Debate

The man of science said
that in the beginning
there was nothing,
when
obeying some quantum urge,
suddenly everything
emerged.

that was all.. .

that was just
the way it happened… no need
for God…just cold, hard
cosmic law.

But the poet,
hearing his breath
rush deep within his lungs,
feeling his heart pound in anticipation,
says to his beloved,

“Ha! I found You!”

The Road Waits

The road waits,
but I’m not ready.
I pause, cradled by soft leather
In this silent room,
listening to morning’s
soft breath stirring
the glimmering summer leaves,
as the perched bird
gazes through my open window
into my wondering eyes
and waits.
But this is a good morning to wait.
Look how the extravagant grass waves,
and truant weeds luxuriate along the fence,
while in the small central garden
red flowers gather like
warm, slumbering children
under the wide,
spreading vine!
But still the road waits.
I’ve seen
the glistening pavements
slide under my rolling wheels,
the river to my right,
green Ohio rising
into northern forests,
and misty Kentucky
calling to me
across the wide,
glittering waters.
The road goes on,
and I cannot
wait.

Peter’s Report

Running all the way,
bent double in breathless pain
we peer and see
the gaping grave
open to the rising sun.

Slowly we enter, our eyes sun-blind,
when we see the empty bench,
the bloody cloth cast within.

I try to imagine
how light must have pierced the cloth,
the sudden shudder
of His broken body,
His sharp breath exploding
like a swimmer breaking the surface,

and I notice John’s eyes
outshining the sun,
and my own face
lighting even death’s
darkest place!

Passion in the Garden

In the long, empty night
I hear your song.

Longing I seek
but can only see
my own dying face
in shattered glass
and piercing steel.

I tremble in fear.
O, where have you gone?

Sing me again your soaring love-song

and show me the way,
for night’s a thin wall
and death, a porous veil.

Holy Saturday

Storms pass, winds subside
life abides.

See how the cottonwoods
spread new leaves,
fill the blank sky with
emerald sheen
as waving vines praise
the living spirit
of spring,

for soon the shrouded sun will flame
through constraining mists
and in glory rise to complete
this forgiven world
and set it free.

The Sadness of Holy Saturday

Through the moonless night
clouds choke receding light

and the world descends
into darkness.

Where are you
as winter’s chill pierces my hands?

Oh, where have you gone?

Do you not care that I decay
without your gentle breath,
that without your light
I wane like the failing sun?

Why have you abandoned me?

Through my tears I see
two millenia of agony,
the six million slain,
all the fallen generations
newly free, heavy nails
at last released.

The Denial of St. Peter

Caravaggio, The Denial of St. Peter

On the edge
hands clenched,
sad eyes downcast
bitter fear forcing tight his lips
he holds his breath

he pauses
as the angry finger
of the state
points at his throat,
hard eyes searching Peter’s
indecision
for rash conviction;

but she, she knows
has seen before
his adoring eyes, heard his
boastful voice
by the campfire
of the condemned.

Slowly he moves
toward the inevitable lie
as the bloody sun
stirs to song
the drowsy cock.

Miracle

The night looked bad.

Waves towered,
clouds racing
across the glaring moon,
the sea pounding out
all hope for their little boat,
when a ghost approached,
softly glowing,
impossibly walking across the
wet way.

Terror gripped them.

They saw grim Satan
striding across the waves
to take them down
to his watery hell,

But Peter,
truth clearing his fearful eyes,
saw His face, felt His peace
and, radiant with surging faith,
joyfully stepped over the side
to join his beloved Lord.

His feet touched the soft water.

It was like walking
through shallow puddles.

Lifting his legs
he moved slowly forward,

when looking down,
dark doubt
sucked him under
legs first,
then waist deep.

He cried, “Lord, save me!”

and thrusting his hands
to heaven,
he felt the strong grip raising him back
to life.

I’ve Never Been out to Sea

I’ve never been out to sea

though I’ve touched iridescent waves,
flown over blue surf
and played in safe, familiar bays
with dog-eyed seals and
wondering whales.
But gazing, just as the sun
juts beyond night’s edge,
I see this curving ball, endless
band of water held close
to jealous core by clear bands
of gravity, hurtling
through the void,
My human eye, wrapped in
spheres of bone and blood,
follows earth’s trajectory just
ahead of the season, basks in
the summer sun as it
heats blue waters, casts high
bright towers of
cumulonimbus;
for I am a child of the sea,
and I can see out far
and in deep.

Cherry Blossoms on Palm Sunday

Windy day,
undulant sun
floods smooth cut of lawn

as cherry blossoms race
and lightly fall upon
my upturned face.

O, Sacrificial Tree!
your bright glory cast
to the clamant breeze and
let fill your boughs
with ordinary green.

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