND ALL SERAPHIM
A SONG TO MY FAMILIAR WORM
C...
COME NOW AND MEDITATE
COMMENTS ON THE POETIC PROCESS
D....
DEATH I.
DEATH II.
DEATH III.
DEATH IV.
DEATH V.
G....
GOD
IS HERE
GOD'S VOICE
H...
HOW CAN WE OFFER THE FEAST
I...
I WANT
J....
JESUS IS THE SOURCE OF BEAUTY
L....
LET THE SINGING BIRDS FLY OUT
LOVE LIKE LIGHT AND QUICKER THAN THOUGHT
M....
MASK
WEARERS
MY CUP OVERFLOWETH
MY YOUTH
O....
ONE DAY, WHILE THE WOODS BURNT DOWN
ON PONDERING WHAT LIES
UNDER
THESE REVERSALS OF FORTUNE
ON PSALM 145
ON SOUL
ON THE NATURE OF PRAYER
P....
POETRY AND THE SOUL
POETRY IS A SUBTERRANIAN FLYING THING
POETRY IS THE COMMUNION
R...
RECOVER THE CAPTIVE NO THING
S...
SERENADING GORDON IN THE
CANCER WARD
St. Charles Hospital, Bend, Oregon
May 14th 1992
SIN AND TRAGEDY
SINGING TO A VICTIM
OF A RECENT, TRAGIC AUTOMOBILE ACCIDENT
St. Charles Hospital, Bend, Oregon
May 14th 1992
SOME PEOPLE ARE MASTERS AT MISSING THE POINT
T....
THE GROUND OF OUR HEARTS
THE MYSTERY OF LIFE
THE REAL ARISTOCRATS
THE WHOLE IS GREATER THAN THE SUM OF THE PARTS
TO THOSE WHO WALK AT NIGHT
U...
UPON MY VOICE
UPON OUR LACK
UPON SAINT JOHN, CHAPTER 12
UPON THE BOY SCOUT OATH
UPON THE TASK OF THE SOUL
W....
WE
ARE ONLY BEGINNING TO BE CREATED
WE ARE THE CRUCIFIERS, WE THE CRUCIFIED
WE NEED ONLY TO DIE TO THE DARK
TO ENTER THE FEAST OF THE LIGHT!
WHEN ANGELS
FALL INTO THE POOLS OF THE WORLD
WHEN THE FULL MOON OF A SOUL
WISE VIRGIN'S WAYS
56 poems
Last Poem in file: HOW CAN WE OFFER THE FEAST
THE POETRY
SOME PEOPLE ARE MASTERS AT MISSING THE POINT
Some chattering bird
chirped a silly thing
about its Buddha self,
then flit its wing
and flung bird shit
all
around
the least amusing
parts of town.
ON PONDERING WHAT LIES UNDER THESE
REVERSALS OF FORTUNE
Turning aside from the fragrant road
where those who carry candles
walk singing in the night,
a lion often meets me in daylight
and tears open my body to drink blood
in God's name.
TO THOSE WHO WALK AT NIGHT
Always know
that the heavy, purple night
is waiting to burst forth
with the piercing sweetness of starlight.
*
As you hunger long for the dawn,
Watchman, turn your face upon the night!
MASK WEARERS
Mask wearers
wear themselves dry to the bone
to keep up the facade.
Ah! come,
let us unleash our truest hearts
and fruitify all living things
with the innocent light
beneath our empty eyes.
AN ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, GOOD FRIDAY, AD 30
Simply, brutally, the deed was done
as the black moon covered the yellow sun.
Then dim stars shown through ebony space
as fears shadowed the human face.
God Himself hung upon a tree
embracing
sin with dignity.
Like a lamb to the slaughter, they drove him on
through the crumbling doors of their own Kingdom.
The temple veil was split in two...
A golden beauty shimmered through.
THE GROUND
OF OUR HEARTS
The ground
of our hearts is an opened window.
No! A wind
that blows through that window.
No! A
motionless breath that only seems to move like wind
because we
move.
No! A golden
voice that speaks with that motionless breath.
GOD IS HERE
God is wholly here
and
God is spirit.
Why don't we know it
taste it, hear it?
Perhaps we think that, like Seraphim,
Ñwhose eyes are made of fireÑ
we
children, born of need and desire,
should SEE Him;
that He who is moved
by no need but that of love
should be so solidly apparent.
Yet
the trick on us is this:
God is here! but He's transparent.
POETRY AND THE SOUL
Making poems
is the weaving of soul tapestry.
It is mid-wivery.
Clear spirit
blows in the back door,
the opened windows;
and its free freshness sings,
"Birth me!"
The dark body lights up!
while night creatures stir,
fearing illumination.
Snakes coil and uncoil
in the basement of the mind
as the spirit joys and sings,
"Miraculous house of pain and fear,
you are my own Mother!
Birth me a soul."
And so
the body sets to work:
hunting, house cleaning,
killing old slithering beasts with light;
then setting up a bright, little inner studio,
splashing it with color,
making it a warm, flesh home around a loom.
At last, throwing open all windows,
all doors,
body welcomes the images of God's heart in
which joyously come
to be woven upon that loom
into a work of art
called soul.
ON SOUL
Our souls are not to be
hidden, private things
protected in our heads,
but poured out compassionate unfoldments,
endowments of a public-blessing life:
warm
and vulnerable, spirit enriched,
diverse and profuse;
strong in clarity and ordered.
Come let our souls be:
dancing, sparkling, singing, shining!
Let us be healers who are being healed,
infusing heart and head and body
with One Holy Spirit
overflowing from body into body
amidst
celebrations which unite our hearts.
MY CUP OVERFLOWETH
As opening soul drinks Life and grows
it comes to overflow the body;
and soul is no longer
pent up, dry and alone... <