Tuesday, April 24, 2012

The River Merchant's Wife: A Letter

by Ezra Pound

after Li Po

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan;
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.

Thursday, April 19, 2012


We are the music-makers,
     And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
     And sitting by desolate streams;
World-losers and World-forsakers,
     On whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers
     Of the world for ever, it seems.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012


Because the Few with signal virtue crowned
     The heights and pinnacles of human mind,
Sadder and wearier than the rest are found,
     Wish not thy Soul less wise or less refined.
True that the small delights which every day
     Cheer and distract the pilgrim are not theirs,
True that, though free from passion's lawless sway,
      A loftier being brings severer cares.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Our Lady of the Night

Sheldon Vanauken

When this world hides the constant heart of light
We sink to chill despair through stars that wheel
In deathless unconcern, our senses reel
At nothingness, and darkness steals our sight.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

[national poetry month]

The Emigrant Irish

~Eaven Boland

Like oil lamps, we put them out the back

of our houses, of our minds. We had lights
better than, newer than, and then

a time came, this time and now
we need them. Their dread, makeshift example:

they would have thrived on our necessities.
What they survived we could not even live.
By their lights now it is time to
imagine how they stood there, what they stood with,
that their possessions may become our power:

Cardboard. Iron. Their hardships parceled in them.
Patience. Fortitude. Long-suffering
in the bruise-colored dusk of the New World.

And all the old songs. And nothing to lose.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

[national poetry month] I Sang

~Carl Sandburg

I sang to you and the moon
But only the moon remembers.
I sang                              
O reckless free-hearted
                                        free-throated rhythms
Even the moon remebers them
And is kind to me.


Sunday, April 8, 2012

Holy Week: Easter Sunday!

     "Now if Christ is proclaimed as raised from the dead, how can some of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? But if there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain, and your faith is in vain. We are even found to be misrepresenting God, because we testified about God that he raised Christ, whom he did not raise if it is true that the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If in this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied."
      "Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall al be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed."
     "Death is swallowed up in victory."
     "O death, where is your victory?
      O death, where is your sting?"
   "The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!"

~I Corinthians 15:12-19; 51-52; 54-57

Friday, April 6, 2012

Holy Week: Good Friday

Beneath Thy Cross

by Christina Rossetti

Am I a stone, and not a sheep,
That I can stand, O Christ, beneath thy cross,
To number drop by drop Thy Blood's slow loss,
And yet not weep?
Not so those women loved
Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;
Not so fallen Peter, weeping bitterly;
Not so the thief was moved;
Not so the Sun and Moon
Which hid their faces in a starless sky,
A horror of great darkness at broad noon--
I, only I.
Yet give not o'er,
But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock;
Greater than Moses, turn and look once more
And smite a rock.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Holy Week: Thursday

(Today's post is a guest post from my sister Allison. Check out her blog for more poetry and theological musings: http://www.ars-cosmosinchaos.blogspot.com/ )



I can't stand anymore;
it's too heavy.
my whole being is throbbing,

Intense pain
I see his hand, stretched out toward me,
and I turn away in shame
and something like hatred.
But his hand is still there, waiting.

Finally, desperation overcomes;
I reach for him;
put it in his hand.


Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Holy Week: Wednesday


~ Dom Julian Stead,
from There Shines Forth Christ

Dare to go with you, be seen with you,
Listen in silence while you speak and touch and heal,
Or while you're spat on, questioned, nailed and left to die
Do people call you prophet now?
No, "myth". Make me believe that you are real:

Holy Week: Tuesday

Silk Tie Easter Eggs

Monday, April 2, 2012

Holy Week: Monday


You, once, two-thousand years ago,
Were a man. Would that I could
Grasp the truth of that reality.
When you walked, dust puffed up
In muffled protest to the tread of your
Sandaled, dirty feet. The same feet were
Washed with tears and anointed with
Perfume, dried with a woman's
Tumbling hair. Did, I wonder, that

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Holy Week: Palm Sunday

from Calvin Miller's The Singer

Humanity is fickle.
They may dress for a
morning coronation and
never feel the need to
change clothes to
attend an execution in
the afternoon.

So Triumphal Sundays
and Good Fridays
always fit comfortably
into the same April


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