Friday, December 14, 2012

The prayer we cannot understand

So many shots
and once again
the fabric of existence,
torn apart,
reveals the hell that lies beneath,
the prayer that animates
every mother's heart,
the candles lit in vain
whose fire consumes
the hope we thought we had
and in the light of the flame
Job prays the prayer
we cannot understand, saying
"Yahweh giveth,
and Yahweh taketh away
Blessed be the name of Yahweh."

Thursday, December 13, 2012

All we will see is love

Who better than the trees
to remind us
that when we look
through the eyes of love
all we will see
is love?

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Who made this night?

Who made this night?
Who wrapped the chilling moon
in cotton wool
and pasted it in to a velvet sky?
Who waxed these marble tiles
with light and rain,
polishing 'til they glow beneath our feet?
What miracles, these vaulted domes,
mosaics, saints,
and deftly crenellated towers
that preen themselves
as evening wanes
inviting hope, and prayers,
and dawns to come
while sinking slowly still
beneath the rising seas?

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Peaceful coexistence

Hearing the words
"awash in a sea of mercy"
I think of these boats
floating gently in the harbor,
their masts reflected
in the glassy sea --
like snowflakes,
each unique and yet,
from a distance,
all so much the same.
May all who seem
at odds with us up close
find this peaceful coexistence,
which looks so much like unity
from afar...

Friday, December 7, 2012


To sit in quiet prayer,
or meditation,
is simply invitation
to that which is
above, beyond
creating a reverberation,
to soothe our hungry hearts.
But for this transformation to occur,
we must be willing to sink through
the barrage of thought and language
that shields us from our pain,
breathe through our agitation
to the joy that lies beneath;
this patient echo
glowing deep within.

Monday, December 3, 2012


I saw you there
while shopping one day
for Christmas gifts
in stores I can ill afford;
my eyes, glazing at the prices,
unfocused for a bit
to gaze at the reflections --
snowflakes in a window
(trite, of course, but so appealing
in their ritual sameness,
their predictability;
so like the world
we sometimes wish we had) --
and there you were,
sitting on the park bench,
head bowed

(in prayer? in grief?) I wondered...
but surely staggered
tripped and weighted
with the truth of it all,
the unpredictability, irregularity,
all the ways life didn't proceed
as you had hoped or expected.
I'd like to think
I stepped outside myself
for just a moment,
sat with you there on that dark bench
to share the burden of your sorrow,
to join in solemn contemplation
of the troubles
lapping at your feet...