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