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Category Archives: Poetry
Flies and Cold Fish
I’ve been doing too much, thinking too much. I’m so full of thoughts about what I have to do, my prayer times are inundated with them. I try to push them away, but each one promises to be the thought that will … Continue reading
Empty
Empty Before you go to bed, shake the dust off your feet. Open your front door and –with a shoe in each hand– smack those soles together. Like a TV preacher, tell those demons: “Be gone!” Before you go to … Continue reading
Posted in Lent, Poetry, Poverty of Spirit
Tagged A Good Night's Sleep, bed, Cameron Elementary School, Clement Hurd, Colleen Butterley, Erika Wittlieb, Esther Hizsa, Goodnight Moon, Margaret Wise Brown, Roxee Forrest, Seán Ó Domhnaill, spiritual director, spiritual director Burnaby, spiritual director Vancouver
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That Much
That Much The dried palm of my life burns to ash. You mark me like Cain. A wet cross on my head says plain as day: I NEED Y O U I wipe it off. I don’t want to need you that … Continue reading
Walking on Water
Jesus sends me off to pray in my boat of words. I begin to row. Even though I know he’s gone off to the hills, I look for him beside me, remember our hands touching, while he slept in the stern. … Continue reading
Christ Has Risen Indeed
“The Incredulity of St. Thomas” by Caravaggio, 1601-2 The Incredulity of Thomas Incredulity. Words are wasted on his impenetrable mind: “Unless I see, unless I touch.” Incredulity guards the heart seals the tomb from disappointment. “Thomas!” Voice charged, words spark. “See. … Continue reading
Holy Saturday
Homeless they take him down from the cross his PUTcold body pierced PUTbruised mouth silenced PUTsoft eyes blind as he began now at end PUTwrapped in cloth strips PUTlaid in wrong place helpless God stone heaved tomb sealed sudden scream PUTmine guards curse push me PUT“Go home!” can’t have … Continue reading
Christmas: As Is
I wonder if Joseph was peeved when Mary, between contractions, ordered him to close the door then, as soon as he did, wanted it open again. I wonder if, in that chorus of angels, one or two sang flat and if some shepherds –feeling … Continue reading
This Annunciation
This Annunciation I was the angel chosen to greet the one with God in her womb. Light illuminated her face her hands her words light warm with wonder hushed held my soul yet no Fra Angelico will ever paint this annunciation … Continue reading
An Everyday Pilgrim 