Winter Prompt #30: View from the Top

VIEW FROM THE TOP

 

From here, the garden:

four stiff stalks of kale,

black leaves folded frozen.

Snow halfway up the rabbit fence.

The old wooden gate to the compost,

center brace broken,

its screen torn and propped till spring.

Will there be spring?

Two spiral stakes mark volunteer

asparagus, one marks the long bed

where under snow and straw

the garlic sets its roots.

Winter Prompts #29: Credo

CREDO

I. Unum Deum

Nothing bursts into being.

Universes bruise together.

Where did the surface scatter first?

What if every what if is real?

The word we need is Emanuel.

 

II. Et incarnatus est

Comprehension: the whole

with its layers of gravity, darkness

at the center beyond the constant light.

 

Every fragment gathered.

One bread, one cup. Water

is wine, enemies beloved.

 

Every anxiety, every wound

of every small being wound

back into the singular dark where

 

division fails, the powers fall.

At the intersection of love and pain

all coheres, and is raised.

 

 

III. Vivificantem

It’s fire we breathe,

the gas of burning

cooked out from the deaths of stars.

Brood across our chaos,

flame through our loss,

singing our every tongue.

Fear not. We will conceive.

 

Cheating. I wrote this a long time ago.

Winter Prompt #23: The First To

 THE FIRST TO

Winter Prompt #23

We were always doomed,

we pioneer women, plodding,

we thought, toward a new land

while the residents of the old one

were sliding grumbling into their graves.

 

The lightless caves

were full of bears,

the forests wild with tigers.

Eagles screamed and fell

from the startling sky.

Nothing was easy.

 

The young ones have not followed.

How can we blame them?

The roads we made ended,

not in the City of God

but in the broken place we started from.

 

Some of us are still here

in our Gothic stonepiles,

wrapped in albs and stoles

tending a dying fire.

 

Some of us look sideways,

step into small houses

with open doors and warm beds,

with gently lighted windows.

We are making bread, sharing wine.

 

And some of us are climbing peaks

we could not imagine

when we started our long walk.

Our music drifts down

into the cities, shakes the towers,

rings the ancient bells.

ALL YOU CAN HEAR

 

 

ALL YOU CAN HEAR

“All you can hear is the wind and the stars and the fog and the snow.”

~Arthur, age 2 3/4

He can hear the stars.

His father did not ask

the sound they make.

It is too solemn a sound,

too private to describe.

Have you heard it?

After the soft snowing stops,

and Orion comes striding

through a gap in the clouds

with his dogs at his heels?

Winter Prompt #13: PRONGS

PRONGS

Winter Prompt #13

We raised our wands and remembered—happiness.

Not easy for us, whose families were marked,

who could do things sometimes with a careless word.

 

The time Mother made me a chocolate cake

for no reason? Fetching firewood in the forest

with Dad, and he taught me to drive the tractor?

 

Making love on the stony hilltop, with hawks

floating above us on their way to warmer lands?

I raised my wand again, and again.

 

All around me those beings of light springing:

deer, otter, fox, crow.  Don’t get mad.  (Easy for you

to say, who can summon the dead.)  Keep trying.

 

Late that summer night, climbing over the locked gate,

crossing the railroad bridge, silence everywhere,

rounding the darkest corner, fine rain

 

clinging to the pines, then the circle of light

around the lamp in the parking lot.  Exspecto

again, and from the tip of my brittle pine wand—

 

(Ah!  That’s why it chose me!)—

a meadow vole rises, carries me

to safety under the long wet grass.

Winter Prompt #12: Aroma

AROMA

Winter Prompts #12

 

Between the gift shop and the archive,

the museum dining room wafts—

yes, wafts—me across times

beyond another dining room

to the tower room.

Paint-spotted floor,

a crooked ping-pong table,

the long bell rope hanging.

Rickety stairs in the corner—

first landing to the sacristy door,

second to the ladder to the belfry

with its bats and the bell

I was the last, with human hands, to ring

Winter Prompts #10: Prophecy

PROPHECY

Winter Prompt #10

The same thing as always, saith the Lord.

You people (O my people) will never learn

You rich loll—not on ivory couches—but still you loll.  

Still you sell my poor.

Wars and rumors.

Every mountain and hill made low,  but—

and this is important—not by me.

It’s not odd

that so many of you don’t believe.

Everything I can do, you can do better.

So this is official, saith the Lord.

I give up.

You’re on your own.

I’m the one whose faith

is gone.