The time has come to lose that weight The weight that holds me back Strip down to the essentials To run that Heavenly track The stands are full of cheerers-on Who’ve come to see me run There’s a wild olive crown Just waiting to be won And now we’re sweatin’ to the oldies Until the race is run Sweatin’ to the oldies With Saint Ephrem the Syrian 1 Lord and Master of my
The scene of Creation opens with a senseless darkness. Was it the ultimate betrayal that caused the chaos, The Morning Star falling from Heaven to Earth with a burst? The first Word of Creation tells us it is true: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!” And the light that enlightens the whole world Is the only light shining in the whole world And without even looking God says “It is good.”
Ash Wednesday Reflections Tonight, ashes smear Across my face From priest’s thumb— Sin’s dark drear Mingled with oil Leaves a smudge On my skin And my soul Last year’s palms Burn deep upon My flesh and In my memory— All I see Is ashen, grey, Charred remains of Promises and dreams I peer inside At my soul Crumbling to coals Dead and lifeless— Not a spark Or an ember Of élan appears To
If marriage was outlawed today 1 Would you give in And start living in sin If marriage was outlawed today If marriage was outlawed today Would you take a chance On a martyred romance Or would you give in And start living in sin If marriage was outlawed today If marriage was outlawed today Would you still propose With a ring and a rose Would you take a chance On a martyred romance
Sometimes it’s in the very first bite Sometimes in the smooth savoring Sometimes just after it’s fully consumed But in each action there is that moment Some call it bliss, or perfection, or Heaven Or doing the hokey-pokey, turn yourself around A seventh sense, perhaps, something nous Where it seems the state you are in What you are doing at that instant The crunch and gush and swallow The rush of sensations paused, or Continuing
Silent morning—a fog like the ghost Of autumn trees and brush and leaves Rises up to the skies, a wavering host Of spirits climbing to clouds, their winter post. Farmers are nearly done gathering sheaves And stalks stand like sentinels—grave stones— Encumbered by rooks whose coarse song weaves Harvest into winter, as Earth her life heaves Into barns and bins. She creaks and groans From the heavy toil of summer, spent, To lie
In the beginning there was light, and this light became life for mankind. From divine nostrils to feldspar veins was life breathed, and in the blood contained. In the blood. A body mystically woven from magic and mud exploded into action: pumping, cycling, consuming. Communing with an entire garden of food, air, and fluid. Taking into itself by some parasitic act of sorcery the entire physical universe and rewriting it as flesh.