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Nativity (According to St. John)

Nativity (According to St. John)

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Poems are Wild Things

Poems
are
wild things.

Shy
like feral cats
watching
with wide eyes
in the shadows.

Hear
one start to
approach
and

Don’t.

Move.

Gasp
quickly
the nearest

paper and pen –

track
the poem’s
movements.

“You write
poetry
well.”

“Thanks,”
is the

sane

expected
response.

But the truth
is:

Anyone
can write
good poems –

Just learn
to
catch

those

wild
things.

Laberynth

I.
We may enter
in sorrow

following the path uncertain

where our next
steps will lead us.

Winding, winding
ever inward
following paths that are like,
but not like,
journeys we’ve taken before.

II.
In the center
we come to meet
ourselves
And,
in ourselves,
we meet
the Beloved.

The Beloved rests
within us.
The separation
never existed
except in our own
addled minds.

Come, take down
that flimsy curtain
and know –
You are not alone.
You were never alone.
You never will be alone.

III.
We may enter
in sorrow.

But now go forth in joy,
following the path uncertain

where our next
steps will lead us.

Winding, winding
ever outward
we meet our ghost sorrow-selves
and bless them.

The journeys
we’ve taken before

lead us
guide us
call us

into the

blessed,
joyous
now.

33

I.
It might be
an auspicious year.
When I turned 30,
I thought
it was the best thing
that happened to me.

I revise that statement
every year:

Every year,
I learn to be
a gentler tenant
within myself.

“Oh, yes.
I know this struggle.
It will pass,

eventually.

No need to thrash,
and break anything
more
in the process.”

II.
It might be
an auspicious year.
Seventeen years ago,
I was sixteen.
Seventeen years hence,
I will be fifty.

Every year has not,
will not,
be easy.

III.
Today,
though,
the suffering has passed,
and is yet to come.

Today,
though,
is a respite,
sweet grace.

Today:
My heart rejoices
in the cheery sunflowers
in a Mason jar
on the kitchen table.

Today:
My heart rejoices
in the blessed posies
of beloved friendship
in my life.

Today:
My heart rejoices
in the astonishing growth
of the seedling
of inner friendship.

Today:
My heart rejoices
to be
thirty-three.

Nativity

I.
Silent night.
Radiant Mary. 
Sleeping babe.

		Perfect,
	peaceful 
			picture.

II.
		Forty days later,
		Simeon speaks:
	
	“This child is destined
	for the falling
	and the rising of many . . .
	and to be a sign that will be opposed
	so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed –
	and a sword will pierce your own soul, too.”

Hail Mary, 
full of new-mother love:

		Was that prophesy

			alone
	
	enough to pierce your soul?

III.
Life is never easy.
We all suffer.

		Even if
	your son

			is God.

 

Emmanuel

I.
A baby develops 
in the darkness
of a womb.

Mycelium knits together 
a vast network,
unseen,
within the sweet soil.

The days lengthen
only
after the longest night.

“God has filled
the hungry
with good things,
	and sent the rich away
	
empty.”

II.
Be alert.
Keep watch:

If the Truth is not a 
	paradox,

it may not be the Truth
	at all.

III.
Tell me: 
Who do you think you are,
to be
So Damn Hopeful?

	Tell me: 
	Who do you think you are,
	
	Not To Be?