In the morning, after the burial, the willow leaning,
of some whispering, some news from above,
and I too thinking you might
answer with rain.
might flood the street with praise of all that
through streams, creeks, lakes, that even when the
did arrive weeks later, I thought of your soul
us, far out in the north field where the
shift in the
stillness and where even now in the
downpour of a June afternoon,
I seek shelter, sure
of the good news, your soul rising in
rising into all that is unknown and unseen, and
the whispering, like a deer to running water,
like a deer to
running water, I thirst for you,
O Lord, the oaks suddenly still in the
the last dusky sparrow flying right through
-- Mary Ann Meade
-- NCR photo/Toni-Ann Ortiz
A Creation Lament
(I Kings 19 updated)
(For Hiroshima and
Nagasaki)A modern man at a mountain of God . . .
Man sent a
God was not in the nuke
God was not in the fire that burns flesh
sent cruise missiles
God was not in the missiles
finally . .
God spoke in a gentle whisper for peace
Man acted as though
blinded and stiff-necked
-- Mick Mandeville
San Gabriel, Calif.
When I awoke this morning
-- a never before encountered dawn
I found myself crowned with honey bees
busily making a hive in my
On velvet wings I was carried
-- a most startling beginning to my
to a couch of petaled glory.
There, incensed in mist of fresh
all around me in dizzy dance and exaltation
pitched downward from high pines
-- A most unforeseen morning
exalting in high mountain voices,
Joy! sweetest joy!
wrapped in immortality!
Strange, how I had ever thought,
dozing moment between dark and dawn,
that only another summers dog day
wait for me.
When all the while
God, faithful handmaiden to all
was handing me
a robe of royal kinship
and a diadem of
-- Deborah Hanus
San Antonio, Texas
Its About Power
What is more political
than mental illness,
in a sovereign city?
abdicate or are
-- Sue Dwyer
The Mabon Madonna
(For the statue of Mary with the boy Jesus in the St.
Johns Abbey Church, donated by the Mary Frost Mabon)
upon a wooden throne
with eyes alone for tribal mysteries,
the Master lad
upon her lap, bone
and sinews hers, now teaching with expertise
temple near the hill. She gives no decree,
has no answers she could put in
Gods Mother, Seat of Wisdom, does not see.
She walks with
one candle, worrying each
adolescent triumph, teenage stumble,
ignorant of the large design.
But the prophecy with thorns is there, the
of falling and rising. She fears the sign.
Madonna, chewed by
termites, with damaged hand,
you teach us how to kneel before we understand.
-- Fr. Kilian McDonnell, OSB